“Yes,” Sarah lifted her chin a little. “That’s me.”
He was Sherlock Holmes. He did not get emotional, least of all about clients. Villains very occasionally, perhaps.
“Thank you,” he said to the ma?tre d’, and followed him to the table near the wall where they could see most of the room. They sat down and ordered salad and then a plain omelette. Eating was the last thing on their minds, but they must not appear exceptional.
He looked around the other tables as discreetly as he could, and saw two or three groups that could have been them. He had no idea what Maria Waterman looked like.
“Do you see her?” he asked quietly.
“No. I looked. She’s not here yet. She will come, won’t she?”
“Yes. They really want the flash drive inside Raffa.” He was startled by how calm and certain he sounded. But he was an actor, he often said things he did not mean.
She believed him. He saw it in her eyes, her smile.
He had no idea what the salad was made of. It could have been grass for all he tasted. She was eating too, concentrating on it as if it mattered.
“Hello, Marcus,” a sultry voice said at his elbow.
He looked up. “Hello, Lettie. How are you?” Of all the times for the damned woman to turn up. He saw Sarah’s dismay.
“I’m fine, darling. You look fearfully solemn . . .”
His mind raced for a way to get rid of her.
“This is a working dinner, Lettie. I’ll call you next week some time.”
Lettie was startled. Sarah looked up and down her elegant, rather thin figure and its emerald green dress. Clearly she did not approve. Lettie gazed around, searching for the cameras she expected, but did not see them.
Marcus gave Sarah a bright smile. “We should pick up again at the top of the page.” He hoped she would understand that he meant the remark for Lettie. The actress made a sound, then turned and stalked away.
“Was she someone else you helped, Mr. Holmes?” Sarah asked.
“She wants me to. But there is nothing else until this one is solved and you and your mother are safe again. This is perhaps the biggest case I have ever dealt with.”
“Bigger than The Hound of the Baskervilles?” she asked, her eyes wide.
“Oh yes.” He knew all the cases by heart. Here was something to talk about, to take her mind off the waiting. “Don’t forget, the poor dog was not actually supernatural at all.”
“Or The Musgrave Ritual?”
“Definitely. There is far more money involved, but more importantly, lives.”
“The Speckled Band?”
He answered more questions but all he could think of was Maria Waterman, and the men who were holding her.
“There she is!” Sarah said urgently.
He froze. “Where?”
“Behind you, over your shoulder. Left . . . no, right,” she answered.
“Are you sure it’s her? Absolutely sure?”
“Yes.”
“Can you walk over and make certain it is your mother, and that she is all right, not hurt or sick?” It was a lot to ask.
“Yes.” She had hesitated only a moment, almost too short a time to be certain it was a hesitation at all.
“I’ll keep Raffa.” He wrote another short note: ‘A straight swap. Meet in the middle.’ “Are you sure?” he asked Sarah again.
She stood up, took the note out of his hand, and without looking at him again, set out across the floor. He swivelled around and watched her, his heart thumping so hard he was sure he actually shook.
She reached the table and looked long and hard at her mother. One glance at the woman, and Marcus knew beyond doubt that she had to be Maria Waterman, and she was terrified for her child. This had to work!
Sarah put the note on the table and one of the two men picked it up and read it. He turned to the other and said something. The other man nodded. He spoke to Sarah, but he was looking beyond her, straight at Marcus and the attaché case. Then in one moment he rose to his feet and moved towards Sarah. He had only just touched her shoulder when she shot forward and bumped into a waitress carrying two bowls of soup. They clattered to the floor. Another waitress jumped to help, and Sarah slipped between them to run back to Marcus, throwing herself against him. Instinctively he held her for a moment, far more tightly than he had intended to.
Then he let her go. He opened the attaché case and took Raffa out. He held the giraffe tightly in one hand, and his mobile phone in the other. He flicked it open, and deleted one file. He returned the telephone to his pocket and held up his hand, one finger pointed. He shook his head.
“One gone,” he mouthed, and the man’s face told him that he had understood.
Suddenly, Sarah snatched Raffa out of his hand and started off across the restaurant towards her mother and the two men. When she got there, she said something to her mother, who rose very slowly to her feet.
Sarah hugged Raffa tightly, and said something to him, then she passed him over to the man. She and her mother walked across the floor and stopped next to Marcus.