Page 177 of The Love Letter

‘Thank you.’ He walked to the heavy oak-panelled door and knocked.

‘Warburton! Do come in, old chap.’

‘Hello, sir.’ Simon wasn’t surprised to see Jenkins grinning at him like a schoolboy from behind the huge desk. ‘Fancy meeting you here.’

‘Want a drink? Been a bit of a rollercoaster day, as you can imagine. Sorry to see the old boy gone, but I have to admit we’re all a little relieved downstairs. Sir Henry would hang in here. We all indulged him, of course, but I’ve been effectively doing his job for years. Not that I’d want that to go out of this office, of course. There we go.’ Jenkins handed him a tumbler of brandy. ‘Your health.’

‘To your new position?’ Simon raised an eyebrow questioningly as they clinked glasses.

Jenkins tapped his nose. ‘You’ll have to wait for the official announcement.’

‘Congratulations.’ Simon looked at his watch. ‘Sorry to hurry you, sir, but I’m leaving tonight for my sabbatical and I still haven’t been home to pack yet. Why did you want to see me?’

‘Let’s sit down.’ Jenkins indicated the leather chairs in a corner of the room. ‘The thing is, there’s no doubt you fully deserve your holiday, after that, er, little upset. But it just so happens we might have a job for you whilst you’re abroad. And I don’t wish to alert anyone else to the situation, given its delicacy.’

‘Sir, I—’

‘Monica Burrows has gone AWOL. We know she flew back to the States the day after the Welbeck Street affair, because passport control in Washington have a record of her entry. But so far, she has not turned up at her office.’

‘Surely, sir, if she’s returned to the States, then she’s no longer our responsibility? We can’t be accountable for the fact she’s decided to go home?’

‘True, but are you absolutely sure she had no idea what it was all about?’

‘I’m certain,’ Simon said firmly.

‘Even so, under the circumstances, I’m uncomfortable about information of such a sensitive nature escaping across the Atlantic. The last thing we need after all this is loose ends.’

‘I can understand that, but rest assured there are none.’

‘Besides that, the CIA want to know what happened to Monica. As a gesture of détente, I promised to send you over to see them. And given you’re heading stateside anyway, I can’t see it’s an issue.’

‘How did you know? I only booked the flight to New York this morning!’

‘I won’t even grace that statement with a response.’ Jenkins raised an eyebrow. ‘Now, given the flight to Washington is a short hop from NYC, for the sake of both the CIA – with whom I hope to maintain a much closer relationship than my predecessor – and for the unfortunate situation that you so expertly handled for us this end, I have to send someone. On all levels, it’s best if it’s you. They’ll want a full debrief of what happened that night, Burrows’ state of mind, et cetera. The good news is, it would mean your entire sabbatical would be all expenses paid – first class all the way. We’ve already upgraded your current ticket and it’s two or three days at most, placating them.’

‘Right.’ Simon swallowed hard. ‘To be honest, sir, I just wanted some time out. Off duty,’ he added firmly.

‘And you will have it. However, once an agent, always an agent. You know the rules of the game, Warburton.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good. Sign for a company credit card on your way out. Don’t go too mad.’

‘I’ll do my best not to, sir.’ Simon put his glass on the table and stood up.

‘And when you return, there’ll be a nice promotion waiting for you.’ Jenkins stood too and shook his hand. ‘Goodbye, Warburton. Keep in touch.’

Jenkins watched Warburton leave the room. He was a talented agent, and both Sir Henry and he had him earmarked for great things. Given the Haslam saga, the chap had certainly shown his mettle. Perhaps a luxury sabbatical would ease the pain. He treated himself to a top-up from Sir Henry’s decanter and surveyed his new domain with pleasure.

Zoe looked at her reflection in the mirror. She tugged at her hair, piled tightly into a French pleat by the hairdresser who had come to her rooms at the palace. ‘Tootight,’ she muttered irritably as she attempted to loosen and soften the style. Her make-up was too heavy as well, so she scrubbed it all off and started again. At least her dress – a sea of Givenchy midnight-blue chiffon – was stunning, even if it was not what she would have chosen herself.

‘I feel like a doll, being all dressed up,’ she whispered miserably to her reflection.

And to cap it all, Art had called her an hour ago to say he was running late at another function. This meant they’d have to rendezvous inside the cinema. Which in turn meant that when she stepped out of the car, she’d have to face the press all alone. And even worse, Jamie had called her, sounding downright miserable. He just wasn’t settling back down at school, finding the jibes of the boys too hard to take.

And besides all that, she had twenty-four hours before she had to say no to Hollywood, and she still hadn’t told Art . . .

‘James, Joanna and Marcus are dead and Simon’s gone!’ she shouted, then sank to the floor in despair, thinking back to yesterday and seeing Simon . . .