‘Harry doesn’t have time,’ Holly said bleakly. ‘That’s the one thing I just can’t afford to do.’

Tom held her gaze for another moment and then shook his head and bade her goodbye. As she watched him leave, she ruminated on all he’d told her. She might have a few more of the puzzle pieces in her possession now, but she still had no idea how to put them together.

46

Charlie, unable to face a lonely weekend in Willowbury with no Holly to lighten his days, got back on the train to London on Friday morning. It was supposed to be his constituency surgery day, but he’d cried off, making his excuses to Helen, his office manager and case worker, that he had a cold. He was pretty sure she didn’t believe him, but at that point he didn’t care. He just had to get out.

He spent the day hiding out in his office, but when he couldn’t face the four walls any longer, and still unable to endure being in the Farringdon flat alone, he headed to the bar. He wasn’t a habitual visitor to the bar, needing to keep a clear head in his first few months in the job, and feeling like an interloper at times in this very well-established club. Tonight, however, he didn’t want to go back to his poky flat and brood, yet again, on all that he had done, all that he had lost. So he figured he might as well do the brooding in the bar, instead.

Grabbing a double whisky, he seated himself in one corner, where he could observe the comings and goings without being too conspicuous himself. As he was checking AllFeed, once more on his phone, he didn’t notice the shadow falling across his table until it was too late.

‘Well, you’ve really fucked this one up, haven’t you?’ The voice of Cora Mellish, Secretary of State for Health, cut into his thoughts as Charlie put down his phone hurriedly. As Cora thudded down into the chair opposite him, a drink in her hand, he wished he had just buggered off back to the flat.

‘Hello, Minister,’ Charlie said wearily. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’

Cora took a long sip of the gin and tonic she’d brought with her and seemed to be letting Charlie stew. Having nothing else to do but drink, he continued to do so. The Scotch was having a warming effect on his body, even if his bones felt perennially cold since all of this had started.

After making him sweat for a moment longer, finally, Cora put down her own drink. ‘Indecisiveness is probably the worst trait a politician can have, you know,’ she said conversationally. ‘And public indecisiveness is even worse.’

‘You saw that car crash of an interview with Ruth Middleton, then?’