had used Bart and Jacintha as human shields, hiding behind a fake smile and limp insincerity just as she had that day on the cobbles with Cunningham and his doll-wife. It was amazing how effective manners could be as a deterrent, holding people back behind an invisible line.
She realized Matt had asked her something. ‘I’m sorry, what? It’s so loud in here.’
‘I said, what are you doing after this?’ He was grinning confidently. ‘We could go on somewhere.’
‘Um—’
‘I want to see you again, Lee,’ he pressed. ‘We had fun, didn’t we?’
‘Yes, the thing is . . .’ She became aware of a distant buzzing. She pressed her arm closer to her body, squeezing the bag on her shoulder, and realized it was her phone ringing.
Was it the babysitter? Had something happened with Jasper? ‘I’ve got to take this. I’ll catch up with you,’ she said, pressing the phone to her ear and turning her back on Matt’s puppy-dog eyes. ‘Yes, hello?’
‘. . . ear me?’ The voice was almost indistinct over the noise of the crowd.
‘Brigit?’
‘. . . you there?’
‘Who is this? . . . I’m sorry, I can’t hear a thing! . . . Is it you, Brigit? Is Jasper okay?’ But it was futile: the ambient noise level in the gallery was just too loud to hear anything. ‘Just wait . . . let me move to another room,’ she said, pushing through the crowd with apologetic nods and smiles, heading towards the office at the back. ‘Don’t go . . . Are you there?’ She pushed through the doors, but even in the office there was no refuge. The caterers had set up service in there. ‘Brigit? Is everything okay?’
‘Fitch? It’s me.’ The voice was suddenly clear in her ear – right there, as though she could reach out and touch him.
‘Cunningham?’ she cried, just as she pushed open the fire door and fell out into the small courtyard at the back. The cold night air hit her like a brick and she gasped at the biting temperature. ‘Harry? Are you there?’
The line was bad again, static fading in and out. ‘I’m . . . on a . . . in . . . leppo . . .’
She pressed the phone as hard as she could to her ear, not that there was anything to hear. ‘Harry? Can you hear me? The line’s so bad.’
‘. . . my letter . . . Have to know if . . .’
‘What letter? . . . Harry, I can’t hear what you’re saying! You’re breaking up!’ She pressed the phone harder to her ear and stared up at the moon, willing the satellites somewhere up there beside it to bounce down a better signal. ‘Can you hear me? Harry? . . . Look, just come back, okay? Whatever it is you think you’ve got to do, just don’t. Don’t do it. Just come back.’
But he was already gone, the line as fragile as a spiderweb. She stared at the useless phone. ‘No!’ she cried, kicking at a stone flower-pot and immediately regretting it in her open-toed heels. ‘Fuck! Fuck-fuck-fuck!’
She sank down in a ball, sitting on her heels, her hands scrunched into fists and pushed into her eye sockets. How long had he been trying to get hold of her in there for? How long had the phone been ringing, her talking to journalists and actors and drinking champagne whilst he sat in some rebel stronghold in one of the most volatile and dangerous pockets on earth?
That couldn’t be it. She had got nothing from him. Not a location, a reason for being there . . . ‘Fuck,’ she whispered again, sighing heavily several times and trying to calm herself down. She had to think clearly.
He would call back as soon as he could; she knew that. She’d been on the other side of calls like that enough times to know he would move somewhere with a better signal and try again. She dropped her face in her hands, feeling depleted, wanting to cry, knowing she wouldn’t. ‘Damn you, Harry,’ she whispered to herself, hearing the crack in her voice.
She sat there for several moments more, trying to still her wildly beating heart, knowing she couldn’t stay out here, knowing she had to go back in there and deal with all those guests. It was too cold to remain outside, for one thing.
Slowly she rose and turned to go back in. But she hadn’t taken a step when she froze.