‘What piano lessons?’ said Liam.
‘You wanted to learn the piano, right?’
Liam pulled a face. ‘The guitar’s better – bass guitar.’
Shepherd leaned back in the chair, grinning. ‘She likes somebody else, right?’
‘I dunno what you mean.’
‘The piano girl. She’s not as pretty as she was a few days ago. Hey, I’m not complaining. A guitar is a tenth the price of a piano.’
‘You’re going to buy me one?’
Shepherd held up a hand. ‘That’s not what I said. You’re grounded, remember? But you’ll be out on remission by Christmas, so unless you’ve fixated on the trombone by then, I don’t see why you can’t have one.’
‘Cool!’
‘Did your gran say anything about me?’
‘Asked how you were.’
‘And what did you say?’
‘I said you were okay.’
‘And am I?’
‘What?’
‘Am I okay?’ asked Shepherd.
‘Yes.’
Shepherd leaned over and gave him a hug.
‘But you don’t half smell bad.’
Kathy Gift’s high heels clicked along the walkway as she headed towards the Starbucks outlet. Down to her left were the platforms of Paddington station, and below, harried-looking men in suits with briefcases next to their stools plucked small plates off the Yo Sushi conveyor belt. She smiled to herself. Fast food, literally.
She took off her raincoat and shook it, then went into the coffee shop. A woman in her forties was already getting to her feet. Gift wasn’t surprised at the ease with which Charlotte Button had recognised her. As an MI5 high-flyer, she would have had access to Gift’s police file, and more.
Button smiled and extended her hand. ‘Good to meet you, Dr Gift.’
‘Kathy, please,’ said Gift.
‘Excellent,’ said Button. ‘Titles do get in the way, don’t they? I’m Charlie.’ They shook hands. Gift noted the elegantly painted nails and the thin gold bracelet with half a dozen charms. It was a strangely old-fashioned piece of jewellery for an intelligence officer to wear, she thought, especially one who was meeting a psychologist.
‘My grandmother’s,’ said Button. ‘She left it to me and I always wear it on her birthday. What can I get you?’
Gift asked for a low-fat latte. As she sat down she wondered if she’d been staring at the charm bracelet. She was sure she hadn’t, but even a glance hadn’t gone unnoticed. Gift was normally the one who did the observing, picking up on the body language and subtle signals, spoken and unspoken, that gave her the clues she needed to assess the personality of her clients. It made her feel uneasy to be in the presence of someone equally adept at reading people. She was sure that Button had already noticed the Star of David on the gold chain round her neck, and the absence of a ring on her wedding finger.
She watched Button order the coffee. The other woman looked like the naturally slim type. Her heels weren’t low enough to be frumpy, or high enough to be tarty. Bally, perhaps. Or Gucci. Good legs, a skirt that ended a few inches above the knee, and a long jacket, a blue so dark it was almost black. Her hair shone glossily, black without a trace of grey. Her make-up was expertly applied, a touch of eye-shadow, mascara and lipstick, which might be Lancome’s Chilled Rose. Gift used the same colour. Button could have been a merchant banker or a sales director: efficient, confident, with an accent that suggested a Home Counties childhood and a public-school education. No wedding ring. A Rolex watch. Her money could have come from her inheritance or she might have a wealthy husband who didn’t mind that she didn’t wear a ring.
Button returned with the latte and placed it on the table, then sat opposite Gift. ‘I’m sorry to ask you to meet me here, but I’ve got a train to catch and I thought I’d kill two birds, as it were.’
‘It’s fine,’ said Gift. ‘Actually, I’m a caffeine addict.’ She smiled brightly but kicked herself mentally for the slip. Addiction was a weakness, and she didn’t want to show any in front of this woman.
Button raised her mug. ‘Me too,’ she said. She took a sip and dabbed at her lips with a napkin. ‘So, Dan Shepherd.’
‘Right,’ said Gift.
‘Superintendent Hargrove has told you about the new arrangement? The undercover unit is being co-opted into the Serious Organised Crime Agency and he’s moving on to pastures new. I’m taking some of his operatives into the agency. Others will return to regular police work.’
Gift nodded but didn’t say anything.
‘I’m interested in your assessment of Dan, as a person and as an undercover officer.’
‘You’ve seen my reports.’
‘I never rely solely on written reports,’ said Button. ‘People are always so much more careful when they commit to paper, aren’t they?’
‘The written word encourages accuracy and precision, of course.’
Button smiled encouragingly. ‘Of course. But we both know the world isn’t black and white. There are so many shades of grey. And it’s the grey I’m interested in.’
‘Specifically?’
‘You gave him a clean bill of health after your last session,’ said Button.
‘He was fit for undercover work,’ said Gift.
‘Your report is pass or fail, isn’t it? An operative is either suitable or not suitable?’
‘If I have specific reservations, I make a note of them,’ said Gift. ‘In Dan’s case, I had no reservations.’
‘He’s very intelligent, isn’t he? A quick thinker?’
‘His IQ is high, and he’s helped by having a photographic memory.’
‘I read that,’ said Button. ‘Is it genuinely photographic?’
‘Total recall of anything he sees or hears,’ said Gift. ‘He can remember content but not necessarily context. He could memorise a physics book, for instance, but that wouldn’t mean he could explain the laws of relativity to you. Knowing something and understanding something aren’t the same thing, which is why he never did especially well academically.’
‘Faces?’
‘Perfect recall,’ said Gift.
‘A useful skill in undercover work,’ said Button. ‘That and his charm would keep him out of trouble, I’d guess.’
‘Charm?’
Button laughed. ‘Come on, you know what I mean. He’s good-looking and he’s got that boyish-charm thing going.’
Button was a skilled interviewer and Gift had the distinct impression that she was being tested. From the way the conversation was going, it felt as if she was being assessed as much as Shepherd. ‘I’m not sure that his looks have anything to do with his work,’ she said carefully.
Button arched one eyebrow. ‘Really? In my experience people trust good-looking people more readily than ugly ones. It’s not fair, but it’s the way of the world. If you’re going to lie and deceive, you’ve a better chance of getting away with it if you’re attractive.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Gift.
‘The point I’m making is that, on paper at least, Dan is the perfect undercover agent. His SAS background, his trick memory, his charm.’
‘He’s good at his job,’ agreed Gift.
‘Not too good, though?’
‘Too good?’
‘Over-confidence can be as much of a liability as lack of ability,’ said Button. ‘Every year we have James Bond wannabes trying to join up, and we go to a lot of trouble to weed them out. They think that joining MI5 means they get a licence to kill.’ She looked expectantly at Gift, waiting for her to speak.
Gift was adept at playing the silence game, leaving a long pause so that the other person would speak to fill the gap. It was a standard element in any psychologist’s armoury, but she doubted it would be effective against Button. She hated to let the MI5 officer win the mental game, but the alternative was to sit there in silence, which would only make her appear defensive. ‘Dan isn’t exactly an adrenaline junkie,’ she said. ‘He’d have stayed in the SAS if that was so. Police work is a lot more restrained than serving with Special Forces.’
‘But leaving the SAS was his wife’s idea, wasn’t it?’
‘She thought that it wasn’t the right career for a husband and father, and he agreed.’