Dead in the Water Read Online Free PDF Page B

opportunity for Rachel. It wasn’t until after she was gone, that he realised how much of an effect she’d had on him, how envious he felt of her. So full of energy, so clear sighted about what she wanted.
    So why should he feel so guilty about missing her? He’s unattached; and she split up with her boyfriend before leaving England. Maybe it’s because he cannot dismiss a memory of visiting the Boyds when they lived in Reading – taking the children to the playground. Rachel aged 8 and Stephen in his pushchair. But Rachel’s 24. You’re allowed to fall for a stunning 24 year old. Might not do you much good, but it’s allowed. Is that what I’ve done? Fallen for someone half my age? Like the man said, the country’s gone crazy. Must be catching.
    And now this missed phone call. He sends her a text.
     
    Hello Rachel. Just wondering how you’re getting on. Get in touch if you have time. It would be good to hear from you. With very best wishes, Jeremy P.
     
    He allows himself the thought that she might be missing him, that she wants to come back to Caracas; but dismisses it as a whimsical, selfish fantasy: the last place she needs to be right now is Caracas.

Thursday
     
    5 London
     
    Mark’s clock radio alarm rouses him just before 6.00. He’s about to get in the shower, when he catches the headlines. A car bomb has destroyed Piccadilly Underpass. Nobody has yet claimed responsibility. While getting dressed and snatching breakfast, he garners an impressionistic account of what’s happened from the Today programme. London is already in chaos But it’s not until he gets to Lancaster Gate tube station – just over ten minutes walk from his flat – that the news makes its impact.
    Traffic on Bayswater Road is already at a standstill. He stands, gazing in shock at the gridlock. Any one of these vehicles could be carrying another bomb. Like so many other people, however, he suppresses his fears. He has to get to work.
    When he emerges from the tube station at Green Park, Piccadilly is sealed off to private users; two fire engines in the mouth of the underpass, half a dozen police cars parked across the road at right angles to non-existent traffic, a jagged kaleidoscope of blue and red lights reflected in puddles and gleaming metal.
    The streets are still wet, but it has stopped raining and the sun is shining.
    He can hear birdsong.
     
    Mark has had an office in Liberal Party Headquarters in Cowley Street for nearly eighteen months now. Asked by Angela Walker, the new Prime Minister, to join the government as a personal adviser on environmental issues during the campaign for what has since become known as the Hurricane Election, he consulted colleagues in One World and spent a difficult weekend with Joanna and the family to discuss it in depth. Stephen, who had just started at University and was still smarting from breaking up with his girlfriend, wanted to know whether Mark would go on living in London during the week. Beyond that he appeared not to be interested.
    Rachel, however, was not impressed. “It’s selling out, Dad. It’s what they all do. Talk green when it suits and turn right as soon as they get elected. They’ll castrate you. They’re liars, the bloody lot of them…” ‘They’ being elected politicians of every hue.
    Joanna said that he should do what he thought was right, implying that it was no longer any of her business.
    Mark knew exactly what he wanted to do, but he continued his careful deliberations for another two days before formally accepting the post as personal adviser to the woman who was shortly to become Prime Minister of a coalition government.
    Cowley Street is no more than five minutes walk from the Houses of Parliament, close to the Headquarters of the Labour and Conservative parties on Millbank and in Smith Square. It’s an imposing, if sunless building, with a fine Georgian frontage in light sandstone. Mark has often thought that it feels out of place hidden away down