The Rift, Rachel Lynch [books recommended by bts .txt] 📗

a noblewoman. No doubt Madame Borghese modelled it on herself.

‘She’s the epitome of a strong woman,’ Helen said.

‘Isn’t she? And a looker, too. Have you been to Lyon before?’ he asked as they slowly circled the fountain.

‘Yes, sir, I was seconded once before to Interpol.’

‘This isn’t a secondment – you’re offering expertise,’ he said.

‘Yes, sir.’

It was made clear that their meeting was now over and he escorted her back to the house. A quicker journey than their amble down. He stopped to face her when they reached the terrace.

‘All the details of your trip are next door with Colonel Palmer,’ he said, before disappearing inside.

She was taken next door to the chancery and led to Colonel Palmer’s office. It was a rendezvous she could do without, but he was technically her boss when she was here. But if she was working for Interpol, then she would no longer have to report to him. Colonel Ben Palmer was sitting in a large green Chesterfield office chair and looked up and nodded as she came in. He handed her an envelope before looking back down again to his desk. She thanked him and stood waiting to either be questioned, exchange chit-chat or at least be dismissed. He tapped on a keyboard and Helen knew he was enjoying the moment, taking his time and making her wait. His balding head taunted her and she had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. She’d worked with some prize bellends in her time but Ben Palmer was up there with the least memorable. It was inevitable, she supposed. Being surrounded by alpha males was bound to cause conflict. Men who only worked with men were particularly off-putting beasts. They farted, spat and told appalling jokes. Feminism hadn’t really reached the army yet, despite what the papers said. Finally he looked up.

‘The ambassador rates you, Scott.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘It wasn’t a compliment.’

‘Sir.’

‘You need to report directly back to me when you’re in Lyon,’ he announced.

‘Sir, the ambassador just told…’

‘I’m your line manager here and I want to know the military angle of what’s going on. That’s my job. Yours is to report to me. You are an officer in the armed forces, Scott, and you answer to me, is that clear?’

The ambassador hadn’t mentioned this, and she faced going over the colonel’s head should she query it. Frankly, her trip to Paris was turning into a nightmare, and she couldn’t wait to escape the city for the cool of the mountains of Lyon.

She had little choice but to confirm she would follow orders.

‘Yes, sir.’

Maybe he was just irritated by her sudden elevation to the echelons of power, like men such as him usually were. Fuck you, she thought, she’d be reporting to the ambassador. She returned his stare.

As long as she remained in Lyon, she could avoid Palmer. She’d deal with what happened when she came back for the summit. The problem was that her time in France would be reported on by him, but it would have to be signed off by the MOD in London. RMPs were never going to be best friends with the infantry. Everybody knew that. She was used to being unwelcome, abused even. None of it ever fazed her and Palmer was the last person she’d think of as she took the train to Lyon. It was the perfect time to be leaving, and she felt a sense of freedom.

She held his gaze.

‘You’re not as good as you think you are, Scott.’

‘Sorry, sir?’

‘Don’t get out of your depth. The ambassador seems to think you’re some kind of specialist because of what you did in Kabul. You got lucky. Never underestimate the experience of a real soldier.’

Helen said nothing for a moment. In other institutions this sort of bullying wouldn’t be tolerated, but not here. Some would file an official complaint, but Helen knew from experience that holding her tongue and letting her work do all the talking was always more powerful. She’d experienced it her whole career: men thinking they were better soldiers. Add to that, RMP officers were responsible for putting infantry soldiers behind bars, and it was a recipe for historic resentment.

‘Of course not, sir. The next time I see a real soldier, I’ll be sure to ask his advice.’

Her pulse quickened. He could have her disciplined for such insolence to a senior officer, but with no witnesses, her remark was as impossible to reprimand as his own had been. Tiny beads of sweat glistened on his brow and his skin went pink.

‘If that’s all, sir, I better get ready to depart. The ambassador has told me I’m leaving within the hour.’

‘So, why are you still here?’

She nodded and turned to go. She wasn’t in uniform and so didn’t have to salute. Fuck him. She left, and once out in the sunshine, gasped for air to relieve her anger. Seven years ago, the then Major Palmer had pinned her up against a wall, behind the officer’s mess, expecting a fondle. She’d kneed him in the nuts and told him to go fuck himself. She hadn’t reported him because he was drunk and a nuisance, and that was all.

He’d never forgiven her.

Chapter 9

Helen boarded the train for Lyon. She always found that travelling on a French train for a long journey was somewhat romantic; maybe it was the countryside. Trips on English trains were grubby by comparison and reminded her of late journeys home after a heavy night out in London: the smell of the takeaways being munched by inebriated commuters, the unclean toilets, the sticky air and the feeling that something unsavoury had been spilled on one’s seat.

Departing Paris allowed her to breathe a sigh of relief. Her ticket was checked upon embarking and she sat back to relax into reading the file given to her by Colonel Palmer. She started with Dalmani’s security. It was headed up by a Jean-Luc Bisset. The information collated so far had been handed over by the National Central Bureau of Interpol