Two
Thursday 3rd September
‘In the red or the black?’
The shop assistant had a Jimmy Choo in each hand, and I was torn. Both pairs were beautiful. Should I go classic black for work, or sparkly red for client drinks? Which was also… work. I could always buy the black now and come back for the red. But would I? The clock was ticking, and I couldn’t decide.
‘I’ll take them both,’ I said, and her eyes widened. I was on a Zoom call in twenty-three minutes and didn’t have time to mess around.
She placed the stilettos in their marbled grey boxes, wrapping each one in silver tissue, then skipped off to the cash desk to ring them up.
I ran out the back of Selfridges and across Portman Square, grabbing a sashimi plate from the food hall to eat at my desk. The bronze gargoyle on our office door grimaced as I typed in my passcode and pushed my way in.
‘Back already?’ Pete called from behind reception as I whizzed past.
‘No lunch for the wicked,’ I replied. ‘Well, just some quick sushi.’
‘Sushi Sara – isn’t that a restaurant in Liverpool Street?’ he said with a chuckle.
I checked my watch in the lift and ripped off the plastic lid. Five minutes to quickly scoff. It was a shame to ruin these tiny works of art. Each piece had been carefully sliced and shaped, using delicate flavours and different textures to justify the twenty-quid charge. I squirted a piece of tuna with soy sauce as I sped down the corridor.
‘You’re on this call, Sara!’ Antony shouted from his office.
‘I know. One minute,’ I replied, mouth full of fish.
Antony Taylor was a stickler for the clock. We were charged out in fifteen-minute slots at eye-wateringly high rates, so every second was important. But I hadn’t been late for a meeting in six years and today wouldn’t be any different. I was back at my desk and logged in with one minute to go. Ready, waiting and on time.
I paused for a second to check my reflection. No kimchi in my teeth. Nate had done a lovely job on my weekly blow-dry, but my ginger roots were starting to twinkle. Invisible to the untrained eye, I could always spot them sneaking up on my darker bottle-auburn. The screen dissolved to show Antony next to the leathery face of Danny Jackson, who was sat by his pool in Mauritius looking as smug as ever.
‘Are you there?’ he barked, squinting hard.
‘Yes, Mr Jackson. You’ve got Sara and Antony from CSH.’
‘CSH – just missing an A.’ He snorted with laughter and took a slurp of his cocktail. ‘Can’t beat a pina colada. Or as I like to call it – the taste of freedom.’
‘How are you, Danny?’ Antony asked.
‘Can’t complain – the food is a marked improvement on Wormwood Scrubs. Nah. Let’s get serious for a second. You guys were expensive, but your work was very much appreciated. Thank you for saving my arse. Again.’
‘There was a lot of circumstantial evidence when it came down to it,’ I said. ‘The prosecution didn’t have enough of a case.’
‘That’s because you tore it apart piece by piece,’ he said. ‘Don’t think I don’t know how lucky I was to have you in my corner. If there’s ever anything I can do to show my gratitude – on or off the record—’ he winked. ‘—don’t hesitate to ask.’
‘That’s very kind of you, Mr Jackson, thank you.’ The mind boggled at the kind of favours he could pull.
‘Danny, please. And success breeds success,’ he continued. ‘I’ve got another piece of business for you. Friend of mine – Micky Moo. He’s had a run-in with the blues, and I’ve recommended you lot for the job. Kinda member-get-member ain’t it? Do you do a referral scheme? Stamp my loyalty card?’ He laughed again.
‘Is Mr Moo under arrest?’ I asked, googling on a side window.
‘Sorry, sweetheart. First name Micky, last name Maloney. Another case of false accusation I’m afraid,’ Danny said, shaking his head. ‘There’s a lot of it about.’
My screen filled with red-top headlines.Magpie Maloney caught red-handed. Diamond geezer fails diamond heist.His mugshot showed a chunky man with perfect teeth, in a sharp brown suit.
‘He’s in the clink at Scotland Yard, no less. Can you pay him a visit and put it on my account?’
‘Consider it done. Any background you can share?’ Antony asked.
‘He’s an old man with a diamond fetish and he ran into some trouble down Leather Lane by all accounts. Stood in the wrong place at the wrong time when a loot kicked off in the jewellery quarter and it didn’t end pretty.’
