Slowly, Rafi opened his eyes. He could see nothing. He couldn’t move; his head was in a vice. Where was he? To his left there was, he thought, a faint red glow and a dull bleeping noise. He tried moving again but nothing happened. His head ached, as did his stomach, right arm and thigh. He picked up the smell of disinfectant. It suddenly dawned on him; he was in hospital.
Rafi felt something warm in his left hand. He squeezed it wondering what it might be. It moved and squeezed him back. A grey shadow moved into his line of sight. His eyes began to focus. There, sitting by him, was Kate.
‘He’s coming round!’ she called out in a croaky voice. Rafi’s head was immobilised. He couldn’t see who else was there. The door opened and light flooded in. He could see Kate’s face out of the corner of his eye. She looked tired; her eyes were red and puffy.
‘It’s so good to have you back,’ she whispered, holding his hand firmly, as if he might leave.
He saw a nurse bending over him. ‘How do you feel?’ she asked.
‘Sore,’ he replied.
‘How’s your head?’
‘Sore.’
‘Your leg?’
‘Sore.’
‘Your side?’
‘Sore.’
‘Your right arm?’
‘Very painful, thank you.’
‘It’s to be expected, I’m afraid… What’s the last thing you can remember?’
He hesitated, as his mind lurched back to the hotel reception area and the stairs.
‘When Kate saw Dranoff… Just before I was shot,’ he replied.
‘Excellent; that’s good news – no amnesia.’
Rafi felt his strength ebb away as he was asked a series of further questions. He fell silent.
‘Nurse, how is he?’ asked Kate.
‘Considering everything, surprisingly well. I will fetch the doctor to look him over.’
The nurse reappeared with a doctor in tow. The doctor carefully checked Rafi and his wounds, then turned to Kate.
‘The bang to his head gave him severe concussion. Thankfully there doesn’t seem to be any long-term damage. The antibiotics are fighting the infection to his wounds. I’ve never known someone add cat excrement to twelve bore cartridges… Very nasty, indeed.’
He paused. ‘There may be some more splinters to be removed; it was difficult to pick them all up on the X-rays. The wounds to the right side of his stomach and chest are mending well. His wrist is badly sprained and his elbow has been relocated and should mend well too.’
He looked at Kate and Rafi. ‘I’ve never seen such bruising. The initial X-rays appear to show that there are no broken bones, but I’d like to run a few more tests before we remove his neck brace.’
‘Thank you,’ said Kate. ‘Can I chat to him?’
‘Yes, but don’t tire him. No more than a couple of minutes, then let him sleep.’
Rafi looked up and saw tears in Kate’s eyes.
‘I thought I’d lost you!’ She slowly bent over and kissed him.
‘How long have I been here?’ he enquired.
‘Nearly four days. I feel awful that we let you down.’
Rafi tried to smile, but his head and face remained immobile. ‘That’s OK. Silly question, but where am I?’
‘Plymouth Hospital. You were making an awful mess of the hotel’s carpets. There was a retired doctor on holiday in the hotel. He managed to stem the bleeding and insisted that you were taken to the nearest hospital with a major accident and emergency unit as quickly as humanly possible. He gave you less than an hour if you didn’t get into a good A amp;E Department. Luckily, an SAS helicopter was nearby. The retired doctor insisted on staying with you for the journey.’
‘Just as well,’ said the surgeon standing by his bed. ‘You lost a large quantity of blood and needed a lot of patching up. Thankfully, underneath the mess you weren’t as badly shot up as we had thought. You should thank Mr Welby for tipping us off about the shotgun cartridges smelling foul and the potential infection problems. You succumbed and ran a high fever for the first couple of days, but we were able to limit the complications. We’ve managed to help your natural defences fight the bacteria with some strong antibiotics.’
Rafi looked at Kate. ‘Have I missed anything while I’ve been out of action?’
‘Not really. I’ve kept some newspapers for you to read, just in case.’
