in spite of her sangfroid demeanour, she still felt the twitch of shock fire up in her muscles at his words. She had never met anyone like him before. She was used to angry men – commandos and marines, rebel fighters, dictators, fundamentalists, bigots, misogynists. Everyone out with something to prove. Generosity of spirit wasn’t something she’d encountered much before. His was the very opposite of a war-zone mentality.
‘. . . So what now, then?’ he asked.
‘Ugh . . . I’m not sure.’ She repositioned her kitten hat, fidgeting, feeling completely at a loss. She’d been so sure she had a new purpose, so sure she could deliver on it. But standing here . . . She could stand here 24/7 for a month and still not see anyone she recognized; and even if she did, they still might be entirely unconnected to the book and the message.
His brow furrowed. ‘Well, how did you envision this going?’
‘I didn’t. I thought I’d just . . . know when I got here.’ She bit her lip.
‘And that’s worked for you before, has it?’
‘I like to work off my instincts, yes.’ She ignored his sarcasm as she looked around the square again. ‘But I’ll admit I was hoping the book had been left somewhere . . . smaller.’
‘Yes. That would have been helpful.’
They stood on the cobbles together, watching people cycle past, a woman struggling with a bag of shopping, everyone bundled up in heavy coats, hats and scarves, going on to somewhere else. She looked up sharply, wondering if there were CCTV cameras, but she knew she had no power to access the footage, regardless.
‘Well, do you want to just . . . wait it out, then?’ he asked. ‘See who goes by?’
‘I suppose so, but—’ She shivered. ‘It’s just so cold. I can’t believe it’s not snowing.’
‘It is in Friesland.’ He looked around, blowing on his own hands to keep warm. ‘Let’s get a coffee. We can watch from over there, surely?’
He led her towards a cafe. It was tiny and unprepossessing, with a brown awning and only two windows facing onto the square; but it did give directly onto the statue. There was plenty of seating outside, but the wind was far too bitter for anyone to endure today, and there were a few bar stools by a bench along the windows to sit at indoors.
‘How do you like your coffee?’ he asked as she shrugged off her tartan coat.
‘Strong and black,’ she said absently, throwing her coat over some stools. She looked around for the loos and saw the ladies signposted behind the corner. ‘I’ll be right back. Just keep an eye on my coat?’ she added as she passed, even though there was only one other customer in there. She rounded the wall – and collided headlong with a man rushing towards her. For a moment it seemed as though nothing happened at all; time itself seemed suspended. But then she heard something crash to the floor, she felt hands on her arms, brown eyes on hers – and the cafe receded . . .
Brown eyes. White teeth.
‘Right, it’s looking good,’ Cunningham said in a low voice, coming back over, his shades back down again. Lee straightened up. She had been sitting in a crouch, capturing the boys as they began playing football again, the mothers sitting as still as chess pieces in the narrow strip of shade, protecting, feeding the babies. None of them seemed to mind the intrusion of her camera now. They were Moussef’s friends.
‘He says the girls are in an abandoned building on the fringes of the village. They’re intending on pushing for the border tonight, so we don’t have the luxury of time. It’s now or never.’
He looked at her and she nodded, knowing what he was asking. They both knew this story would be huge, global . . . and he had to be the one to break it. He’d made his career on just such scoops as this. But might he finish on it too? Nothing would ever top this, and with sixty beginning to loom on his horizon, even he couldn’t keep doing this forever. They both knew a time was coming when he would have to hang up his boots and retire to a life of feathered luxury and lie-ins, daunting and unwelcome though that might be. Had he faced up to there being another world to this one they knew? Had she?