Why should she have to eat crow because Lin had a shitty boss? Lin had chosen to work for Freshview. Presumably the advantages of her position outweighed the downsides.
But Lin looked over her shoulder again, shifting on her feet.
She’d intervened during the lunch, redirecting Andrew’s attention, even if Renee could have wished the intervention had come sooner. Renee owed her.
“Yes,” echoed Renee. “I’ll come.”
She shrugged on her coat, belting it at the waist. The three of them walked back to the restaurant together, in silence.
26
Helen Daley oftheHornbill Gazettelived in a rectangular white building in West London. The nearest station was Bayswater; the nearest Malaysian restaurant five minutes’ walk away.
“Little Malaysia,” said Ket Hau, looking up at the building. “You think she moved here before or after the Interpol notice?”
Ket Siong couldn’t help feeling relieved at this sign of life. Ket Hau hadn’t been himself since he’d told them the secret he had been keeping for Stephen. As though, along with the burden of secrecy, he had felt himself released from the obligation to pretend he was OK.
That was probably a good thing on the whole, even if a Ket Hau who wasn’t perpetually cracking jokes didn’t feel right.
It had taken him a while to agree to meeting Helen Daley. Ket Siong and Ma had decided it was worth doing long before he was won over. Daley’s position meant she received information from all kinds of sources. There were rumblings, she’d told Ket Siong, of an impending downfall of the Sarawak state premier. An accumulation of scandals and the unexpected departure of several allies meant his grip on power was loosening. The state elections were coming up. All that was needed was something to tip the balance.
If she was able to talk to Ket Hau, she thought that might help. She’d supplied her home address:
I can give you a cup of tea and a biscuit.
When Ket Siong showed the message to Ket Hau, he looked at it in silence for a long moment.
“What does she think I know?” he said.
Ket Siong shrugged. “There’s one way to find out.” He tapped the screen. “Look at the address.”
“St. Stephens Mansions.” Ket Hau laughed. “You think it’s a sign?”
There was a part of Ket Siong that did believe that. “She’s trying to show we can trust her.”
“OK,” said Ket Hau. “When are we going?”
They ended up going on a Sunday, after Mass. They sat at Helen Daley’s dining table while she made them tea in her kitchen.
The flat was cosy in a slightly worn, very British way. The kitchen had bottle-green tiles on the walls and a handsome range cooker, the handles draped with the sort of tea towels to be found in National Trust gift shops, faded from use. The place was stuffed with furniture (Ket Siong had already banged his knee on two different side tables). There were kilim rugs on the floors, art on the walls, and stacks of books, magazines, journals, and newspapers on every flat surface. Nothing was from IKEA.
Helen Daley was a brisk middle-aged woman with penetrating blue eyes and flyaway brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. She spoke well and carried herself with a supreme but unfussy self-confidence, like the headmistress of a good girls’ school. It was easy to imagine her at her various reported exploits, whether it was grilling politicians or trekking through the Bornean jungle to interview the locals.
“That’s one peppermint tea, and one normal tea, no milk, two sugars,” she said.
“Thank you, Mrs. Daley,” said Ket Hau.
“Please, call me Helen,” said Helen. She took a chair across from the brothers and leaned forward, businesslike. “I appreciate your coming here. I have some sense of the concerns you will have had. But I did think it was worth talking in person.
“I’m sure we’re all agreed Sarawak cannot continue under the disastrous mismanagement and corruption of the present regime. If there is anything we can do to help people enact democratic change, we have a moral duty to do it. I’m writing a piece for theGuardianabout what’s been going on there, I think that could have real impact. But there are some pieces of the puzzle missing. That’s where you could help, if you’re willing.”
Ket Hau exchanged a look with Ket Siong.
“We’d like to help, if we can,” said Ket Siong. “But there are some things we’d like to understand. What made you want to talk to us?”
“I thought you might ask. I’ll tell you. Better than that,” said Helen, getting up. “I’ll show you.” She leaned over the back of a sofa, reaching for something out of sight, and went on, in a slightly muffled voice: “If the technology doesn’t let us down.”
She emerged triumphant, holding a tablet aloft. “I was worried my daughter had taken this out with her. Right, bear with me a moment.”
