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He smiled, took it back and typed, “I certainly will.”
During the seven-and-a-half-hour flight to London, Letty read through the rest of Scott’s biography, finishedCelebrity in Death, and got five hours of sleep. Forty minutes before landing, she lined up for the over-used lavatory to pee, wash her face, brush her teeth, jab a travel-sized anti-perspirant in her armpits, run a comb through her hair, and generally get her shit together.
Letty walked off the plane a half hour after the wheels touched down—the fat man gave her a confident smile and asked if she was staying in London, and she said, “Nope.”
She skipped a tram that was jammed to capacity and walked what seemed like a mile through a lower-level tunnel to baggage claim; since she hadn’t checked any baggage, she breezed through the “Nothing to Declare” gate, heading for the LHR train station.
As she walked through, a man called, “Letty Davenport!”
The man looked, Letty thought, London stylish: summer-weight dark wool suit, silk tie, shoes that appeared to be spit-shined and probably made in Italy. He was handsome, in a weather-beaten way. Tall, thin, with almost-blond hair worn a bit long and mussed, and with the muscles of an Iron Man enthusiast. He was early thirties, she thought.No wedding ring. Why had she noticed that so quickly?She had a boyfriend, didn’t she?A duffel sat by the man’s feet, much like Letty’s, but of oiled canvas, rather than plastic.
She stopped, and he stepped up to her, awkwardly pushing his duffel along with one foot, and showed her an ID card: “Alec Hawkins, MI5. I’ll be traveling with you to Oxford. To clear the way, should the way need clearing.”
“Didn’t say anything about that in my instructions,” Letty said.
He nodded: “That’s why we’re called the Secret Service. Nobody tells anyone anything.”
“I thought it was MI6 that was called the Secret Service,” Letty said.
“I suppose that’s possible. Does anybody really know which is which?”
That made her smile. “You have a car?”
“God, no. Takes forever and no place to park,” Hawkins said. “We’ll be on the train; two trains, actually. Give me your bag and follow on.”
She gave him the bag and followed on, to the express train to London’s Paddington Station. “How’d you know it was me coming through the gate?”
“I was notified that you’d gone through passport control and United informed us that you had no checked baggage, so I knew you’d be through quickly. And we have many, many photographs of you, including several with blood on your face. That’s really quite charming, for such a looker.”
She let that pass. “Are you armed?”
He frowned. “No, of course not. What would I do with a gun?”
“Shoot a terrorist?”
“There are other people assigned to do that,” Hawkins said. “I suppose I could kick one; or perhaps I could fashion a makeshift knife with my identity card and slash them with the edge. It’s quite sharp.”
“Kill them with a rolled-up magazine?”
“Nooo…that’s beyond my skill set, I’m afraid. Perhaps I could show them a copy of theDaily Mailand embarrass them to death.”
They arrived on the sparsely populated train platform, with no train in sight. Hawkins said one would be along shortly. Letty asked,“Is this escort service some kind of punishment for something you’ve done? Or…”
“No, no, I volunteered. Get out of the office, visit the old haunts at Oxford. Went to college there, actually. Balliol, modern history. Quite an interesting place. Hotel on expenses, of course.”
“So it’s like a vacation.”
“Mmm…yes. Especially if we can stretch our stay to two nights. I wouldn’t think we’d get much done today, especially with you jet-lagged.”
“I feel fine,” Letty said.
He looked down at her. “Especially with you jet-lagged.”
“Ah. Girlfriend or boyfriend?”
“I leave it to you to guess,” he said, flashing a smile.
And she thought,Hmm, but didn’t vocalize it, and she didn’t think it was a boyfriend.