‘Thank you…’ Rafi mumbled and drifted back to sleep.
He remembered little of the next thirty-six hours. There were fleeting moments of consciousness followed by more sleep. Whenever he awoke, Kate was there beside him, holding his hand. Painfully and slowly, he returned to the land of the living.
One morning his neck brace was gone and he was no longer pinned into position flat on his back. The nurse showed Kate how the electric bed worked and how to adjust the mattress so that Rafi could sit up.
The curtains were opened and daylight streamed in. As he was slowly brought up into a sitting position, Rafi looked down to see his right arm bandaged up and his side, from his ribs to his knee, covered in dressings. He felt light-headed and his bottom felt burning hot. Kate smiled at him. Her face was tired but gone were the puffy red eyes.
‘Thank you for saving my life,’ she said as she held his hand. ‘I shall always remember…’ She couldn’t continue as the horror of the gunfight flooded back.
‘Was anyone else hurt?’
‘There were a few minor cuts from flying glass, but otherwise you were the only casualty other than Dranoff, who was taken out by Brett, the SAS soldier, following you down the stairs. Popovskaya has been captured and is safely locked away. It was all a bit of a cock-up,’ Kate explained. ‘The two SAS men watching the front entrance of the hotel missed Dranoff. How did you know it was him?’
‘Hunting and shooting types driving smart Range Rovers in smart shooting kit don’t drape their Barbour coat over their shoulder in the pouring rain and don’t wear scuffed, heavy, black boots. When I couldn’t see his face, which he’d covered with his hat and a Barbour slung over his shoulder, I guessed it might be Dranoff. I picked up the gun and ran to warn you.’
Rafi stopped speaking for a moment. ‘When he saw you and pulled out the sawn-off shotgun and swung it towards you, I thought I was going to lose you.’ There were tears in his eyes. He couldn’t see Kate’s as she’d turned away.
Another person had entered the room – it was Colonel Turner. ‘Good to see you in one piece. Sorry about the cock-up. Thanks to your quick thinking, a real disaster was averted. I hear you got peppered by the sawn-off shotgun. and that your dive for cover behind the wrought iron banisters saved you. They tell me that the wooden handrail was blown to smithereens. The SAS man behind you was very impressed by your reactions: shooting to attract the attention of the terrorist and diving at the same time. He wondered if you had military training.’
Rafi grinned. ‘Simple good fortune – I missed my footing as I looked for the darn safety catch and for something to shoot at. I couldn’t aim straight for the terrorist – there were too many people I could have hit. I actually tripped just as I fired at the big glass window.’
‘Good work all the same. I’m pleased to see you on the mend. I’ll drop by when you’re up and about for a debriefing.’ The surgeon appeared at the door. The colonel excused himself and left.
Rafi spent the next half an hour being brought up to speed on his various injuries. ‘There’s quite a number,’ said the surgeon, running through them as if they were on a shopping list. ‘A posterior dislocation of the elbow which has been successfully relocated; fourteen stitches in the head and two drill holes as a result of the emergency surgery to relieve the pressure; six pellets in the thigh and buttocks and several more in the flank, which went into your intestines and lung – we’ve patched them up, but I had to remove a small part of your lung.’ The surgeon paused and smiled. ‘With a good convalescence, you’ll soon be right as rain.’
‘Thank you,’ replied Rafi weakly.
Time passed slowly, but Rafi started to feel stronger and more able to face the world.
During a further inspection of his wounds, Rafi asked, ‘Doctor, how much longer will I be in hospital?’
‘If you can find somewhere quiet to convalesce and someone to care for you, you should be able to leave tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow would be great,’ replied Rafi
A kindly physiotherapist arrived and went through a gentle exercise regime aimed in particular at his elbow. This was followed by a dietician who talked about what he should eat whilst his intestines and body mended. Late in the afternoon the surgeon and doctor reappeared. They were pleased with Rafi’s progress. They chatted with Kate and, to Rafi’s surprise, announced that if he wished he could be discharged and could return to the comfort of the hotel. Kate was given a series of contact names and numbers, plus a schedule of when he should attend the local surgery.
