‘Don’t let him see you,’ I said. ‘We’ll be right there. As close to the Empire as you can, Stephens, please.’

The chances of finding either of them were pretty much non-existent. I hoped Matt was going to be able to handle it on his own. It wasn’t like he needed to do much – just keep him in sight and find out where he was staying. He hadn’t been home since the whole affair blew up, much to Sandy’s disgust. If he wanted to lose his family, he was going the right way about it, the fucking idiot.

I took the time to look at my phone. There was a message – again from a number I didn’t recognise. It couldn’t be Felicity – thank fuck – because I’d saved her number, so could it be…? My fingers fumbled in my anxiety and, by the time I got it open, I was almost holding my breath.

It was from her.

I could hardly believe it. I hadn’t heard a thing from her since the night I kissed her on the Embankment at Chelsea. Not since, like a moron, I gave her that damned card.

There was no greeting, not even a snarky; ‘Hello, “Filth Monger”’, just a cry for help:

It’s Grace Anderton. You said to get in touch if I needed to. Well, here I am, getting in touch.

I reread it a couple of times, not sure what to make of it. I hoped it meant she wanted to see me again, but I suspected it didn’t. Not in the way I wanted, at least. I sighed. Just as well, probably, all considered – for her, at least. Not so much for me. I actually thought I might fall in love with her, given the chance. Something I’d never managed, since Aimee. Hell, I was halfway there already, and now I’d been charged with assaulting a woman. She’d love that, I was sure. Ah well, that was my fucking life all over. I’d text her back - tell her I’d be in touch – but I’d have to do it later. I couldn’t spare the time now – as much as I wanted to.

I called Matt again.

‘I’m still at the Empire, Sir. He’s hiding amongst the tourists and having a look around,’ he said. ‘He’s checking he’s not being followed.’

‘Good,’ I said. ‘Keep your head down. We’re on our way.’

We were still in Coventry Street when the traffic began to back up. By the time we hit Swiss Court, it was at a standstill. It was gone ten at night, but this was the heart of tourist London, and time meant nothing.

‘He’s on the move, Sir.’ Matt’s voice sounded urgent.

‘Pull over,’ I said.

Stephens pulled up sharply, ignoring the blare of horns, and we swung out of the car and headed through the hordes lining the streets, towards the Empire. When we reached it, the crowds were thick with tourists and teenage girls, camera phones flashing at whoever was coming back out along the red carpet. It was unlikely to be anyone interesting – those would be at the after-film party, but anyone on a red carpet was fair game to the camera-happy multitudes.

I looked around, my heart racing, but there was no sign of Rick or Matt.

I put my phone to my ear.

Matt sounded breathless, probably more from worry than from running, given their pit-stop at the Empire. ‘He’s heading to the Tube, Sir,’ he said.

Tell me something I don’t know. It was almost too obvious. What better way to disappear from the streets of London?

‘We’re almost there,’ I lied. ‘Good work, Matt. Keep on his tail.’

We were nowhere near the Tube. By the time I could see the Underground sign, I was sure we’d missed them, and that would be that. The chances of Matt getting a signal down there was zero.

‘There, Sir!’ said Alex, urgently. ‘Going down the steps.’

I saw him straight away, walking in a cluster of tourists, down the steps and under the Charing Cross Road. Unbelievable. He was practically ambling. He actually seemed to think he’d got away with it. No wonder we’d managed to get there in time.

We kept our heads down and followed him into the Tube.

As we went down the steps, someone touched my elbow. ‘Sir,’ he said.

It was Matt.

‘Nice work,’ I said. ‘That was almost too easy. Let’s hope it carries on that way.’

Famous last words.

We carried on down the steps. Our pace was frustratingly slow, but we had to make sure he didn’t see us. As the steps opened out into the ticket hall, I saw him look around him again, before deciding where to go.

‘He’s heading for the Northern Line,’ I said. ‘Come on.’

As we reached the barriers, Alex and Matt got out their Oyster cards and zipped them through the machine.

Damn. I didn’t have an Oyster card – I’d never needed one, what with my fleet of cars and Stephens to drive me whenever I needed him. I took a look around me, before jumping over the barrier.

‘Oi!’ I heard someone yell from behind me, but I paid no heed and followed the others in the direction of the Northern line.

For a moment, I thought we’d lost him, but then Matt nudged me. ‘He’s going South, Sir. Come on.’

We headed down the seemingly interminable escalator, right into the bowels of the City. I loosened the collar of my shirt and blew up onto my forehead. I was starting to get twitchy already. It was the whole enclosed space thing again. I couldn’t easily get out if something happened down here, and the thought made my throat constrict, and the sweat begin to stand out on my brow. It didn’t help I knew that, if Rick were to look up now, there was nowhere we could hide and he’d be bound to spot us.

I didn’t notice him turn round, though, let alone look back up the escalator and, when we finally got off, I wiped my brow and turned to the others.

‘We’ll have to stay this end. He’s moving further up the platform – we can’t risk him seeing us.’

Matt and Alex didn’t speak. They merely nodded in affirmation and, when the train pulled in a minute or two later, we shuffled into one of the back carriages.

As the train pulled away, Matt turned to me. ‘How are we going to know when he gets off, Sir?’ he said.

I confess I hadn’t given it a thought. I blame the fact that I was in what was essentially a tin can, hurtling through tight tunnels under a seething city - I couldn’t focus. But it could equally have just been an oversight. I seemed to be making a habit of them, these days.

I shook my head. ‘I don’t know.’

Alex ran his fingers through his thinning grey hair. ‘We’ll have to split up – one get off at each station and take a chance.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘That’s perfect. You get off next stop, Matt, at uh…’

‘Charing Cross, Sir,’ Matt supplied.

‘Yes, Charing Cross,’ I said. I couldn’t see Rick getting off at the very next stop, and Matt had done enough chasing for one night. ‘If he doesn’t get off, be ready to hail a cab in case we need you.’

‘Very good, Sir.’

‘What’s the next stop?’ I said, looking up at the map above the window. I flushed slightly – partly because I felt stifled, pressed up against people I didn’t even know, but mainly because I was acutely aware of my ignorance. I didn’t have even the most basic knowledge of the London Underground but, then, I wasn’t your average Londoner.

‘Embankment, Sir,’ said Alex, pointing it out.

‘Good,’ I said. ‘I’ll get off there.’ From the map, it looked like Embankment was a bigger station…busier. There was more chance he’d get off there or, at least, change trains. ‘Alex…you’ll get off at…uh…Waterloo.’

The train pulled into Charing Cross, and Matt tipped me a small salute. ‘See you, Sir,’ he said, his jaw clenched tight as he headed off the train. I saw him weaving between people, heading towards the exit, then holing back, in a recess, his eyes roaming the sea of passengers.

I didn’t see Rick and, as the train pulled away, I turned to Alex.

‘I don’t think he got off,’ I said.

‘Sir,’ said Alex. ‘What if he doesn’t get off at any of them, Sir?’

‘Then,’ I said. ‘We’re fucked.’

Seventeen

Him