give away those kind of details,” she said.
Lucy smiled even more sweetly. “It’s really very important that I speak to Susie Drake,” she said. “It’s a matter of life and death. Really very important indeed. If she’s here, and I leave here without giving her the message, and she finds out that’s happened, then . . .”
“Oh, she’s not here,” said the girl, just wanting the lecture to end.
Lucy was already out of the door.
Which left number two: Hampstead Health & Beauty. According to the internet this one had made the news a couple of years ago. A disabled customer had complained about the lack of facilities, and then posted the spa’s dismissive response on Twitter. As a result, the spa had been the subject of a minor Twitterstorm and gained temporary notoriety as a result.
It was on the outskirts of Hampstead and a little bigger than the first. Lucy had left it until second because there was something new-looking about it, but now, reading the website in a little more depth, she saw that it was an established business that had relocated.
Yes, this could be the place. She dearly hoped it was. If not then she was perilously short on ideas.
She took a look around the small car park before realizing she hadn’t the foggiest what she was supposed to be looking for anyway: BMWs, Mercedes, a Porsche. Normal rich-person’s status symbols. None of them with a flashing sign on top saying “I belong to Susie Drake.”
Right, she told herself. Let’s go. Before leaving home she’d retrieved her SIG from the chimney breast where it lived, out of sight but available if needed, and holstered it inside the waistband of the jeans she was wearing, pulling a thick cable-knit turtleneck sweater over the top. She reached to the weapon now, feeling the butt against the palm of her hand and taking reassurance from it as she climbed out of her Mini and strode toward the spa building.
The entranceway was flanked by two perfectly trimmed potted conifers in brushed-metal vases. The kind of landscaping that said money. Lucy stepped in, wishing she’d spent a little more time on her appearance before she’d left the house; pleased, at the very least, that her jeans were cut right and the sweater she wore was expensive.
Sure enough, the reception area had the scent of luxury. Behind the desk stood—not sat, stood—a receptionist, while on a sofa nearby sat a woman wearing dark glasses and tailored clothes, a phone to her ear.
As Lucy approached the desk the receptionist looked up, and Lucy was about to speak when from the corner of her eye she saw that the sofa woman was looking at her. Not at her. Her face wasn’t turned Lucy’s way. But from the angle Lucy could just see behind the huge shades she wore and the woman’s eyes were glued on Lucy.
It was probably nothing, but it was enough to make Lucy change her plan of action.
“Hi,” smiled the receptionist, who in a place this swanky was probably called a “greeter.” Lucy checked hard for signs the greeter thought she wasn’t the right type to be hanging around the reception area of Hampstead Health & Beauty, but either she made the grade or the receptionist was a courtesy Jedi. “How can I help you?”
“I was hoping to have a look around,” said Lucy.
The greeter’s face fell. “Oh,” she said, stitching on a sympathetic look and indicating the woman who was on her phone, hidden behind glasses, “this lady is also waiting for a tour. Did you want—”
“Well, I was hoping I might just have a quick look around by myself.”
“Ah, it’s not really our—”
“Look,” said Lucy, “the truth is that a friend of mine has already had the grand tour and she was totally impressed, and I’m pretty sure that it’s a done deal that we’ll be joining, and—”
The greeter’s smile froze just a little. “You apply for membership.”
“Sorry, yes, that’s what I meant,” amended Lucy, who was amused to hear that her own voice had taken on posh tones. “Applying for membership is exactly what I meant. But prior to us doing that I need to check . . . Well, you see, my daughter is visually impaired and I need to make sure she’ll be able to use the facilities.”
Now the greeter’s face really did freeze. Lucy could see that she was being assessed. Was this a joke? Some kind of test?
Lucy kept it innocent, played it cool. “It’s really just the quickest look that I need