Skye had found the story by scrolling through the replies below the original review. She knew Martyn had been based in New York during the time period mentioned. Every detail was the same except for one: that couple had not been Victoria and Adam.
Martyn stared up at them both, bug-eyed and pale. He looked as if he might be sick.
“What a shame you misplaced them,” he said. “Anyway, great to bump into you both. I should—” He gestured toward Skye, and Victoria slapped a hand to her forehead.
“Of course,” she said. “So sorry to have interrupted your day.”
She picked up her bag, and its strap—which Skye hadsurreptitiously looped over her cocktail glass—snagged, sending it flying into Martyn’s lap.
“Fucking hell!” he exploded, leaping to his feet as quickly as the cast on his foot would allow. The front of his shirt was soaked, and dribbles of blue ran down his trousers.
“Your phone!” Skye gasped, snatching the handset up from the table. “I’ll go and put it in rice,” she said, heading for the door of the bar before Martyn could react. She heard Victoria’s saccharine cry of “Oh no, I hope it doesn’t stain” and suppressed a laugh.
In the cramped, tiled space of the ladies’ bathroom, Skye shut and locked the cubicle door. The phone was dry, unscathed, as she had planned. Her heart pounded as she tapped in Martyn’s pin—the same one he’d used when they first met—a rush of relief flooding through her as the home screen flashed up. Her fingers moved fast, almost of their own accord, clicking into his emails with a surge of anticipation.
There, in a folder marked WORK, she found exactly what she’d been looking for.
Fifty-three
Four emails.
Each one short, precise, no-nonsense. The true owner of the Rolex was apparently far too prominent a business mogul to send correspondence himself and had instead tasked a personal assistant by the name of Caspar Newbolt with the job of contacting Martyn. The message was clear: Return the watch by the date stated or the consequences would be dire. The mogul in question was keen not to involve the authorities or the press, but it was made clear that he would do so if pushed.
Skye skimmed each email, eyes wide, chest constricted, then she forwarded them to her mum. With her own phone, she sent a follow-up text:Check your inbox.
Cassandra MacKinnon was not one to dally. Within three minutes, Skye had received a reply.
Part one of the plan complete. Funds transferred. Be there in 5.
Her breath slowed, steadied. She unlocked the cubicle door and crossed to the sink, washed her hands methodically, smiled back at her reflection in the mirror. A real smile. One of triumph.
Back at the table, Martyn was seated, a wad of blue-stained napkins pressed against his crotch. Victoria had pulled up a third chair, but Adam remained standing. He caught Skye’s eye, and she nodded, just once.
“Must visit the little boy’s room,” he said, sidling away as Skye returned to her chair.
“Give me that,” Martyn snarled, grabbing his phone from her hand.
Victoria’s mouth fell open, but she quickly shut it again.
“I dried it for you,” Skye told Martyn. “Seems to be working fine.”
He ignored her, his head down over the screen. Someone came out to clear the table, and Victoria insisted on ordering another round of drinks.
“It’s the least I can do after drenching you in cocktail,” she said.
Martyn grunted.
“Fine. I’ll have a whiskey—double.”
“Is that a good idea with the painkillers?” Skye began, only to be silenced with a thunderous glare. Victoria began to fidget, her fingers tapping against the tabletop, color rising in her cheeks.
When the waitress returned, so did Adam, his phone pressed to his ear, a studied expression on his face.
“That’s right, Mr. Newbolt. A courier has been arranged. The package will be with you by end of day.”
Martyn paused in the motion of raising his whiskey glass to his lips. It really was fascinating, Skye mused, how often a person’s complexion could change color. In the past half hour, Martyn hadgone from pink to puce to near gray and was now close to being devoid of any discernible shade.
“What’s going on?” he hissed at Skye, as Adam ended the call.
