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to the Tube together.
    ‘Well, he’s accepted it for now,’ she said.
    It seemed that Blake had told her the day before that since I’d have my hands full as Area Head, he thought she should seriously consider having Roland as her executive. Which explained his po-face on seeing me turn up…
    ‘What made you risk it?’ I asked.
    ‘Because I think you’d be better. But also because, bearing in mind your present difficulties with Roland, it seemed to me the thin end of a very thick wedge.’
    ‘Thanks.’
    She went on, ‘He was never happy about your appointment – Sir, I mean. He’d assumed Roland would get it – as did I. The difference being that whereas I was pleased, he was not.’ She gave a short, humourless laugh. ‘I underestimated Roland – I hadn’t realised the extent to which he’d managed to crawl into Sir’s bed. Forgive the revolting imagery.’
    She didn’t say anything about how bad a bollocking it had been… although then again, perhaps she just had.

 
    Chapter 3
     
    Rebecca Hale parked the ratty looking Nova with some difficulty at the end of the street, locked it, and started walking back along the row of Victorian terraced houses. They were what she thought of as Grade Two terraces. She had one herself in Tooting.
    Grade Ones were those fronting directly onto the pavement, Two, those with a front garden, but too small to convert into a car space, and Three, large enough for the car with perhaps a bay window and porch thrown in. Four was so far out of her pay scale that she didn’t bother thinking about them.
    She found number 26 and pressed the bell, reminding herself not to scratch the vaccination site on her arm where it was beginning to itch.
    She’d picked up the Nova (which wasn’t anything like as ratty as it looked) from the car pool, driven down to Exeter and moved into the anonymous police owned flat the day before.
    After the Home Office meeting, she’d phoned Marc Bell, Chair of the Exeter branch of Bristol to Africa , whose name she’d got from their website. She’d told him she’d just moved into the area, was very taken with what she’d read about BTA, and would like to volunteer her services.
    He’d asked her a few questions, then suggested she come and see him Thursday evening (which was what she’d been angling for). So, here she was…
    The door was opened by a sturdy looking thirty something woman with short dark blonde hair.
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘Oh… I was looking for Marc Bell…’
    ‘And you are…?’
    Before Rebecca could answer, a man appeared behind her.
    ‘Rebecca? Do come in. I’m Marc, and this is my wife, Hannah…’
    Hannah nodded unsmilingly as she stood aside to let her in.
    Marc said, ‘I’ve got a cubby hole I use as an office in the back – come on through.’
    She followed him down the passage past a living room where a boy of two or three simultaneously watched a cartoon on the TV and created mess around himself. Through a tidy kitchen with a faint smell of curry to a utility room, off which was another room, a cubby hole, as he’d said.
    ‘Have a seat -’ he indicated the chair on casters in front of the computer. ‘I’ll bring another chair and some coffee… would you like a coffee?’
    She told him how she liked it and sat down. An outline of Africa with the words Bristol to Africa – their logo, she assumed – moved across the screen… She looked round – on the adjacent wall were shelves crammed with books…
    She’d always believed that the Girl Guides motto should be expanded to: Be Prepared: to take any opportunity as it arises …
    She could hear the rattle of mugs and the hum of the kettle from the kitchen… she had a minute, at least… and she could always say she was looking for him to ask if she could look at the books…
    She slipped out into the utility room and looked round… washing machine, dryer, back door. She’d have loved a quick snoop outside, but there wasn’t time… another door… she