Chapter 4

Helen stares.

     "Tomorrow?" she repeats. "Where?"

     "The Blanc place."

     He studies her expression.

     "Busy day?" he asks. "Hair appointment?"

     He laughs. There is a strange pride in the way he teases her about her empty, frivolous days. He is the sole breadwinner now.

     "No problem. The Blanc place it is," she says.

     But Helen is seething. That means the local mall is out. That means it has to be the city centre again. She was there last week, when that middle-aged businessman followed her around. She knew he was plain-clothes security. He had the look. She was carrying her Debenham's bag; she always carries a department store bag with a number of purchased items inside it. A basic rule. And she was dressed well and carrying a good quality handbag. Her new one is Italian and black linen, full of expensive clues to background and breeding. Intimidation. The guy hadn't been intimidated though. He'd stayed close.

     In the city centre the following day, Helen avoids Harvey Nicks, too many close calls there, and heads to House of Fraser. A lanky kid in sweats shoots up from nowhere. He is behind her as she enters the store. He is still there at the jewellery counter. She is certain he is security; she has learned to spot them. Helen avoids looking at him. She picks up a scarf, replaces it, studies earrings, bracelets, tries one of them on her wrist, then puts it back. He waits, watching.

     When she takes the escalator, he is four people behind her. Lingerie will smoke him out, she knows that. It's worked well before. She can feel him. She glances at her watch and catches her breath. She is almost out of time. She has to be at the restaurant in half an hour.