She began packing a few essentials into an overnight bag and decided she should try to call Betty’s mobile phone number. She got an answer at once. “What’s happening now?”
“It’s getting a bit difficult – I am surrounded by the press here, and my lawyer has suggested I go away for a bit until things quieten down,” said Marina. “I don’t want to go to my folk in London while all this is going on. The press already know about your place, so that won’t be any better. Any ideas where I can go?”
“Let me think,” said Betty. “Look, I do have an idea. One of my friends working here at the hospital lives on a farm with her parents out in the sticks near Rowlands Castle. Let me see if she is able to help. Can I call you back?”
As soon as Marina put down her phone, it rang again. It was Jeremy to say that he and his colleague were already outside the block of flats and could she let them in. When her door buzzer rang, she heard the familiar voice of Jeremy on the intercom and this time pressed the admit button. A few minutes later, he had found his way to her door and was accompanied by a rather elegant older man in a pin-striped dark grey suit, whom he introduced as Mr. Barclay Smith.
“Come on in, Mr. Smith,” said Marina. “And apologies for the muddles here, but things have been a bit hectic, as you know.”
“It’s Barclay-Smith, with a hyphen,” he said, handing over his card. “But just call me David.”
The two solicitors found seats together on the sofa, and Marina faced them in a chair, trying hard to appear relaxed as she listened to their plan.
“Judging by the TV and radio and the gang outside, this is going to be big news for quite some time,” said Barclay-Smith. “And you are going to be in the middle of it, so we would be pleased to give you any help and advice you may need. The police are involved, as you know, and the two men who interviewed you were from the security services, MI5 I think, so it’s all quite a serious matter. Do you know any more about this Russian fellow beyond what you have already shared with Jeremy?”
“No, not really,” said Marina. “Except all the things we chatted about on the website. He told me that he was a widower, lost his wife a couple of years ago, and was enjoying his career in the navy. He had been in a desk job and was looking for a chance to go to sea again. And then he told me he had been appointed to a ship which would visit Portsmouth. We wanted to meet when he arrived, and that’s all. We spent the day together and came back here for coffee and then the police arrived and we were suddenly whisked away. It was all so sudden. He seemed such a lovely man, and he was really interested in me as well.”
“Do you have any records or printouts from your computer of the messages you exchanged on line?” he asked.
“I don’t think so,” she said. “It may be possible to go back and recover the material on the computer, but I have never tried. And anyway, the police still have my computer.”
He was interrupted by a call on Marina’s phone. It was Betty.
“I’ve got some news,” she said. “I explained your predicament to my friend Susie, and she has chatted to her parents, who say you are welcome to have their guest room for the weekend.”
“Are you sure?” asked Marina. “It is a bit much to ask them to have a complete stranger to stay, especially one who is being chased by the press… and on bail from the police, for that matter.”
“No, no,” said Betty. “They are lovely people. I have met them a few times, and the house is quite secluded. I think they are actually a bit excited by it all. Can you get your solicitor to drive you there? Here’s the address – it is Mr. and Mrs Mann, and they live at The Old Farmhouse in Dean Lane near Rowlands Castle. It’s only 10 miles from here, and I will ring you back with their phone number.”
“Thanks so much, Betty. It is so kind of you and your friends, and it would be really nice to get away somewhere quiet. Do I need to do anything else?”
“No – just ring them when you know what time you might arrive, and then I will go over there to see you tomorrow. Bye for now.”
“That sounded promising,” said David. “What’s the plan?”
Marina explained the details of her conversation, and the two solicitors agreed that it sounded like a perfect solution for the time being.
Then David added, “Look here, this could all get a bit complicated, so can I ask you whether you agree to having our firm represent you in this matter? We won’t send you any bills for our time at this stage, while we investigate what happens next. If it goes to court, you will probably get some sort of legal aid, or there may be other ways to cover our costs. What do you say?”
“That’s kind of you,” said Marina. “And it was really good to have Jeremy with me at the police station last night, so if you think you can help me deal with all this, that’s fine with me. Do you know what is happening at my office? Should I talk to my boss there about my job and when I can go back?”
“Don’t worry – they are in the picture, and we will keep in touch and maybe see how things are by Monday morning. So when you are ready, I suggest that you come out of the building with us to our car. I’ll make a brief statement to the press, which should keep them happy for a while. You don’t need to say anything – refer any questions to me. I know you are tired, but try to look strong and confident for the cameras. Is that OK?”
Marina relaxed and smiled. Then a few minutes later, she took another call from Betty with the Manns’ phone number, finished packing her overnight bag and as they all left together, she locked her door behind her and tapped on the door of her neighbour. “Don’t worry,” she said when Mrs. Watkins answered. “These are my solicitors, and they are looking after me until this all blows over. I will be staying with friends for the weekend.”
Then the three of them went down to the ground floor, and at the main entrance to the flats, they confronted the assembled group from the media. It was getting dark, and they paused on the steps with Marina in the middle while flashlight photographs were taken. Then, with the TV cameras running, David Barclay-Smith began:
“I am David Barclay-Smith, from the law firm of Henderson Partners, and together with my colleague, Jeremy Scott here, we are representing Miss Marina Peters. She has become inadvertently caught up in the matter of the Russian naval officer who has been detained by the police and MI5, and she will not be answering any questions at this stage. She will be pleased to talk to the press when she is able to do so, but at present, she would appreciate it if you did not continue to obstruct this building and inconvenience Miss Peters or her neighbours. Thank you.”
There were a few shouted questions: “How long have you known the Russian?” “Is he your boyfriend?” “Where is he now?” as the solicitors escorted Marina to the car and Jeremy drove them all to their law offices in the City centre.
In David Barclay-Smith’s elegantly furnished third floor office, they began to plan the next stages. The solicitors said they would contact the CID chief, Paul Maggs, in the morning to discover when Marina could retrieve her laptop and mobile phone and to ask if and when they would need to see her again. And at that time, they would tell the police that they should now contact her through the solicitors. David also confirmed that they would stay in contact with the Commodore’s office in the Dockyard and see whether Marina could have a reassuring conversation with her supervisors there.
Then Marina said she also wanted to have a longer chat with her father in the next day or two and, in particular, ask him why he had been contacted by the Russian Embassy. This revelation startled David Barclay-Smith.
“I knew from Jeremy’s report that your forefathers came from Russia,” he said. “But that is all history, isn’t it? Why would the Embassy know about your father and why now?”