Killer

He had swept into her laboratory in the middle of the afternoon waving it delightedly above his head, ruining an experiment, unrepentant even when she snapped at him.

“Hang the experiment, Kate. Look at this.” He stood about the same height as she did, and his hair was still dark. He looked like a schoolboy on a lark, brown eyes twinkling, broad fingers drumming excitedly on the august page.

“What is it, Jon?”

“This ad. Just the job for you!” The grin was just too broad, the argument just too convincing. “I mean it’s your speciality, isn’t it? The experiment I’ve just ruined is to test the effect of extreme cold on Protococcales isn’t it?”

“Of course it is. You know . . .”

“Well then. This chap’s doing it in the field. Much better than all this.” He gestured, knocking over a stack of computer programme cards.

“Jon! Be careful!”

“Hang it all Kate, you’ve got to apply!”

“But why?”

Again, smiling evasion. “Well, it’ll be such good experience for you . . .”

“Jon. I smell a rat somewhere here. What are you up to?”

“Well . . .”

“Jon . . .”

And he had told her. The botanist in question was her father.

At first it had completely taken her breath away, and numbed her in the strangest way. Then, suddenly, there was an excitement in her which would not be controlled. Adventure. She had felt her face flushing, her scalp and spine prickling with it. And Jon outlined his plan.

She would apply for the job under the pseudonym of Elizabeth Edwards. Only the name would be false: the facts of her life and education, the recommendations by himself and Professor Brownlow would be real. She would get the job. She could not fail to get the job. And she would see her father, would work – actually work! – with that shadowy figure she had worshipped from afar and sought to impress for so long.

In a haze of excitement she had written a plain letter and appended to it recommendations from Jon and the professor which had brought a blush to her cheeks. With only a little trepidation she had sailed through an interview, charming three crusty old company scientists out of the full realisation that she knew far more than they did about the answers to the questions they asked.

And finally, beginning to be really frightened at last, she had packed her practical suitcase full of sensible clothes while Jon sat on the end of her bed and tried to calm her fears. The questions then were the same as those now. What if he doesn’t want me? What if he’s angry? What if there’s no one to meet me? What if there is?

Her mouth was dry. She shifted uneasily. The book slid unnoticed to the floor. A wing of hair slipped free of her severe style and shyly revealed a wave.

What I shall do, she decided, as sleep finally claimed her, will be to run across the disembarkation hall to him as though it were the graveyard and I were still fourteen. And hope he recognises me this time.

ii

At first she thought they were part of a dream, the giant and the dwarf. They loomed beside her in the gloom of her semiconsciousness and spoke with familiar accents.

“OK Job?” asked the giant. He pronounced it to rhyme with robe.

And Job the dwarf said, “OK.”

Kate stirred a little and sighed. The giant said, “Shhh. You’ll wake her.” He crouched at her side for a moment, and she felt something moving on her lap.

“Hey . . .” she said, and sat up straight. Even though he was kneeling beside her, the giant’s eyes were a little above her own. They were green, she noticed. Her hands flew to her lap, and struck against her book.

“It had fallen on to the floor,” said the giant. His voice was very deep. He spoke with an English accent.

“Oh,” she said, confused, still not properly awake. “Thank you.”

Then the stewardess bustled up, all blue uniform, lacquered hair and brisk efficiency. “Would you take your seat please, sir? We’re about to take off.”

The giant stood up, stooping slightly as though his head were near the roof, and went just behind her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the dwarf Job put down the three bags he had been carrying, and reach up to help the English giant out of his overcoat. Her lip curled. A man that size needing to be helped out of his overcoat. Too important to carry his own bag. Probably worried about spoiling his expensive black kid gloves.

The plane gave a slight lurch, and Kate realised it had been stationary. This must have been Washington. The plane went from New York to Washington to Chicago, and to Anchorage. The engines whined, the plane picked up speed, began to lift.