Paparazzi by Jo Fenton (best free e reader .txt) 📕

“I know, dear. But even at University, you had some interesting experiences, didn’t you?”

I don’t bother asking how she knows. I presume these people do their research.

“You mentioned two reasons. What was the other?”

“Anxiety, dear. You were expecting trouble. It made it twice as likely to descend upon you. Yes, I’m sure that man was just an example of an unpleasant traveller, but perhaps because of the purpose of your journey, you magnified it into a melodrama.” She must notice the mortified look on my face, as she continues, “Don’t worry about it. I know you’ve had a tough year. It won’t jeopardise what we have in mind for you. Indeed, your anxiety and observational skills make you an excellent candidate.”

Despite her protestations, I’m still unconvinced that the man on the train was not planted there, to elicit some kind of response. But I don’t argue. There are more important questions.

“So what do you want me to do?”

“Just some training for the moment, dear. I know you’ve had a decent training in the police force, which will of course be useful. However, there are a few skills that you should learn in addition. Your friend’s son, Will: I understand he’s an experienced hacker?”

“Yes, I believe so. All legal, as far as I’m aware.”

“Of course. He’s a nice young man. We have vetted him. Obviously with his father being the unsavoury character that he is, Will could have gone either way. However, he seems to have followed in his mother’s footsteps in terms of integrity and intelligence.”

“Why don’t you bring him in, if he’s someone you could trust?”

“Oh, my dear, we are doing. Roger is interviewing both Joanna and Will today, and will fill them in on what they need to know – including the need for Will to share his knowledge with you both.” She pauses. “There is another skill I would like you to acquire for me, which I would prefer you not to discuss with anyone other than your husband, who is of course one of our trusted operators. I understand you’re good at languages?”

“I was at school.”

“Excellent. It’s a flair that rarely disappears. The languages themselves fade, but the ability to learn does not.” She fishes in a handbag that was on the floor nearby, and hands me an envelope. “No need to open it just now. It contains access codes for you to learn a certain language for free. You have six months, in which I need you to become fluent in Russian.”

Chapter Thirty

Leaving the flat some ten minutes later, I’m bemused. I travelled all the way to London to be asked to learn hacking skills from Will, and to learn Russian from a computer program. They gave no explanations. No questions were really asked. I don’t think ‘How was your journey?’ and ‘I understand you’re good at languages’ count as a rigorous interview. Sylvia reimbursed me for the taxi from Euston. She totally understood my reasons and respected my urge to safety. I forgot to mention the cash that Roger gave me, and now have a few moments of guilt until I resolve to return it to him next time we meet.

“One must always do what’s necessary to get the job done, and that involves staying safe. Most agents do not need to put their lives at risk, but all would do so if required to complete a mission.” She’d looked at me keenly, and must have seen something to reassure her, for she then seemed to relax.

As I walk the distance back to the Tube station I keep my eyes wide open, but spot nothing suspicious. I’m not keen to take risks just yet, and still have another appointment to get to. Time is getting a bit tight, and I’m relieved that the Tube is regular, and not too overcrowded. It’s now quarter to four.

Dan is already in Starbucks when I arrive, a fashionable but slightly stressful five minutes late. There are two coffee cups in front of him. He stands up to greet me, and pulls me into a huge and very welcome hug.

“Becks! How are you? I got you a cappuccino. I know you’re in a rush.”

“Thanks Dan. You’re a lifesaver. I probably need to go in fifteen minutes. You know I hate being late.”

We spend a pleasant quarter of an hour catching up on the usual sort of news that old friends discuss, focussed mainly on him. It’s relaxing to listen to him chatter about new furniture, and his and Gray’s new chocolate-brown Labrador puppy. We’ll save the important stuff for later.

He promises to wait in Starbucks for me. He’s going to take me back to his house afterwards. Gray’s cooked dinner and left it in the oven for us both. Far better than a busy restaurant for a private chat.

***

The record company is accessed through a smart building near King’s Cross station. I report in at a reception desk on the ground floor, and they send me up in a lift to the fifth floor. I’m greeted there by a youngish, harassed-looking man in his early thirties, wearing black jeans and a shirt and tie.

“Becky White?” He looks inquiringly at me, so I smile and nod. He has a good firm handshake, but forgets to introduce himself.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“I’m Vic, Victor Casey, Troy’s producer. Shall we go into my office?”

I follow him into a large, modern, well-lit space with its own coffee machine on the wide window ledge. He offers me a coffee, which I decline (having just finished one), and we sit opposite each other on either side of the oak desk. I fold my coat and place it on the carpeted floor next to me.

“What did you want to know? Your man who rang and arranged this said you needed some background about Troy and the band.”

“Yes. How did you meet them? How well do you know them?” That will do for starters.

“I saw