Close

Kemi rang at nine in the morning, which was itself the first bad sign, because Kemi’s calls about anything routine came at eleven, once she’d had coffee and read the overnight coverage and decided what needed managing before lunch.

“I need you to hear this from me before you hear it from anyone else,” Kemi said, without a hello. “A reporter from the Ledger emailed last night. He’s got three things, and he’s got them specifically enough that I don’t think he’s guessing. The service corridor at the charity dinner in April. The wine dinner, and something close enough to accurate about what happened afterwards that somebody in that kitchen talked, or somebody outside it saw more than we thought. And your name, Hattie, attached to Thea Whitlock’s wedding. Not as Luca’s partner. As her speechwriter.”

Hattie sat down slowly at her own desk, the office not yet properly awake…