A figure I know too well seems to materialise from the shadows. Tall, lean muscle, dark hair and skin that looks like it was forged by the sun.
“Can I have a word, William?” The voice is velvet mixed with aged whisky.
Blair turns around, looks at the speaker and then me, her expression unreadable.
Isaac wasn’t due to be here. He was in Bristol, arranging some conference with Goldsmith’s security details. Not here.
His eyes don’t even linger on Blair for a second. His one focus is Goldsmith, who prizes his hand off Blair and murmurs an apology, promising he’ll be back soon.
He isn’t.
Instead, Isaac reappears and announces that the Prime Minister has had to deal with an urgent situation regarding a man taking asylum in one of the embassies.
Blair slips to the side, watching the half dozen men who have taken over the room. All of them are politicians or lords with a degree of power. She sips her wine, watches.
I watch her, just like I have done for more than a decade and a half.
“How is she?” Isaac’s voice is silk.
“Wishing she was anywhere but here.”
I’m at the side of the room, where I’d only be found if someone looked for me. Isaac knew how to look for me. He knew how to hide himself and not be seen, not until he needed to be.
“She looks thinner.”
“She’s not been eating.”
“How are you?” His hand lands on my back, a matey tap that lingers too long and sends a jolt to my dick.
“Here. Keeping her safe.” Trying to avoid my sister’s phone calls. I’m still not convinced that she didn’t have anything to do with Lennox’s death.
“I’m here for the night.”
I know what he’s saying.
“You know where we’re staying?”
“Charlestown House. Bloomsbury. William’s planning on a night cap there.”
I take my tie off. Put it in my pocket.
“Why’s he had to go?” I didn’t believe the excuse for a moment.
“His father asked for him.”
I shake my head. “His father asked for him?”
“There is a political refugee we’ve just given asylum to. Lord Goldsmith wasn’t convinced William would know how to address it so he wanted to brief him before the morning. And talk to him about Blair.”
Isaac doesn’t look at me.
“He’s seriously going to make a play for her. Even though she’s not interested.”
“She doesn’t need to be interested. I suspect he’s going to make her feel as insecure as possible. Make her think she needs his protection. This isn’t my advice, by the way. This is coming from above.”
“At which point has she given the impression that she doesn’t have her own mind?”
“William Goldsmith wouldn’t notice a woman with her own mind if it crawled out of her head and kicked him in the balls.” Isaac takes a sip from a small elaborate glass that he’s holding. I’ve no doubt it’s whisky.
