“Of course, thankyou, goodnight…”

It still made Stephen laugh, talking to MI5. Never quite felt real. The junior officer almost screamed when Stephen announced himself, but eventually managed to find what the Prime Minister wanted.

Stephen checked the number he had been given and dialled – his heart in his mouth as he waited for a connection.

“Hello?”

“Sophia?”

“No, this is her mother. What kind of time is this? Who’s calling?”

“Ah. Well. It’s rather important I speak to her, I’m a colleague.”

“Oh really? I’ve not seen a man in the salon in a while…”

The Prime Minister swore under his breath, and listened as an all too familiar voice whispered: “It must be Daryl – weird work experience kid. How did he get our number?”

“Daryl, what is it?”

Her voice…

“It’s not Daryl.”

Silence.

“Stephen… Why the hell are you calling?”

“Why do you bloody well think!”

“I don’t know, but this isn’t the – "

“What do you want Sophia. Money? Me?”

“Get a grip. I’m going.”

“But – "

The line went dead.