‘We know who he is,’ said Ana. ‘We’ve all seen him.’
‘Have I?’ asked Cathy, confused.
‘Yes, darling, outside the Spanish Embassy – dark-haired, rather dishy.’
‘You mean … He’s just a photographer,’ said Sabira, colouring.
‘Yes, but we’ve all seen the way he looks at you.’
‘He means nothing to me.’
‘So you are seeing him!’ Ana was triumphant.
‘No, of course not!’
‘It’s funny how you always seem to be wearing more make-up when he’s around.’
‘If I wore as much make-up as you I’d suffocate,’ Sabira replied, draining her wine. She had yet to master the subtle art of English sarcasm. The joke fell flat.
‘You’re supposed to sip that,’ said Ana, pointing to the glass. ‘It’s a Montrachet, not potato vodka.’
Sabira meant to slap her face, but in the process Ana’s earring came loose somehow and gashed her left cheek. Ana yelped as she saw the smear of blood on her fingers. As the others came to her aid, Sabira realized that none of them would take her side. Dipping her napkin in her water glass, she tried to help but Ana slapped her hand aside. ‘Get away from me,’ she hissed. ‘Go back to the pig farm where you were raised.’
‘If I’d been raised like a pig I’d still have better manners than any of you,’ she said, rising sharply. Her chair went back and the shoulder bag she had draped over it fell to the floor, spilling papers.
Ana looked down, clutching at her face. ‘What the hell are you doing with my husband’s private correspondence?’ she said.
And that was when all hell broke loose.
‘She’s done it again,’ said Meera Mangeshkar, running into the office. ‘And this time it’s on Sky News.’ She reached over and opened a fresh screen on Longbright’s computer. ‘She attacked the same woman over lunch. Two security guards just took her away.’
‘That looks like Fortnum and Mason,’ said Longbright. ‘I made a shoplifting arrest there once.’ As she watched, a red banner rolled across the footage: ‘Home Office official’s wife in restaurant brawl’. ‘They’ll have taken her to West End Central in Savile Row.’
‘No,’ said Mangeshkar. ‘I called them. She’s been driven to the Home Office. This is serious.’
‘One of us needs to be there as an independent observer,’ said Longbright. ‘You’d better tell John.’
May arrived in Victoria forty minutes later and found that Sabira Kasavian had been taken to a private room on the ground floor of the building opposite her husband’s department. The trapezoid of grey concrete in which he found himself was far less welcoming than the airy glass atrium it faced. The staff security passes had jumped a couple of grades.
‘You can’t see her at the moment,’ warned the scrubbed young man who came out to find him. ‘This is out of your jurisdiction.’
‘You’re Andy Shire, aren’t you?’ said May, squinting at the laminated ID pinned on the security official’s breast pocket. ‘We met with the Police Commissioner a few months back.’ May was owed a favour after he had helped Shire locate a suspected arsonist.
‘I remember,’ said Shire, ‘but I still can’t give you access.’
‘I can obtain written permission from Sabira’s husband if need be. Why wasn’t she taken to West End Central?’
‘I think you know the answer to that one, John. In matters of national security we override the police.’
‘The PCU isn’t part of the Met, it’s a Home Office unit, so we’re working on your side. I’m just trying to understand why she was brought here. I don’t want to have to ask Oskar. I know he’s got a lot on his plate right now.’
Shire knew that his boss would complain if his staff failed to shield him from unnecessary interruptions. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘It appears a number of sensitive papers were found on her when she was removed from the restaurant. We don’t yet know if they were taken from this building.’
‘You mean she’s going to be held on a spying charge?’
‘We’re trying to ascertain the importance of the documents at the moment. If she took them without authorization, it looks as if this is going to fall under the Terrorism Investigation Act. You interviewed her, so I assume you know she’s still in contact with her Russian ex-boyfriend.’
‘No, I didn’t,’ he admitted. ‘How is she?’
‘She came in here kicking and screaming, having a real panic attack. It looked like a full-blown psychotic episode to me. Her doctor gave her a sedative and she’s feeling a little better now, but she keeps calling for her husband. He’s still in a meeting.’