‘Is there a Mr Moulage?’

‘There’s never been a Mr Moulage. I changed my name for me. I used the Mrs as I was operating in an era where I needed it. Men bothered me less, women liked me more.’

The lift doors opened and we walked to the Mandarin Oriental main entrance. Mrs Moulage turned to the cheery-looking uniformed doorman. ‘Taxi, please.’

‘Certainly, madam.’ He headed out into the cold.

‘You’ll need to keep your wits about you at the shoot. The Coyote is unlikely to attack without a fleet of Ghosts behind him.’

‘I know. It’s not going to be easy.’

The doorman opened the door with a flourish. ‘One’s here, madam.’ He led the way with his arm.

We walked out together and stood at the top of the steps.

‘If they come for her’ – Mrs Moulage touched a hand to my face – ‘you knock ’em dead, sweetie.’ She walked down the steps and got into the back of the waiting black cab. ‘You knock ’em dead,’ she repeated as she pulled shut the door.

‘Nothing like a pep talk from your mum, is there?’ said the doorman as we watched the taxi drive away.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Two

‘WHO’S FREDERICK?’ Will was in the kitchen waving my phone at me. He must have arrived back from the office while I was upstairs changing.

‘I work with him, and funnily enough his daughter is at nursery with Gigi. You know Florence? The sweet, quiet one?’ I walked over to Will and took the phone out of his hand. ‘Why? What’s he saying?’

‘I just saw something about a password for a phonics website.’

That message was sent a day ago during the Platform Eight invasion.

‘You’ve been going through my messages?’

I thought with a start how lucky it was I’d deleted the many post-funfair WhatsApp messages from Shona and Frankie grilling me on Frederick.

Will shrugged. ‘I was bored waiting for the kettle to boil. You seem to get a lot of junk mail.’

‘Sorry my phone doesn’t have more interesting information for you.’ Whereas I thought going through Will’s phone would be an admission that I didn’t trust him, he clearly had no such qualms.

‘Come on, finish that coffee, we need to go.’

Will gulped it down and followed me out the kitchen. ‘So where are you taking me?’

Anita, our neighbour’s nineteen-year-old daughter, was already slumped on the sofa in the sitting room with Geordie Shore playing loudly on the television.

‘The hottest ticket in town.’ I handed him a leaflet.

He looked down at it: Ms Yvonne’s Introduction to the Early Learning Syllabus.

‘Are you kidding me? This is what we’ve booked a babysitter for? Why do I have to come?’