The Wreckage: A Thriller (23 page)

The foyer of Mersey Fidelity is tiled in black Italian marble and has matching leather sofas. Rupert and Frank are behind the security desk. Elizabeth has known them for years—ever since she’d visit her father after school, trying to get money for chips or chocolate.

The receptionist is a new face, immune to her smile.

“I was hoping to see Mitchel Bach.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“I’m his sister.”

She rings upstairs. Cups the phone.

“I’m afraid Mr. Bach is busy.”

“How long wil he be?”

“Perhaps you could come back later or make an appointment.”

“I’l wait.”

The receptionist punches the number again. Whispers. “No… yes… that’s right… she wants to wait… I see… OK.” Addressing Elizabeth, “Someone is coming down to col ect you.”

Felicity Stone, the head of public relations, is in her forties with blonde cropped hair and very white teeth, which are too large for her mouth. She is masculine looking. Businesslike.

She presses Elizabeth’s right hand in both of hers for a fraction of a second before leaving it suspended in mid-air.

“We haven’t been introduced. I’m Felicity. What a terrible way to meet. How are you holding up? We’re al so concerned about North. I’m sure everything is going to be fine. I once had an uncle who went missing for a week and we found him in a homeless shelter in Manchester. Transient Global Amnesia, they cal ed it—short-term memory loss. You’re so pregnant. You must want to sit down.”

A lift carries them to the upper floors. Miss Stone continues talking, as though worried about losing her turn. They cross a large open-plan office dotted with computer screens. The European Desk. Global Equities. Forex. Futures. The traders are cradling phones beneath their chins and staring at charts and numbers.

They arrive at Mitchel ’s office. Miss Stone takes a seat and logs on to a computer screen.

“How long wil Mitchel be?” asks Elizabeth.

“He’s a very busy man. He’s asked me to co-ordinate things. We’re liaising with the police, cal ing hospitals, checking passenger manifests… We’re most concerned about your welfare. I’ve arranged for you to have a ful check-up. Dr. Shadrick is a Harley Street OB…”

“I have my
own
doctor.”

“Yes, but Dr. Shadrick is the best. I’ve made a provisional appointment for tomorrow at eleven, but change it if you need to.” Miss Stone taps at the keyboard again. “Where are you going to stay?”

“At the house.”

“By yourself?”

“I have Rowan and the nanny.”

“Mitchel has suggested you move in with your father.”

“I want to stay in Barnes.”

“Oh!”

“He
is
coming home, you know.”

“Who?”

“My husband.”

“Of course, I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise.” Miss Stone smiles apologetical y. Her mobile is ringing. The sound is coming from a leather pouch clipped to her belt. Drawing it out like a gunslinger, she flips the phone open.

“Yes… No… I didn’t approve that… Nothing goes out unless I read it first… Tel them to wait… I don’t care what that arsehole wants, we’re not releasing a statement until we’re good and ready.”

Elizabeth tries not to look surprised by the language. Miss Stone closes the phone.

“Must dash. You’l be al right on your own? Mitchel shouldn’t be long. Don’t answer the phone. The switchboard wil pick it up.” Alone now, Elizabeth gazes out the window looking west along the Thames to the Houses of Parliament just visible through the haze. Her feet hurt. The sofa is too low. Instead she sits in Mitchel ’s desk chair. Two lights are blinking on his phone. Behind her on a bookcase is a leather-bound copy of the company history: the anniversary edition. A hundred years of Mersey Fidelity—the humble building society transformed into a global bank. Elizabeth knows the story. The history of the bank is almost her own family’s history.

