get away with revealing them, the only other place away from the privacy of his own home. At all other times, he had to keep the sleeves rolled down which was a bitch in hot weather. Personally, he liked the ink-work, but he wasn’t a fool and knew the common stigmas that were frequently associated with tattoos. His campaign manager had emphasised some potential supporters still on the fence could perceive them in a less than positive way. He thought his manager was being over-cautious, but at this point every vote mattered and the politician with the tattoos couldn't afford to become complacent. Once he was elected, he could roll his sleeves up, literally. But for now, in public and with elections still on-going, the ink would remain covered.
He pulled on the jacket and tightened his tie, then checked the rest of his office. He had everything he needed. Across the room, the tall windows were shut and locked, long red curtains drawn in front of them. He would be back here in six hours, but that gave him more than sufficient time for a rest and was all he really needed. He used to manage on half or a third of that in his former life, hunkered down in foxholes, bunkers or military camps in dark corners around the world. Six hours was plenty.
Walking around his desk, the man moved to the door and stepped outside, then shut and locked it behind him, the briefcase in his right hand. He stood at the top of stairs, the building around him still and quiet, the only sound the faint ticking of a large grandfather clock downstairs in the reception hall. His offices were above a law firm and an up-and-coming showbusiness agency, so the silence in the building was a welcome contrast to the constant hustle and bustle of the day. He figured there might still be some people in the law offices below, unfortunate souls who were pulling an all-nighter, working hard on cases and scouring legal documents that couldn’t wait until morning. He knew how they'd be feeling. He’d slept here a few times himself on a couch in his office.
Double-checking he had everything, the man turned and moved down the carpeted stairs towards the ground floor. To the right of the front door was a reception desk, and to his surprise, despite the lateness of the hour, his receptionist was still sitting there her head down, hard at work on something, distracted. She was a sweet girl called Jamie, just turned twenty five. She'd knocked on the front door at the beginning of the year asking if there was any work going in the building. She explained that she’d graduated last summer from a well-respected university with a good degree, but unfortunately, with the current state of the economy, such qualifications no longer guaranteed a job in the City, or in any city in fact. The man had liked her instantly, admiring her resourcefulness and after approval from the law firm and the showbiz agency he had offered her a spot running the front desk. She had proven adept at her role, working from morning to night without complaint, juggling the needs of the law firm, the agency and the up-and-coming politician’s office. Altogether, she did a fine job.
Just as the grandfather clock in the hall struck midnight, she sensed him coming down the stairs. She looked up and smiled. There was a pause as both of them waited for the twelve chimes on the clock to pass so they could hear each other speak.
‘Good evening, sir,’ she said, once the building was quiet again, the last chime echoing in the hall.
‘What are you still doing here, Jamie?’ the man asked, stepping onto the marble floor and approaching the desk. ‘It’s late. You should be at home.’
‘I’ve got some exams coming up for my law course. Here’s a good a place to study as any.’
'When are the exams again?’
‘In a couple of weeks.’
‘Well, good luck. I’ll see you tomorrow. Don't stay too late.’
‘Yes, sir. Good night.’
He nodded and moved to the door.
‘Oh, sir?’ she added.
He turned. Jamie reached for something on her desk and held it towards him.
It was a letter.
‘I almost forgot. This arrived for you about an hour ago. I didn’t want to come up and disturb you, but it’s addressed to you personally.’
He frowned and reached over, taking it and examining it in his hand, turning it over and checking both sides.
‘Mail? At this