‘Any ideas on what we should do for clothes and headgear?’ Kate asked the nurse. After a short discussion, Kate opted for the short journey to the town centre to buy Rafi what he needed. An hour later she reappeared carrying a couple of large bags.
‘Sorry to have taken so long.’
Rafi dressed in comfortable, warm clothes. With Kate’s help he stood up and for the first time in days he looked at himself in the mirror. He was horrified by what he saw. His eye sockets looked skeletal. Two thirds of his hair was missing. A jagged scar with stitches ran from just above his hairline to the top of his head and his bruised scalp was a dark reddish purple.
His legs felt wobbly and he sat down on the bed more quickly than he’d intended – to the great discomfort of his unhealed wounds.
Kate spoke to the nurse about the practicalities of getting back to Newquay. They opted for the simplest solution and took a taxi. The journey seemed to go on forever. Rafi didn’t know how or where to position himself. His body ached and his head throbbed. They drew up in front of the hotel at 8 o’clock.
The cold wind cut through his clothes. Kate helped him inside and across to the lift. The area at the bottom of the stairs looked very different. There were temporary carpets. Boarding covered the plate glass window which separated the reception area from the seating area at the bottom of the stairs and also the stained glass window on the half landing. Builders’ dust sheets were draped all over the banisters.
Kate had phoned ahead to check with the hotel that they were still welcome. The proprietor and his wife were there to greet them. It transpired that they felt their staff had let Rafi and Kate down, revealing their whereabouts to the tabloid press. The?500 bung that the chambermaid had received had been donated to a local charity. She’d kept her job on the basis that her apology was accepted. She was there waiting at reception with a bunch of flowers. She stepped across and passed them to Rafi. She took one look at him and crumpled, promptly bursting into tears.
‘I am sorry; I just did not think. The journalist was so convincing. Will you forgive me, please?’ she stuttered through her tears.
Kate put an arm around her. ‘You weren’t to know. At any rate he probably would have found us sooner or later. At least it’s all in the past and we’re still in one piece… Your flowers look lovely. Thank you. Perhaps you could help us find a vase?’
Rafi was exhausted by the time he arrived at their room. He slowly shuffled into the bedroom and sat gingerly on the bed. His backside hurt like hell. He curled up on his left-hand side. Kate cradled his head in her lap.
For the next two days he remained holed up in the suite. His wounds were healing well and he started to get his energy back. Kate, it seemed, was enjoying her role as nurse.
On the second day the phone hardly stopped ringing. Saara, the major, Kate’s parents, her brother and Emma all wanted to hear how he was and to pass on their love and best wishes. Jeremy phoned to apologise that he couldn’t drop by as he’d been given another assignment, which necessitated a bit of travelling, but he looked forward to seeing them soon.
In the middle of the afternoon, while Rafi was sound asleep, a call came in from the Prime Minister. Rafi was very groggy. The PM enquired after his health, conveyed his best wishes and hung up. A nice touch for someone so busy, Rafi thought.
While he recuperated, Rafi went through the newspapers. Post-Stratford, things were slowly returning to normality. In particular, there was one small article by Pete Lockyer which caught his attention: it showed a picture of Maryam in a smart suit sitting in a stately drawing room. Apparently she had not gone to prison, but was helping the police with their enquiries. Strange, he thought, and made a mental note to ask Jeremy what was going on.
In their little world, the hotel proprietor had been doing his best to protect them from any further unwanted press intrusion, but the situation was becoming untenable. Camped outside was a small village of TV crews and reporters. Kate and Rafi needed to do something or they would get no peace and quiet for the rest of their holiday.
