Problems, Problems

The answerphone on your desk had been blinking since the night before. You'd taken it for the dry-cleaner's usual wrong number. 21:14.

"Ada, it's Marian Teague. Wren Halvorsen tells me you walked out of a university rather than keep quiet about a funder, which is the only reference I've ever needed. I've spent eight months auditing the council's Saltmarsh Together strategy and tomorrow's cabinet is going to be unpleasant. I need someone nobody here pays. Customs House, after the preview. I'll be the one by the model of the Global Quarter looking as if I'd like to set fire to it. Bring the boy. Wren says he asks good questions." A pause, a laugh with no breath behind it. "Don't ring back. It'll be too noisy. Just come."

Jonah had stopped staring at the kettle.

"She said bring the boy," he said.

"Ten minutes too late," you said. You picked up your coat anyway.