‘Because you need to talk to Rhona. You’re giving her an iron-clad excuse to leave.’ Hugo’s brows draw together. ‘But why? If Leonides likes her plan so much, he might offer her a job. What’s it to you if he poaches her, though?’
‘You really think Andreas Leonides – a billionaire with whole teams devoted to this stuff – is in the habit of personally offering jobs to first year associates? No.’ Acid scorn burns through every word. ‘Why do you think he’sreallytaking Rhona to dinner?’
‘I don’t understand.’ But he’s starting to – Jean sees it in the shiftiness of his gaze.
‘Remember that speech in your interview? Big words about howexcitedyou’d be to seize any learning opportunity I saw fit to provide you with.’ Jean glances down at her phone. Nothing, still. ‘Well, tonight’s your chance. A lesson you won’t forget.’
Hugo’s wise enough to stay quiet then. And finally, the car’s inching across the other side of London Bridge. The moment Bogdan pulls over, Jean unclips her seatbelt. Hugo leaps out of the car, holding the door open for Jean, and together they hurtle towards the pyramid glowing crimson in the sun’s dying light.
They pass through the revolving doors into the atrium, a futuristic fusion of glass and marble. Shoulders back, Jean approaches the front desk, Hugo lingering by her shoulder. ‘Hello. My name is Jean Howard, and my firm represents one of your guests, Mr Leonides. I need to speak with him as a matter of urgency. Apparently, Mr Leonides is currently eating in one of your restaurants. Please could you tell me which one?’
The girl behind the desk flashes an apologetic smile. ‘I’m sorry, Ms Howard. But company policy dictates that we can’t give out information about any guests.’
‘I’ll take the odd floors, and you can take the even,’ Hugo says. ‘I’ll call you if I find them.’
But Jean holds a finger up for him to wait.
‘Mr Leonides runs a company worth billions. He could buy and sell this building.’ Jean steps closer, staring pointedly at the name badge pinned to the receptionist’s neat cerulean lapel. ‘What do you think he’ll do to you, Gemma, when he finds out that you delayed him from dealing with an emergency?’
Gemma gulps, casting an appealing gaze to her colleague – but the girl catches Jean’s eye and disappears into the back office. Gemma picks up the phone. Punches in a number and speaks, voice low, into the receiver. Then she looks up at Jean. ‘Mr Leonides was in Aqua having dinner with a guest. But they’ve gone now.’
A guest – singular. Jean sways, clutching at the counter. ‘Then tell me which room he’s staying in.’
‘I can’t.’ Gemma’s voice is tiny, pleading. ‘I’ll lose my job.’
Jean opens her mouth, no amount of self-hatred keeping her from asking how Gemma expects to keep her job after Mr Leonides brings the colossal weight of his empire down upon a mere receptionist. But her phone rings as the tirade begins to take shape, vibrating in Jean’s hand as she lifts it to look at the name:Rhona Baird.
Jean staggers away from the reception desk, phone soldered to her cheek. ‘Rhona!’ Her voice echoes through the lobby, drawing stares. ‘Rhona, thank God you’re okay. Where are you?’
‘Miss Howard?’ Her voice is scarcely more than a whisper, breaths coming hard and fast through the speaker.
‘Yes! Now tell me your location and we’ll come and find you. Hugo and I are in The Shard now.’
‘You are?’ A jagged intake of breath. ‘I missed our one-to-one. I’m s-so sorry, Ms Howard, I… I should have let you know myse—’
‘Never mind that now. Are you in one of the hotel rooms?’
A series of thumps carry through the line, so loud the phone slips from between her fingers – only Hugo’s quick reflexes keep it from falling to crack against the marble. He lifts it back to Jean’s ear, stepping close enough that they can both hear.
‘Yes. I’m in his bathroom,’ Rhona whispers, voice pulled taut. ‘I’ve locked myself in. I went for dinner with Mr Leonides and M-Ms Nowicki. But then she got a call. And she left.’
Jean swallows. She’d read an article once, about the importance of using a person’s name in a hostage situation – a psychological trick to discourage the kidnapper from evolving into a killer. But perhaps it works with victims too. ‘Where did he take you, Rhona? Is he there now?’
‘K-kind of.’ A male voice undercuts Rhona’s words – far enough away that Jean can’t make out specific words. But at the wheedling tone, Jean’s stomach churns. ‘He keeps trying to m-make me come out.’
‘Stay exactly where you are, Rhona. Just let us know the room number, and do not come out until I tell you to.’
‘It’s room six hundred and fi-fi—’ Rhona’s voice is so thick with tears that Jean can’t make her out. Her look of alarm haunts Hugo’s features. ‘Six five zero. An executive suite.’
‘Okay. Stay on the line, Rhona.’
Hugo sprints towards the lift, hammering the up button while Jean races after him. The doors draw open as Jean approaches, disgorging a pair of giggling young women whose tequila-laced perfume suggests they’ve made liberal use of the bar. Jean pushes past. ‘Hello? Are you still there, Rhona?’
A sniff. ‘Yes.’
Hugo presses the button for the sixth floor and – ignoring the grey-haired couple waving as they shamble over – the button to slide the doors closed.
‘Good.’ Jean’s stomach swoops as they glide upwards.One…‘That’s very good, Rhona. Now what can you tell me about where you grew up?’