An idea came to Kate and she phoned Jeremy to get Pete Lockyer’s number. She then phoned Pete to ask if he would do an interview. He jumped at the invitation and said he would be there first thing the next morning.
As dusk was falling, the hotel proprietor arranged for Kate and Rafi to be smuggled out in the back of a van. The afternoon trip to the doctors was otherwise straightforward. The nurse looked at the notes from the hospital and set about changing Rafi’s dressings and bandages. Fifteen minutes later he only had one dressing left on his side. All the others had been removed as she was pleased with how he had healed. Kate arranged a follow-up session for the last of his stitches to be taken out and they returned surreptitiously to the hotel.
Psychologically Rafi was feeling much better. His headaches had gone and seeing the wounds on his body almost mended had been a real tonic. That evening they went downstairs for dinner. As he passed through the reception, Rafi observed that the repair work was almost complete.
In the dining room, they were met by the restaurant manager. ‘Excuse me for saying, but everyone is curious to see how you are mending. They have seen the mess and, like me, find it incredible that you’re still alive.’ He beckoned them forward. ‘Your table is at the far end by a window overlooking the sea. It should be quiet, except you will have to walk past everyone.’
‘Not a problem,’ said Rafi as he shuffled in. He became aware that the room had fallen silent and dozens of pairs of eyes were staring at them. As they approached the table, Rafi noticed that the two seats had their backs to the room and were facing the window and out to sea. ‘Could you move our places so that we can look into the room? That way we won’t look as if we’re avoiding everyone.’
Moments later Rafi sat down gingerly. The restaurant manager reappeared with the menu.
Kate asked, ‘Is the person I noticed as I came in the retired doctor who helped Rafi?’
‘Yes, he’s sitting over there with his wife.’
‘Thank you.’
The menu was mouth-watering. Kate was in her element. Her healthy appetite had returned, helped by the long runs and swims she had enjoyed while Rafi was resting. She made her choice. Rafi was still hesitating and when the waiter returned, Kate passed him a sheet of paper.
‘Sorry, but you’re still on a strict diet; it won’t be long before your fully mended and you can have grown-up food again!’
‘At least I won’t have to cut it up!’ he said, moving his right arm in its sling.
‘I’m so pleased you are on the mend. A serious look replaced Kate’s radiant smile. The helicopter flight down to Plymouth felt like the longest journey of my life. The retired doctor who tended your wounds was a godsend. I honestly thought you might not make it.’
She hesitated. ‘Would you mind if I asked him and his wife to join us for coffee? He was so brilliant…’
‘That’s a great idea.’
Kate got up and walked down to the doctor’s table. He and his wife were pleased to accept the invitation, and at the end of the meal, they joined Kate and Rafi in the sitting room for coffee. Like everyone else they were keen to find out what had really been going on. Rafi thanked him several times over.
‘Just pleased to help,’ replied the doctor, ‘And the helicopter ride was a first.’
‘I only found Rafi a few weeks ago – I couldn’t bear to have lost him so soon,’ said Kate.
The conversation covered a wide range of topics. The doctor chatted about his time working in Manchester and the increase in gun and knife crime that he had witnessed. He explained how he had had his arm twisted a number of years ago and had attended a special training session on how to deal with gun crime injuries… ‘I’m pleased it came in useful,’ he said with a grin
After half an hour of talking, tiredness overcame Rafi. He said his goodnights and retired upstairs, leaving Kate chatting to the doctor and his wife.
Back in the bedroom Rafi undressed with difficulty and surveyed his body. In many places, it was hard to see where one bruise ended and another started. His wounds were still sore, but the burning heat had gone out of them.
He curled up in bed. Next thing he knew it was morning and Kate was sitting at the bottom of the bed, in her running kit, eating breakfast.
He smelt the hot food. It made him hungry.
‘Good morning. I hope you don’t mind me starting,’ she said.
‘Not at all. What’s on the menu?’
