Free Birdkill by Alexander McNabb Page B

sorry?’
    Hamilton looked lost for a second. He snapped a tight smile. ‘Nothing. Nothing.’
     
     
    Robyn slept like an angel, waking with a smile to the wash of sunlight escaping around the edges of the heavy curtains. Her pillow clutched to her cheek smelled of her, of sleep and linen. She stretched luxuriantly, revelling in a clean morning and a day to herself, to organise her work and ensure everything was in line for Sunday.
    She lay looking at the ceiling, wondered if she might perhaps go up to London. Would Mariam be free for dinner, maybe? She felt free and giddily optimistic. There was no vestige of dread in her mind, no dream memory eluding her.
    A shower. Coffee. The world was her oyster.
     
     
    Lawrence Hamilton took his coffee black and with brown sugar. It was his habit to drink it from a Swedish rustic patterned cup his wife had gifted him during their last Baltic cruise. He had lit the fire in his study which Mrs Moyes the housekeeper kindly had made for him and now it burned merrily. He paused in his note-taking, pen to lip, listening to the fire’s crackle and the rich assonance of time passing from the carriage clock. The day was clear, a cobalt sky above the trees, white rime on branches.
    The phone’s high pitched chirping made him jump. He would dearly have liked phones still to ring rather than sound like tiny cars skidding. He lifted the handset as if it were something distasteful.
    ‘Larry. It’s Bill.’
    ‘Good morning.’
    ‘We have a problem. It seems as if Parker’s people have a whistleblower. They’re dealing with it, but we should batten down the hatches and be on our guard. It would be best if someone filtered any calls and you’ll need to tighten security.’
    ‘I don’t quite understand, Bill. On our guard against what, precisely?’
    ‘Journalists, snoopers. Anybody nosing around.’
    ‘What does this whistleblower have that we should be so concerned about?’
    ‘We don’t know. But it’s as well to be cautious. We don’t want anything to derail the select committee next week. How’s the Shaw girl?’
    ‘She’s settling in nicely; her amnesia persists yet otherwise she should rehabilitate perfectly well.’
    ‘You’ll need to keep an eye on her. Keep her close. This may just blow over, but we can’t be too careful.’
    ‘When do you expect you might get more detail from Parker?’
    ‘That’s just it. It wasn’t Parker told me. It was Raynesford. Parker’s not taking calls.’
    ‘Oh. I see. Right. Well, I’ll splice the mainbrace or whatever it is.’
    ‘I’ll call you if I hear more.’
    ‘Thanks Bill. Good chap.’
    Hamilton replaced the handset, his brow furrowed. He tapped his pen on his notepad and sighed. He rolled it between his palms contemplatively. He let it fall to the desktop, irritated at the threat to his routines and plans. Trust Parker to go to ground.
    He reached for the handset again and thumbed a rubber keypad made for smaller, more agile hands than his. ‘Heather? Could you ask Simon to join me when he has a minute?’
    Archer was a good fellow. He would sort things out.
     
     
    Robyn backed into the lounge bar of the Sloop Inn, shaking her umbrella. The warm, beery fug greeted her, outbreaks of laughter rolling across the busy room. She snapped the umbrella shut and slid it into the elephant’s foot holder, arrested for a second by the grotesque object before seeing it as a thing of pottery, not dried flesh.
    The group was sitting on the back wall of the lounge. Robyn recognised them all apart from a larger lady and a slim brown-eyed blonde. She struggled to remember the names as she wove between the tables towards them, shrugging off her coat. Someone Gray beginning with an ‘m’. And a music teacher. Simon Archer turned and rose to greet her.
    ‘Here we are! Welcome, welcome. What can I get you?’ He moved the coat folded on the seat to his right.
    ‘A G&T please, Simon.’
    ‘Coming right up. Anyone else?’
    A chorus