Tinker, Tailor, Schoolmum, Spy by Faye Brann

Author:Faye Brann [Brann, Faye]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2021-07-12T17:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

When Vicky arrived at the Kozlovsky house early on Saturday morning, the cakes were iced, decorated and boxed up in Tupperware and neatly stacked in the hallway by the front door.

‘Mama, Evie’s mum is here,’ Dmitri called, answering the door. He turned back to Vicky. ‘By the way, I loved the mince pies. I tried one. They are delicious.’

‘Thank you, Dmitri. I’m glad you appreciated them.’

Matisse was on her way up the stairs from the kitchen and Vicky grinned at the grimace on her face.

‘All those cakes to try and he chooses those things. I am afraid the finer points of this English “delicacy” are lost on me, Victoria. Who eats fruit and beef suet from a jar?’

‘Me! And Papa!’

‘Okay, off you go, that’s enough now,’ Matisse said, and shooed him upstairs. ‘I’ll see you at the fair, okay? Papa will bring you, however much he doesn’t want to.’

‘I’ll start loading the car,’ Vicky said. ‘I told Becky we’d be there by nine-thirty to set up.’

A phone rang. Matisse fished her phone out of her handbag and stuck it on speaker while she picked up a stack of cakes.

‘Matisse speaking.’

‘Oh, hello, Mrs Kozlovsky, this is Grace from Malachi travel agency. Your husband asked me to give you a call and go through your travel options with you. Is now a good time to talk?’

She sighed and picked up the phone, flipping it off of speakerphone. ‘Sorry Victoria, I need to take this. I won’t be a moment.’ She turned towards the living room. ‘I have five minutes.’

Vicky carried on ferrying Tupperware to her car. She occasionally caught a few words from Matisse, but nothing concrete. After five minutes, Matisse emerged from the living room, looking bored.

‘Would you mind sending this on an email—’ She cupped her hand over the phone and mouthed to Vicky, ‘I’m so sorry.’

Vicky put her thumbs up and motioned that they were finished loading the car. ‘I think there’s one more batch downstairs,’ Matisse said.

‘I’ll get it. Finish your call.’ Vicky nudged her shoes off and went downstairs to the kitchen. At that moment, the buzzer rang for the service door.

‘Magda, can you get that?’ called Matisse from upstairs.

Magda didn’t appear, so Vicky moved towards the lift. She saw on the CCTV there was a man outside. A courier. She peered at the screen. It was definitely not Jacob Zimmerman.

She buzzed the intercom. ‘Hello?’

‘Delivery for Sacha Kozlovsky.’

‘Please place it in the lift, thank you.’ Vicky buzzed the door open to the lift and waited a few moments before hitting the call button. She listened to the rush of cantilevers, and when the doors opened again a small package sat on the floor. She picked it up and saw it was blank.

The courier turned to leave. She hit the intercom. ‘Wait,’ she said. ‘Where did you pick this up from?’

‘Leytonstone.’

‘No, I mean, was it a company, or a private dwelling?’

The courier was walking away.

‘Do you have a name? The person who paid for the delivery maybe? Hello?’

The courier opened the gate and disappeared from view.

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