Her father, Alistair Bach, had started working as a trainee bank tel er in 1960 when Mersey Fidelity was a Liverpool-based building society giving respectable working-class folk the chance to buy their own homes. In the mid-eighties when “demutualization” became the buzzword and Thatcher’s Big Bang revolution set free the finance markets, Alistair Bach took advantage of the changes and turned the building society into a bank which could earn profits and pay dividends to shareholders, making the directors rich in the process. Bach became the youngest chief financial officer in the history of the FTSE 100 list of companies and Mersey Fidelity grew to become the fifth biggest retail and investment bank in the UK. He only stepped down as chairman in early 2007. By then Mitchel had been groomed for a senior position—a younger version of his father, cloned from the same stem cel s—with a first-class mind and degrees from Cambridge and Harvard.

Elizabeth can feel Claudia stomping on her cervix. Up until a few days ago she was kicking up near her bel y button, but now she’s lower down, pressing on her pelvis. Picking up the phone, Elizabeth punches North’s extension, knowing that his secretary wil most likely pick up.

“Richard North’s office.”

“Hel o, Bridget, it’s Elizabeth.” There is a pause. “I know you’re busy, but I’m in the building. Can we get a coffee?” Another pause. “I’ve been told not to talk to anyone.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

Bridget Lindop hesitates again, torn between self-preservation and common decency.

“This is me, Bridget. Elizabeth. I just want to talk.”

Silence echoes through the handset. Then comes a whispered reply. “I’l meet you in the cafeteria.”

Opening Mitchel ’s door, Elizabeth looks along the corridor. Then she walks quickly to the lift, crossing the open-plan office, keeping her head down. None of the traders take any notice of her.

The cafeteria is on the tenth floor. They order tea in mugs and take a table near the window. On the far side of fifty, Bridget Lindop is tal and straight-backed with polished silver hair bound in a tight bun. A religious woman, who goes to Mass every day, she has a smal silver cross on a chain around her neck.

“How was North when you saw him last? Was he worried about anything?”

The older woman hesitates and filters her words as if straining tea leaves. “Mr. North didn’t real y confide in me.”

“But you saw him every day. Did he seem preoccupied? Why was he working late so many nights?”

“We were very busy.”

Elizabeth feels a lump forming in her throat.

“I think he was having an affair.”

Miss Lindop doesn’t react. She sits with her back straight, her knees together and her hands folded in her lap.

“I’m sure you’re mistaken. Richard talked only of you and Rowan.”

“He took a woman home while I was away.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

“Did you ask him?”

“I would if I could.”

The statement vibrates in her throat. Miss Lindop reaches across the space between them and squeezes Elizabeth’s hand. Her voice drops to a whisper.

“He’s a good man, you know that.”

Elizabeth feels the skin on her face tighten. “What’s wrong?”

“He told me something a few weeks ago. He said a terrible thing had happened and it was his fault.”

“What?”

“I don’t know, but he said I wouldn’t respect him if I knew. It was about two weeks ago. He took the day off. He said he was trying to find the owner of an account. It was some sort of unlisted charity receiving money from one of our accounts. I shouldn’t be talking to you about any of this.”

“Why?”

“I’ve been told not to say anything.”

Miss Lindop looks up and her whole body stiffens. Her lips draw back from her teeth in a pained smile. She pul s her hand away from Elizabeth, breaking physical contact. Felicity Stone has appeared in the cafeteria, flanked by two security guards. Scanning the tables, her eyes come to rest on Elizabeth. She flips open her mobile and makes a cal , moving between tables, closing the gap.

Miss Lindop stands and mumbles an apology.

“I’m praying for him, Lizzie.”

“Should I be praying?”

“I find it helps.”

She leaves without saying goodbye, her sensible shoes click-clacking on the tiles.

Felicity Stone is no longer ful of smiles. “I told you to wait in your brother’s office.”

“The baby was kicking. I had to move around. I think she’s going to be a dancer.”

“How nice for you.”

Mitchel has finished his meeting. Elizabeth struggles up from her chair. He kisses both her cheeks then holds her at arm’s length, a hand on each shoulder.

“Where the fuck is he, Lizzie?”