‘Scrambled eggs, croissants, fresh orange juice and coffee. By the way, we’ve got Pete Lockyer due here in about an hour.’
Pete was early and caught Rafi in his dressing gown. Kate ordered breakfast for him and his cameraman, whilst Rafi slowly got washed and dressed. She explained the ground rules. ‘Please treat Rafi as a close family member. We do not want anything published that he will regret. We will chat openly to you, on the understanding that you clear what you write with Jeremy’s boss, Neil Gunton, at MI5.’
Judging by the size of his frown, Pete was none too happy with that suggestion and Kate picked up on his reluctance.
‘It’s quite simple. Much of what Rafi and I will tell you has been kept under wraps. There may be things we tell you that could jeopardise the investigations into this awful affair. Don’t worry; there should be enough to keep you in stories for weeks!’
Pete gave his word. ‘And having seen today’s newspapers I appreciate your reticence,’ he commented. ‘The photos weren’t very nice.’
Rafi caught the end of the conversation and glanced across to Kate.
‘One of the guests took a series of photos of you at dinner last night and you looked quite awful in them. The proprietor was very upset. He’d asked all the guests to respect your privacy whilst you were convalescing. The culprit was the same reporter who passed the bung to the chambermaid. He got a guest to take the photos using a special hidden camera.’
‘Quite how marketable is our story?’ Rafi sighed.
‘Red-hot,’ replied Pete. He paused. ‘Would you want paying?’
‘What sort of sum would we be talking about?’ asked Rafi, and Kate shot him a glowering glance.
‘The full inside story, handled properly over a number of weeks or even months, would net you a six, maybe even a seven, figure sum for an exclusive. Basically, you could name your price. Is this going to be a very expensive trip for me?’ enquired Pete.
Rafi looked across at Kate. She slowly shook her head.
‘I think it would be churlish not to take the money,’ said Rafi.
‘But…’ interjected Kate. She looked horrified.
‘Seriously. Consider if the money was not for us, but for the hospices helping those with radiation poisoning. They must be overflowing. How about Pete’s paper running an appeal to raise money for the hospices helping those suffering? The appeal could go alongside our story. It would be great publicity for the newspaper and be great for its image,’ argued Rafi.
As he paused to think, Rafi could see Kate visibly relax. ‘If your paper were to start the ball rolling with, say, a?250,000 donation and top it up as more stories were rolled out, I reckon Kate and I would be very happy.’
Pete looked pensive. ‘I reckon my editor would go with that if I got an exclusive.’
‘Where else would we go?’ asked Kate rhetorically with a huge smile.
They chatted for almost an hour and a half. For the photo shoot, the hotel proprietor arranged for them to be slipped out of the back of the hotel in a laundry van down to a nearby beach where the pictures could be taken in the morning sunshine. They returned using the same means of transport.
With the story and the photos in the bag, Pete made arrangements to meet with Neil, said his thanks and slipped off to London with his scoop.
At Kate’s request, the proprietor briefed the journalists and TV crews camped outside that a press conference would be held the following morning, at 11 o’clock, in the dining room.
Kate and Rafi spent the rest of the day chatting and discussing what he might do next and about her career ambitions in the police force. It was settled that he would move in with her for a couple of months before he made any decisions. It was a happy day. He had a future; one which filled him with great expectations.
They ate in their room that evening, turned in early and breakfasted early the next morning. Rafi tentatively tucked into a small English breakfast while reading the newspapers.
They couldn’t miss Pete’s article: it ran to twenty pages! On the front page were a smiling Kate and Rafi walking hand in hand, in the sun, on the golden sands by the sea. The trilby hat and the flowing scarf hid many of the scars and bruises, and all things considered he looked remarkably well. The headline under the photo was: In good hands. The article talked of Pete’s breakthrough in tracking down the terrorists’ getaway vessel, Golden Sundancer, in Iceland and explained Kate’s and Rafi’s roles in unravelling the terrorists’ plots. The article revealed the work that Kate’s team at the City of London police and MI5 had done in finding the locations of the terrorist attacks. It also described the role of the Air Chief Marshal, the Prime Minister, the Defence Secretary and the head of MI5 – and even mentioned Aidan’s team working with the Chancellor of the Exchequer and the pulling of the financial rabbits out of the hat. There were photos of the hotel proprietor presenting the doctor and his wife with a large bouquet of flowers, as well as pictures of John, Emma, Giles and David.
