Free David Trevellyan 03 -More Harm Than Good by Andrew Grant Page A

and
couldn’t imagine any of them seeing things that way, either. Especially
not the field agents. Either she was the exception that proves the rule,
or the Security Service had changed dramatically in recent times. And I
certainly couldn’t see her point of view finding much favour in Naval Intelligence. In my world things were much more black and white. There
was a threat, or there wasn’t. Someone needed to be eliminated, or they didn’t.
I was beginning to think that spending time with Melissa could be interesting,
if only for the shades of grey she brought with her.
            I was half way across
the room with my third cup of coffee when two shrill, angry voices caught my
attention. They were coming from a table to my left. Two women had started to
argue. I sat down and watched them out of the corner of my eye. They were both
smartly dressed. In office clothes, not medical uniforms. I guessed that one was in her mid thirties, and the other no more than early
twenties. Their postures suggested that the older woman had started the ball
rolling. The younger one looked like she was reaching the end of her tether.
She fell silent for a moment, then sprang to her feet,
sending her chair skidding away behind her. She lent across the table, palms
flat on its surface, her nose almost touching the other woman’s. Her voice
dropped to a whisper, and for the life of me I couldn’t make out what she said.
Then she turned and flounced away, almost falling into Melissa’s lap as she
chose that moment to wheel into the room.
              “Everything OK?” I said, as Melissa reached my
table a few moments later.
            “It is with me,” she
said. “But what was that all about? I nearly ran that woman over.”
            “I don’t know. Some kind
of argument, I think. I couldn’t hear the details.”
            “Damnation. I always
miss the excitement. Was it a good one?”
            “No. Quite tame,
really.”
            “Any punching?”
            “No.”
            “Scratching?”
            “No.”
            “Eye gouging?”
            “None. Nothing like that. You really didn’t miss much.”
            “ Who was she arguing with?”
            “Another woman. She’s
still here. Grey cardigan, white blouse. Three tables behind you. Seven o’clock.”
            Melissa looked up
slightly towards the window, trying to catch a reflection in the glass.
            “It must have been quite
a good one,” she said. “That woman’s hand is still shaking. Ten quid says
she’ll spill her tea.”
            I didn’t reply.
            “I wonder what they were
rowing about?” she said. “Work? What do you think? Football? Or maybe a man?”
            “No idea,” I said.
            “I bet some guy’s at the
heart of it. An office romance. Never a good idea.”
            “I wouldn’t know.”
            “Well, have you ever
heard of one working out well?”
            “Actually, no,” I said.
“Although, it’s not a field I have much experience in.”
            “Me neither,” she said.
            “So, tell me, how did
your phone calls go?”
            “Oh, OK. Frustrating,
more than anything. I had to follow up on a few things. I made some enquiries
before I arrived here, and a few of the responses aren’t coming through quickly
enough. I had to light fires under a couple of people.”
            I looked out of the
window for a moment, trying not to take her bait.
            “You want to know what
we’re doing here, don’t you?” she said.
            “No,’ I said. “I
honestly don’t have the slightest interest.”
            Melissa tipped her head
to one side, like she’d done in the garden, and waited a few seconds before
saying anything else.
            “Do they have good
sandwiches