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Stop it, Eleanor!
I toss my phone into my bag and jump a little when some feet appear in my downcast vision, just a few inches from mine – feet graced with black shoes that need a good polish, the leather riddled with scuffs.
I glance up, wary, and recoil a little, taken aback by the sheer size of the man looming above me. He’s as tall as he is wide, suited but scruffy, and his face is crabby, his thinning hair slicked back with too much wax. Or it could be grease. I can’t be sure.
He smiles at me, and I try to force one in return but fail miserably. I must look as bewildered and cautious as I feel. ‘Hello,’ he says politely, his voice gruff and deep, like he smokes forty a day.
‘Hi.’ I find myself withdrawing, leaning back a little on the wall. I want to stand; I feel threatened sitting under his towering, overweight frame, but I’ll never get to my feet without having to brush past him, and something tells me he knows that.
‘Eleanor Cole?’
My worry intensifies. How does he know my name? ‘You are?’ I don’t confirm who I am, since I have no idea who this is and why he’s here.
‘Stan Price.’ He reaches into his inside pocket and pulls something out, flashing it at me. A badge. ‘NCA.’
I just about manage to hold onto my heavy jaw to stop it hitting the pavement. NCA? National Crime Agency?
‘You are Eleanor Cole?’ he goes on, moving to the side, my eyes following him.
‘Yes, is this about the stolen O’Keeffe?’
He smiles. ‘No, actually. A colleague is dealing with that case.’
‘Oh.’ Then what on earth could this be about? Naturally, my mind goes straight to the fake sculpture, which is bad because if it doesn’t thrill me, it makes me anxious. And now I’m anxious. ‘So, how can I help you?’ I’m at a loss where my even tone is coming from, because on the inside I’m stressed. All I can see is Head of a Faun and Becker with sculpting tools in his hands. And then that vision changes. Becker with handcuffs on his wrists.
‘You work for the Hunt Corporation, yes?’ He lowers himself next to me on the wall, never letting his eyes leave mine. I feel like he’s assessing me, gauging my persona and disposition.
‘Yes,’ I answer short, sweet and quickly, fighting not to show a shred of my nerves. I’m so fucking nervous. ‘I’m sorry, what’s this about?’
Stan Price smiles. I’m not sure if it’s genuine or forced. ‘We’re investigating some suspicious activity in the art world,’ he says, and every muscle in my body stiffens, though I fight with all my might to hide it. ‘I wondered if you may be able to help.’ His eyebrows raise expectantly.
‘You’re investigating suspicious activity, but not the stolen O’Keeffe?’ My nerves are becoming more frayed by the second. Fuck, I don’t know how the frigging hell to handle this. All I can see is the evil, almost amused face of Head of a Faun.
‘Yes, like I said.’
I breathe in discreetly. ‘If I can help, I will.’ I give him a friendly smile, forced as shit. ‘What am I helping with?’ I’m pretty sure this isn’t standard questioning practice, though pointing that out might make me look as guilty as I am. Don’t give him a thing!
He smiles. ‘Can you tell me if this person is familiar to you?’ He reaches into his pocket and pulls something out, and I frown, looking at the photograph he presents. I can feel Price watching me closely, searching for any hint of a reaction.
‘She’s not familiar,’ I lie, and I stun myself with how easily I do. I’ve seen this woman before, and I’ve seen her in The Haven. Not physically, but I got a brief glimpse of her picture before old Mr H repositioned his newspaper on Becker’s desk to cover the blue file. Her harsh black bob on her old pale skin is unmistakable. ‘Sorry I can’t help.’ I look up at Price, and he watches me quietly for a few moments, slowly replacing the photo in his inside pocket.
Then he smiles, but, again, I can’t figure out if it’s sincere or not. ‘Never mind.’
‘Who is she?’ I ask, unable to hold back.
‘Lady Winchester.’
‘Lady?’
‘Yes, a lady.’
‘Why would you think I’d know her?’
‘You work for the Hunt Corporation – the most renowned and exclusive company in the business. Let’s just say that Lady Winchester likes to dabble in the trade. I just wondered if maybe you’d come across her.’
The blue file. That’s all I can see now. Not red like every other file at The Haven. It was blue, standing out from the rest. Why? ‘Maybe you should talk to my—’ I just hold my tongue before I blurt out boyfriend. ‘Boss,’ I finish coolly. ‘I haven’t been at the Hunt Corporation for long.’ Frighteningly, I know exactly what I’m doing. Price won’t be asking Becker anything, and he has no intention to, either. That’s why he’s here asking me. He’s sussing me out. Again, why? I don’t know, but I’m shocking myself, giving off a cool, innocent persona, when on the inside I’m in all kinds of chaos. I’ve lied, and it was instinctive and natural for me to do so.