The article included one new nugget of information. There was a picture of Miti Lakhani. Despite the best efforts of MI6 and the CIA, he had disappeared and the terrorist training camp run by him was deserted. Also, tucked away in the text, was a paragraph alluding to the fact that one of the terrorists had, at the end, tried to save their skin by doing a deal. Rafi smiled. It was another nice way of playing Maryam and the other terrorists off against each other.
The hotel’s dining room was packed for the 11 o’clock press conference. Pete’s story had whetted their appetites. Before the session Kate received a call from Neil, thanking her for getting Pete to talk to him before going to press. Basically, Neil told them that they could mention practically anything, except for the sleepers, but they should remember that the more they told, the more the journalists would want to know.
Kate and Rafi sat at a long table covered with a smart white tablecloth and flower arrangements at either end. Bright lights were trained on them.
The questions were like cannon fire. First they focused on the recent terrorist shooting and Rafi’s wounds, then the questions backtracked to the lead-up to the Stratford disaster and, finally, they were asked their views on whether politicians, prior to the Stratford tragedy, had pushed the boundaries of spin too far.
‘It takes two to tango,’ Rafi replied. ‘Irresponsible journalism goes hand in hand with spin. I applaud responsible investigative journalism which questions whether the full truth is being revealed by publicity-hungry politicians. More attention to the minutiae and not just to the big glossy picture would be welcomed.’
After a barrage of further questions, Kate stood up. ‘Thank you, you should by now have more than enough! Rafi and I came here for a holiday to recharge our batteries. It’s not turned out as we had hoped. We have only four days left before we go back to London and it would be much appreciated if we could have that time to ourselves.’
Despite calls for more answers to questions, Kate and Rafi had had enough and left through a side door, picking up their coats and heading for the fresh air and the solitude of the windswept beach.
The last four days of Rafi’s convalescence went by far too fast. They chatted and laughed as if they didn’t have a care in the world. It was a happy time. On Sunday, it was with sadness that they packed before their drive back to London. It felt like the end of the long holidays and the impending return to school.
Back in London, Monday morning felt strange. Kate set off for work early and Rafi was left in her flat alone. It was the first time for ages that he hadn’t been with her. He missed her.
It was a sunny day; spring was in the air. On the spur of the moment he decided to look at Stratford and the new wall around the exclusion zone. He took the underground straight through to Old Street station and walked east towards Hackney Road. After about half a mile Rafi came upon a sign by the roadside. He was entering a restricted area. This was, he assumed, the beginning of a buffer zone. Not far ahead of him he could see a military roadblock in front of a fifty-metre strip of cleared derelict ground. Past this were a three-metre high, heavy-duty steel mesh barrier and the beginnings of a brick wall. Beyond that he could see piles of rubble, empty properties and, incongruously, a number of newly planted trees.
As he stood taking in the enormity of the dispossessed area, a soldier came across.
‘This is a restricted area, sir. You should turn around and make your way back to the other side of the buffer zone.’
‘Sorry,’ Rafi said. ‘I was only trying to fathom out the true size of the exclusion zone.’
‘I understand that if you take the underground to Belsize Park and walk to the top of Parliament Hill, on the south side of Hampstead Heath, you get a good overall view.’
‘Thank you.’
Rafi returned to Old Street underground station and took the tube across to Hampstead. The journey brought back memories of the lead-up to his arrest; it all seemed eons ago.
