I am at Harlow at seven thirty.
Before the cleaners finish. Before the front desk staffs up. Before anyone except Helena, who I already know arrives at seven because her assistant mentioned it once and I noted that immediately the way I note everything.
Her office door is open.
She is at her desk in a grey blazer with reading glasses on, working through something on her screen, and she looks up when I appear in the doorway with the specific unsurprise of a woman who expected this visit but not quite this early.
"Ms. Vann," she says.
"The Dublin consortium..."
I watch her face.
She does not flinch. Does not perform confusion. Does not reach for a deflection. She takes her glasses off and sets them on the desk and looks at me with the clean direct gaze of someone who h
