Free The Shadow of the Soul by Sarah Pinborough Page A

into the corridor. She’d lied, and she was going to keep on lying, and she didn’t even know why. It
was
the same man; she knew it. She remembered the rise of his finger. There was a promise in that, just as there was in the empty Hotmail account. One day both would deliver something, she knew that deep down somewhere in a part of her she didn’t understand. But not if she told. If she told, then whatever it was would never happen.
    ‘Hayley?’ Her voice sounded calm, normal. It surprised her. ‘What’s the matter?’
    ‘I saw it all.’ The breathing at the other end was wet and heavy.
    ‘Hayley? Is that you?’ Abigail stared at the closed door. They were waiting on the other side for her lies.
    ‘I remembered.’ It was Hayley, but the words were strained, as if she was having trouble forming them.
    ‘What did you remember?’ Abigail frowned. She really didn’t have time for this. ‘Are you stoned, Hayley?’
    ‘Chaos in the darkness.’ Hayley’s voice was barely above a whisper. ‘That was it. Chaos in the darkness.’
    ‘Hayley?’
    The phone clicked off at the other end.
    The door opened. Fletcher looked at her. ‘All okay?’
    ‘I’m not sure. I’ll call her later. Maybe she was drunk or something. She’s a student.’
    ‘This man you saw—’
    ‘It wasn’t him,’ Abigail said, cutting him off. ‘I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have spoken like that without being sure. The suit’s all wrong – and I think the man I saw had brown hair.’
    ‘You sounded pretty sure in there.’ His eyes were evaluating every move of her face, looking for some kind of
tell
.
    Abigail didn’t underestimate the man. ‘I can take another look if you’d like, but I’m pretty sure it’s a different man. It was the size of him that made me think I’d seen him before.’
    ‘Maybe we should do that,’ Fletcher said, ‘see where the differences lie.’
    ‘Sure.’ Abigail smiled. ‘Now?’
    ‘Why not?’
    She tucked her phone away. It didn’t ring again.

Chapter Seven
     
    T hey sat in their usual places, one at each compass point of the large round table. For a moment there was only the drumming of Mr Craven’s fingers on the highly polished surface at the east.
    Then Mr Dublin spoke. ‘The others won’t like us meeting without them. Not at this time. Everyone’s a touch on edge, wouldn’t you say?’
    ‘We met as a whole two weeks ago,’ Mr Bright answered, ‘and anyway’ – he sipped his espresso – ‘the more of us who meet, the harder it is to come to any decisions. Everyone wants to have a say. And for now, I feel some things should stay between us four.’
    ‘How’s Monmir?’ Mr Craven asked.
    ‘Going downhill fast. From what I gather he’s back in Damascus.’ Mr Dublin smiled. It was wistful and kind. ‘He always did like it there.’
    ‘I’ve heard that Morelo is ill.’ Mr Craven’s fingers still twitched nervously. ‘Collapsed overseeing the building of a new energy plant in Russia. Is that true?’
    ‘He’s having some tests.’ Mr Bright’s voice remained impassive. ‘Our doctors, of course.’
    ‘It’s happening quicker then.’ Mr Dublin’s smile dropped. His high cheekbones were like flashes of silver under thepale lighting. ‘The first ones didn’t die so fast. And there were always so many years between them.’
    ‘Some are saying it’s a punishment.’ Mr Bellew spoke softly. He leaned back in his chair and his tall, broad frame filled his seat. He looked at each of the others, his dark eyes finally resting on Mr Bright.
    ‘Even for him—,’ Mr Bright flashed perfect white teeth as he smiled at the dark-haired man, ‘—that would be an awfully long wait for vengeance. It’s
ennui
, that’s all. They started to believe they could die, and they started to fear it. And so they let it in. That’s all.’
    ‘Tell that to Monmir,’ Mr Craven muttered. ‘Tell him it’s all in his head.’
    ‘And what about the First? Is that what he thinks?’ Mr