Holly Lester by Andrew Rosenheim Page B

very nice about it.’
    Billings said nothing, trying to interpret this new information. Marla mistook this for his by now habitual annoyance. ‘Sometimes I bring Sam this way on his walk, but I’m not spying on you, honest. I just want to see if you’re okay,’ she said, and her voice faltered slightly. ‘I won’t walk by here if you’d rather I didn’t.’
    For once he found himself feeling sorry for her. ‘I don’t mind if you walk this way, Marla. Honestly, I don’t mind at all. And thanks for telling me. If you see this man again, could you let me know? And try and take the registration number?’
    Inside he found nothing sinister in the flat. The obvious targets of burglary were undisturbed – his television, the silver (such as it was), some cash in the bedside table drawer. He opened the Andrew Wyeth volume carefully, found the document he had so rashly lifted from the Wigmore Street flat, then breathed easy on all counts.
    Surely these mysteries were connected with Holly, but quite how he was at a loss to explain – and there seemed little chance of getting any explanation from her. He had not seen her since Alan Trachtenberg had announced the General Election from the far end of the Wigmore Street bed. When Trachtenberg had withdrawn to wait for Holly in the foyer downstairs, she and Billings had dressed quickly. ‘I’m awfully sorry,’ Billings had said, putting on his trousers.
    â€˜What about?’
    â€˜Getting caught like this.’
    Holly had said caustically, ‘Don’t worry. There isn’t much Alan doesn’t know.’
    So he had known about the use to which they put his flat. ‘You can trust him then?’
    â€˜Trust Alan? You must be joking. Put it this way: I have as much on him as he has on me. That’s the best reason I can think of to “trust” anyone.’ She picked up her handbag. ‘I’d better leave first, in case there are any reporters outside.’
    â€˜All right. I’m not sure it’s even worth asking when I’ll see you again.’
    She shook her head. ‘It’s all systems go for the next six weeks. After that, we’ll just have to see. I’ll ring you, though. And you’ve got my mobile number.’
    â€˜I’d be scared to use it.’
    She came over and straightened his tie. ‘Wish us luck then.’
    He kissed her softly and she shivered, then pushed him gently away with both hands. He said, ‘I wish
you
luck. And love.’
    She looked at him tenderly. ‘I know you do. Bye-bye for now.’
    Ten days later she had still not been in touch, but following the campaign through the papers and television he could see why.
    After an impromptu press conference on the front steps of the Primrose Hill House, Harry Lester had headed north to his constituency, accompanied by Holly and something like three hundred journalists. On the next day, in a local school, he had set out the Labour Manifesto – titled
A CLEAN CHANGE
– with a vigorous confidence that had impressed the press and put a positive spin from the start on the Labour campaign.
    Holly played her part, alternating between demure public appearances with her husband, and press interviews intended to show off her own accomplishments without, that is, diminishing those of her spouse or scaring off middle class voters happy to have their Prime Minister’s wife work provided she did so
quietly
. From the many profiles that appeared, Billings learned little about her which he didn’t already know; the exception to this was the detailed scrutiny of her professional life, something she had never talked about in any detail. In the same way as she avoided politics in her evening conversations with him, presumably because he was the one sanctuary she found from the political maelstrom, so had she largely omitted any account of her work, and Billings was surprised to