His anger shocks her. It triggers a memory from her childhood; Mitchel holding one of her dol s just out of her reach. Older. Faster. Stronger. He put the dol on a makeshift raft and launched it into the center of the pond where he bombarded it with rocks, clods and sticks until the raft tipped over and the dol bobbed face down in the water.

Her brother had always been a bul y. Now he was doing it again.

“He can’t just have disappeared. He must have said something. Cal ed. Emailed.”

Elizabeth knocks his arms away.

“No.”

“Why didn’t he go with you last weekend?”

“He said he had too much work to do.”

“You must know something, Lizzie. This is a very inopportune time for him to go missing. We have an audit…” Elizabeth looks at him incredulously. “Is that al you care about? He’s
my
husband. He’s
your
brother-in-law. I don’t give a fuck about your audit. I want to know why everyone is being so secretive. And why was North so scared?”

“You think he was upset?”

“No, he was
scared
. There’s a difference.”

A secretary knocks. Mitchel has another meeting. Elizabeth doesn’t want to let him go.

“Why has Bridget Lindop been told not to talk to me? What are you trying to hide?”

Mitchel is gathering files from his desk. Elizabeth blocks the doorway. “I’m not leaving until you talk to me.” Her brother sighs, angry but accepting. He glances at his watch.

“We’re rather concerned that North took materials with him—internal memos and sensitive documents.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Someone has been feeding information to outside parties.”

“What outside parties?”

“A journalist.” Mitchel raises his hands. “I’m not making accusations, Lizzie. We just want to talk to him. I’m sure there’s an explanation. Right now I have auditors waiting in the boardroom. I can’t stay.”

Elizabeth wants to fol ow him, to argue, but Felicity Stone materializes in the corridor, blocking her way. Chaperoned to the foyer and through the security barriers, Elizabeth hands over her visitor’s pass and finds herself in Cabot Square. People have to step around her to reach the revolving door.

Almost without thinking, she begins walking with no destination in mind, feeling her certainty run down inside her like a wind-up toy. Reaching the river, she watches a group of teenagers, black and white, boys and girls, hanging out on benches. One couple is French kissing with al the desperation of those too young to share a bed yet.

Elizabeth can feel objects grow bigger in her imagination, magnified by the silence of the river and the din of voices in her head. Up until six days ago, if asked, she could have taken North apart and put him back together again blindfolded, just like some people can put guns together in the dark. Now she’s not so sure. Now he seems like a stranger. An imposter.

Someone who tricked his way into her heart.

10

LONDON

Colin Hackett pauses on the landing, slightly out of breath. He should lose weight. Cut down on the carbs. In his army days he could tab eight clicks with a sixty-pound Bergan on his back, barely breaking a sweat.

He’s sweating now. Jangling.

Standing outside his office door, he listens for a noise that shouldn’t be there. Who has he upset this time? What cheating husband or insurance fraudster or child support defaulter?

Reaching for the handle, he pushes it open.

The outer office is empty. Nothing has been disturbed. Moving to the next room, he checks the office safe and the drawers of his desk. Al as it should be. For the next twenty minutes he searches, running his fingers beneath the desk and windowsil s, checking the electric sockets, light fittings, looking for bugs or hidden cameras.

The place is clean.

At the top of the stationery cupboard is a sports bag with his camera equipment, including a tripod and telephoto lenses. He lifts it down to his desk. Holding the smooth black camera body, he checks the battery and settings. The memory card slot is empty. Someone wanted his photographs.

Sitting in his chair, he leafs through his diary, working out which case might have triggered the robbery. Most of them were background checks, missing persons and debt recovery.

He printed out photographs for Elizabeth North showing her husband with the woman he brought home. She looked more like a shopgirl than a cal girl. Pretty. Young. Dirty looking. That’s often the way with men and affairs. They can have prime beef fil et at home but they go for the cheaper cuts. When you’ve been eating steak for a long long time, brisket tastes fine.