A few minutes later, the steep descent into the tunnel under the Thames cuts off the phone. When the car emerges at the other end, the phone is inactive, battery removed, SIM transferred to her purse for disposal along with the other evidence—and the e-ink number plate identifies the car as a different vehicle of the same make and model from the one parked outside the Seaman’s Mission earlier in the evening.

All in all, it’s a good start to an excellent night’s work for the woman who is not called Marianne, and her new patron. But the best is yet to come.

15.

CLUB DEAD

“AH, MR. SMITH! HOW GOOD TO SEE YOU! CAN I OFFER YOU something to drink?” asks the banker.

“I don’t think so.” George sits down, uninvited, in the visitor’s chair opposite Sir David Finch’s desk. He wears an overcoat and leather gloves over a sober suit. Sir David is clearly unnerved by Old George’s unheralded appearance in his inner office—his PA didn’t put informal visit by major investor anywhere in his daily schedule, and it is in any case late enough that he was about to leave for home. “I’d just like to keep this quick, Sir David. My request the other week—did you act on it?”

“Your request? Oh, the off-site meeting? Hmm.” Sir David frowns, and taps his fingers. “I’ll have to ask Sandra what happened to it. I don’t recall attending . . . no.” He pauses, about to touch the intercom on his desk. “Do you mind?”

“Be my guest.” It’s delivered with an ironic half smile, but something about Old George’s manner gives Sir David the very peculiar feeling that perhaps he is here in this office by George’s grace and favor.

“Thank you.” Sir David pushes the intercom button. “Sandra?”

A couple of seconds pass. “Sir?” His PA’s response is tardy, annoying. She’s new on the job this past week while his regular, Andrea, is off sick.

“The off-site meeting I asked for with Oscar Menendez and his team . . . what happened to it?”

“Let me check? Oh I’m sorry, Sir David, there seems to have been some sort of scheduling problem. I’ve been trying to arrange a mutually convenient time for everyone, but there’s a logjam in the calendar system: Mr. Menendez is on some sort of secondment right now, and his team are either off sick, on vacation, or also on secondments. All of them! It’s most irregular and I’m trying to get to the bottom of it but HR say it’s entirely . . .”

Sir David meets Old George’s quizzical stare. “Thank you, Sandra,” he says. “That will be all.” He hesitates for a moment. “I won’t be needing you anymore this evening, you can go home now.” He releases the call button. “Well?”

Old George nods to himself, but holds his counsel.