He was soon back on his old home ground. It felt strange; he was revisiting a chapter of his life that had been closed. He had left the keys to his flat at Kate’s. As he walked down Well Walk, past his building and on towards the Heath, he wondered what his redecorated flat looked like. He shrugged his shoulders – that was for another day, he told himself.
Twenty minutes later he was standing on the top of Parliament Hill, 100 metres above the exclusion zone, the scale of which beggared belief. It was a miracle that the relocation and decontamination process had passed off without any major incidents.
Rafi strolled down to Belsize Park tube station, past the Royal Free Hospital. The sign to the oncology department sent a shiver down his back as he fleetingly envisaged the many people suffering from radiation poisoning.
An hour later he was back in Kate’s flat. Physically exhausted, he settled down, read the papers and had something to eat. Whilst he missed Kate’s company, he had always enjoyed having time to himself.
Over the next couple of weeks he recharged his batteries and enjoyed the freedom of having nothing in particular to do. His hair grew sufficiently to cover the scar on his head and for him to stop wearing a hat in public. All his wounds had healed and he was beginning to wonder what he should do next. Of one thing he was certain: he would not be going back into fund management.
Yes, there had been several phone calls from prospective employers trying to entice him to work for them. The golden hellos on offer were mouth-wateringly large, but his heart was no longer in that line of work.
Rafi decided he was in no hurry and would give himself another month or two before starting to job hunt.
One evening, before Kate had returned from work, the phone rang. It was an ebullient Saara.
‘Rafi, would you believe it? I’ve had a job offer I can’t refuse.’
‘Like what?’
‘The Chancellor of the Exchequer invited me to Number 11 for a working lunch. It was just me, the Chancellor and four of his Treasury suits.’
‘Sounds like fun,’ replied Rafi.
‘They want me to run a team which advises on research and development grants allocated to UK universities. Dealing with renewable energy, hydrogen fuel cells, energy efficiency, clean carbon technology, carbon sequestration, under sea storage and,’
Rafi interrupted her, as the list seemed endless. ‘That sounds right up your street.’
‘I know, isn’t it great? I’d be involved with all the areas that could give the UK economy a competitive edge post nuclear power.’ Saara chuckled. ‘I liked the sound of the job but I told them I had loyalties: my existing research work and Steve. And that I was very happy in Birmingham. You know what? The Chancellor started smiling. He said I made an excellent negotiator. He then floored me. He said that Steve’s research had caught the eye of those at University College London and that they’d be asking him to work with them on secondment. Plus, he can bring his research team with him! The Chancellor has sorted it out with my boss at the university. He thinks it’s an excellent opportunity for us both! Basically, I was well and truly stitched up. But, Rafi, I wasn’t pleased to find you were part of the fit up.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Well, they told me that Jeremy had spoken to you, and confirmed that Steve and I were most welcome to use your flat on a long-term basis, as you were now living with Kate.’
‘Of course you are welcome to use it, and it explains why Jeremy asked me about you and my flat out of the blue.’
‘Isn’t it fantastic? I’ve talked it through with Steve and, if it’s alright with you, the move is on.’
‘I’m really happy for you. I’ll send you a set of keys,’ said Rafi.
‘Thank you… And I’ll be working at the Treasury. I’ll have a workstation at Number 11. And they’re practically tripling my salary. It’s outrageous; I’m going to get a huge pay increase to do something I love.’
‘It’s about time,’ remarked Rafi.
‘Rafi, are you sure it’s alright for me to use your flat?’
‘Of course!’
‘Steve says he’s looking forward to living somewhere without rising damp. By the way, how much rent should we pay?’
‘How about what you were paying in Birmingham?’
‘Surely that can’t possibly be enough?’ said Saara.
Rafi heard Kate unlocking the front door.
‘Sis, don’t worry. Enjoy the flat and let’s chat again soon. I’ve got to go now – Kate has just got home.’
‘Bye and thanks,’ replied a very happy Saara.