The Loyal Servant by Eva Hudson Page B

need to find ourselves a cab.’
    The last of the OAPs eased themselves into a waiting minibus. The driver was leaning on the bonnet finishing a cigarette. ‘Maybe we can cadge a lift with that lot back to the High Street – we know they’ve got at least one spare seat.’
    She glanced around the site and spotted a group of thickset men gathered around the entrance to a Portakabin. They were wearing suits beneath their high-visibility jackets and highly polished Oxfords on their huge feet. They had wires trailing out of their ears.
    ‘Frank.’ She grabbed his sleeve and pulled him towards her. ‘Poke your long lens through the fence and get a few shots of the site, will you? Include that little bunch by the hut. Fred Larson seems to be taking security of his building sites very seriously these days. This lot look more like secret service agents than bouncers.’
    She continued to stare at the incongruous huddle as Frank fired off a dozen or so shots. One of the men turned round and spotted them. He shouted something and started running towards them. Frank lowered the camera to his chest and held up his hands in surrender. Still the hulk charged at them, two of his colleagues joining the chase. Angela grabbed Frank’s arm and dragged him away.

10
    The catering trolley, laden with trays of curling sandwiches and plates of sliced fruit covered in cling film, rattled out onto the lobby of the fifth floor, leaving Caroline alone in the lift. She jabbed the ‘7’ button and leaned back against the wall as the doors creaked shut. It was the first time she’d been on her own all day. She took a deep breath and caught a lingering whiff of egg mayonnaise.
    At lunchtime Pam had insisted on walking her to Prêt and escorting her back again, telling her at least half a dozen times how tired and pale she looked. Reminding her at every opportunity just how traumatised she must be feeling. Caroline knew Pam was still hoping for an unexpurgated account of last Thursday night and she was determined to reveal precisely nothing, switching the conversation back to their investigation into the missing CD-ROM.
    Caroline glanced at herself in the mirrored walls of the lift, suddenly feeling as if she was standing in a department store changing room, exposed and vulnerable, waiting for Trinny and Susannah to pounce. Pam was right about one thing – apart from the dark circles under her eyes, the colour had completely drained from her face. Maybe she should have taken some time off. Certainly she felt as if she was running on empty, relying on strong coffee and sugary snacks to get her through the day.
    She lowered her gaze and checked her watch, eager to focus on something other than her 360-degree reflection. It wasn’t yet 4:30pm. She should still be able to catch Martin Fox’s PA before she knocked off for the evening. After the unexplained disappearance of PC Mills, Caroline needed to speak to someone about the minister, and Consuela was the only suitable candidate. Throughout the day she’d left the PA countless phone messages and sent enough emails to be accused of spamming. All of them had been ignored.
    After what seemed an impossibly slow ascent to the seventh floor, the doors finally slid open. Caroline rushed towards the widening gap only to discover a five-foot high metal cage blocking her exit. The cage was attached to a wooden palette and was full of office chairs. She grabbed the metal mesh with both hands and pushed, but the palette wouldn’t budge. The lift doors started to close, then jerked to a halt, the sensors detecting Caroline’s presence on the threshold. She turned her shoulder towards the palette and heaved with all her weight. Still it wouldn’t move. She stepped back, holding a hand against the door as it tried to slide shut.
    ‘Hello!’ she called. She waited for a response. None came. The seventh floor was normally alive with activity at this time on a Monday afternoon. She listened carefully. The