Oh my God. Oh my God. No.

“But then, my languages have always been hopeless,” she adds comfortably. “I’m not talented in that department, not like you!”

I flash her a little smile and keep walking, without missing a step. But I can hardly breathe. Shit. What am I going to do? What the fuck am I going to do?

We turn a corner and begin to walk calmly down another corridor. And I’m doing pretty well. As long as we just keep walking, I’m OK.

“Was Finnish a hard language to learn?” asks Jill.

“Not that hard,” I hear myself saying in a scratchy voice. “My . . . my father’s half Finnish.”

“Yes, I thought it must be something like that,” says Jill. “I mean, it’s not the sort of thing you learn at school, is it?” And she gives a jolly little laugh.

It’s all right for her, I think desperately. She’s not the one being led to her death. Oh God, this is terrible. People keep passing us and glancing at me and smiling, as if to say “So that’s the Finnish-speaker!”

Why did I put I was fluent in Finnish? Why?

“All right?” says Jill. “Not nervous?”

“Oh no!” I say at once, and force a grin onto my face. “Of course I’m not nervous!”

Maybe I’ll be able to busk it, I think suddenly. I mean, the guy won’t conduct the whole bloody interview in Finnish, will he? He’ll just say “Hašallø,” or whatever it is, and I’ll say “Hašallø” back, and then before he can say anything else, I’ll quickly say, “You know, my technical Finnish is a bit rusty these days. Would you mind if we spoke in English?” And he’ll say . . .

“Nearly there,” says Jill, and smiles at me.

“Good,” I say brightly, and clasp my sweaty hand more tightly round my briefcase handle. Oh God. Please save me from this. Please . . .

“Here we are!” she says, and stops at a door marked “Conference Room.” She knocks twice, then pushes it open. There’s a roomful of people sitting round a table, and they all turn to look at me.

“Jan Virtanen,” she says. “I’d like you to meet Rebecca Bloomwood.”

A bearded man rises from his chair, give me a huge smile, and extends his hand.

“Neiti Bloomwood,” he says cheerfully. “Nautin erittain paljon tapaamisestamme. Onko oiken, etta teilla on jonkinlainen yhteys Suomeen?”

I stare speechlessly at him. My face is glowing, as though I’m consumed with happiness. Everyone in the room is waiting for me to answer, I’ve got to say something.

“I . . . erm . . . erm . . . Hašallø!” I lift my hand in a friendly little wave and smile around the room.

But nobody smiles back.

“Erm . . . I’ve just got to . . .” I start backing away. “Just got to . . .”

I turn. And I run.

Eleven