Present Danger

10

It had been almost two weeks since her arrival, and Liz was finding a rhythm to life, driving to the office each morning and returning against the rush-hour traffic at six – if she was lucky – or at seven or even eight when there was lots to do.

She had settled in to her flat, unpacking the few belongings she had brought with her, which she had supplemented by the odd find at the Saturday flea market, so the place was beginning to look slightly more lived in. Not that she had done it single-handed – one afternoon, Mrs Ryan, Daisy’s childminder, had bearded her in the hall. ‘Would you be needing a cleaner, Miss Carlyle?’

‘I hadn’t really thought.’

Mrs Ryan said, ‘I’d think about it if I were you, miss. You work hard – you’re just as bad as Mrs Spratt. You need to take it easy when you’ve got a minute to relax, like. And not be worrying about washing your smalls and vacuuming your sitting room.’

Liz smiled, seeing the truth of this. ‘Would you know of someone?’

‘I’d do it myself, miss,’ the woman said firmly. ‘It won’t take long at all, and I’ll charge you just the same as I do Mrs Spratt.’

‘Well, if you’re sure you have time—’

Mrs Ryan waved this away with a hand. ‘Time’s the one thing I have got, miss. My poor husband’s been with his maker these last five years, and I’ve only my son Danny to look after, and he’s out at work all day. I’ve more than enough time.’

So now Liz was living in unaccustomed cleanliness and order, which she had to admit to herself was rather pleasant, though she did miss the homely untidiness of her Kentish Town flat. She hadn’t done anything about letting it. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to.

Judith had asked her down to supper, after Daisy was in bed, and the two women had stayed up late, catching up with each other. Liz had reciprocated Judith’s hospitality by cooking a big Sunday lunch for her and Daisy. How eventful Judith’s recent life had been, thought Liz, and how well she had picked herself up from her husband’s disgrace and their failed marriage. What had Liz to report in return? Nothing really, in terms of change to her private life. There was still no one man in her life, no marriage, no children; only the solace of doing work she enjoyed and knew she was good at.

The sole news of Charles she had heard came in a letter from her mother and it was not what she wanted to hear. Her mother and Edward had been to have supper with him, and Charles seemed very well. Her mother went on that Charles was busy again with his garden, and that he had help from one of his neighbours – that nice woman Alison who’d been at the funeral. Alison had also been a big help with the boys, apparently, and Sam, who was not starting boarding until the following September, went every day after school to Alison’s house for his tea and to do his homework until Charles came home from work. Such a good arrangement, wrote Susan Carlyle enthusiastically; it must make life so much easier for Charles. I bet, thought Liz grumpily. I wonder what this Alison woman is getting out of it. There was no mention in her mother’s letter of whether Charles had asked after Liz, which made her not so much grumpy, as sad.

She had explored the city centre extensively, and found that she liked Belfast. There were still plenty of signs of the sectarian divide that had caused the Troubles in the first place – IRA graffiti splashed in paint across a building she drove by each morning, for example – but they seemed like memories of the past rather than evidence of imminent hostilities.

But she thought again about her surroundings after a meeting with Michael Binding. The chief constable was concerned about an increase in activity by breakaway Republican groups. There were signs that policemen, current and retired, were being targeted for assassination. And threats were being made against contractors working for the police, and even against social workers. Binding had said, ‘Ministers are very concerned that all this activity might upset the political balance. It’s been hard enough to get it all in place. If one of these groups succeeds in killing a target, it could endanger the entire peace process.’

He looked worried for the first time. ‘We don’t want to make too many waves, but potential targets are being advised to increase their personal security. And we all of us need to be careful too.’ He looked out of the window as he went on: ‘Make sure that if you take a car from the pool you keep it parked at the garage of your flat, or here in the car park – don’t leave it on the street. The mechanics change the number plates regularly, but we can’t take any chances. And if you detect any sign of surveillance, please report it to A4 and me immediately.’

He turned his head and looked again at Liz with a thin smile. ‘But of course I don’t need to tell you any of this, with all your counter terrorism experience.’

Then why did you? thought Liz, trying her best to smile back.

Binding seemed to remember something, for he said suddenly, ‘By the way, I’ve heard from A4 about that car you drove in from the airport. The wheel was damaged, but they think that’s because you drove on it – the tyre was completely shot.’

‘But what caused the blowout?’

Binding raised both hands in a ‘who knows?’ gesture. ‘It could have been anything. A nail on the road, broken glass, even the way you were driving, I suppose. There wasn’t enough of the tyre left to tell.’

Liz bristled at the suggestion that her driving had caused the blowout. It seemed a gratuitous insult. And how could Binding sound so certain it had just been an accident? But she resisted the urge to challenge him, knowing it would just confirm his view that women were hysterical.