little hillock stood a mist-drenched wooden bench, overlooking the river.
Felix was sitting up there. In the dimness of the hazy moon, I could see the bench was empty. Above us, the stars in Orion’s belt shone sagely.
‘Sit down, Sadie,’ he said.
I followed his order. My eyes, adjusting to night vision, perceived a slight sneer on Felix’s face.
I looked around. ‘They’re not here,’ I said simply.
He sniffed, though it sounded more of a snort. ‘It’s me.’
That totally confused me. What was he talking about? I cocked my head to one side, and put my hands on my hips. ‘What do you mean – it’s you?’
‘I’m the one you’ve come to meet.’ His quartz eyes glittered. Shrouded in night, his features had darkened. True, there was still a raffish beauty about them, but now I could fathom a hardness within that I hadn’t noticed before.
A dozen scenarios skipped across my brain. ‘You mean that they can’t make it?’
He tutted and crossed his legs. ‘You don’t get it, do you?’
‘Haven’t got a clue,’ I said lightly, though another feeling was pushing through the confusion, causing the muscles in my neck to tense.
Felix coughed. ‘There isn’t an interviewee. Not entirely my idea.’ He stroked the front of his sweater. ‘Personally I would have preferred somewhere a little more sheltered.’ It was like he was speaking to himself. ‘Just a ruse. To get you out here.’
A black bolt of adrenalin thrilled through me. Was he flirting? No, the tone wasn’t right. He turned to the west, looking out over the river inlet.
‘You said “It’s me,”’ I repeated unsteadily. ‘You mean, you have something to tell me about Hopkins? Is that what you mean?’
Felix snorted again, keeping his eyes on the distant hills. ‘Oh dear,’ he said at last. The words were dripping with so much undisguised contempt that immediately the idea that he intended to volunteer information fell away.
That could only mean one other thing: that he must know about the Phelps’s documentation.
And he could only know about that if he was indeed working for Cutt.
Bugger.
He knew.
And if he knew then it was obvious what this was about. He must suspect I had the passenger list.
There was no point in maintaining the charade. ‘I know what you’re after,’ I said at last.
He swivelled his head to me, lips pursed. ‘You do?’ One eyebrow arched.
I nodded slowly. ‘It wasn’t destroyed.’
‘It wasn’t,’ he said flatly.
‘No.’
‘I didn’t know there was an attempt to destroy it.’
He wanted me to say more but I kept it minimal. ‘You didn’t?’
‘No.’ He looked away. I got the feeling he didn’t want me to see his expression. This was how he regularly conducted his business, I was sure now: call and response. He called, others scampered up to cater to his every whim. His tone had changed so markedly that I could only conclude that our early meetings with the hint of sexual attraction, the cheery bonhomie, the ‘honest’ enthusiasm – had been an elaborate illusion.
Shit.
‘Do you have it?’ he said, still looking off over the far side of the inlet where the river met the south side of the shore.
‘Of course not. I’m not stupid.’ I was struggling with anger and embarrassment. How had I let myself fall for it? I should have known it was all too good to be true – the book offer, the attention, the flirtation …
‘Quite,’ he said. ‘But we will get it. It’s a matter of time.’ It was a simple statement of fact.
Pompous git. ‘You’ll be lucky.’ It felt good to say that. I was back in control. Why not tell him more? See a bit of emotion on that chameleon face. ‘As we speak, it’s on the way to the British Museum. You will not be able to hush it up any longer.’
‘Museum?’ He jerked his head back in my direction and blinked at me. Twice. Then a haughty guffaw of laughter burst from him. He made a dismissive waving motion, as if fanning away a nasty smell. ‘Oh dear.’
The reaction was not one I’d anticipated. For a second I felt like I’d been totally wrong-footed, and made an effort to regain myself. ‘I don’t know why you’re so bothered. Has he come down hard on you? He’s only your boss for goodness sake. You can release me from my contract and I can take it somewhere else. You’re off the hook.’
‘Doesn’t work like that, I’m afraid. Uncle Robert doesn’t like mess.’
‘Cutt’s your uncle?’ I hadn’t seen that one coming.
He didn’t answer my question,