Playdough
Phone call.
He looks at the little screen, then glances back at us, holding up a finger, asking for a moment. Pushes his chair on its castors, rolls a little bit away.
"Hi."
Face changing, eyes lighting with mild brilliance, mouth open, lips upturned. Matthew emerging out of his box, like a wildflower blooming in the desert. Metamorphosing. Cue analogies of butterflies unfolding their wings, suns peeking out from behind clouds.
We know who it is calling, and while we're usually too polite to eavesdrop, there's a lull while we wait for Tom's return. I look at the computer monitor on the desk and Danny busies himself with a folder of papers.
Can't help but overhear.
"No, it's fine. No, really. Oh, just some basic maintenance work at the moment, it's boring stuff..."
I look at the computer. A dossier on a Libyan man in South London who may or may not be expediting the import of radioactive material into the UK. Yep. Boring stuff.
"Yes? Oh, right..."
He chuckles behind me, to the left. See dictionary notes under ‘laugh' - pictures of hearts and stars, streamers being thrown at parties, bubbles drifting in the air, balloons popping in curt merriment.
"Oh. Um, god, I don't know if I remember all the measurements... All right -- er...a cup of flour, a tablespoon of oil, um...half a cup of salt -- I think it's half a cup..."
Danny and I frown at each other.
"...water is one cup too, I think. Um, food colouring...yes, I'm sure Maisy would have remembered that part. Oh, and tartaric acid. God, I'm not sure. Maybe one teaspoon?"
I don't know why I bother but I can't help myself. I turn in my chair, hold up two fingers and mouth the number in Tom's direction. He baulks, but covers quickly.
"No, wait -- two teaspoons. It's two. Yes, I'm sure."
And then, because I'm witnessing the end of the conversation, I also get to see him smile into the phone. Broad. Dazzling.
Radiant.
"That's it. Yes. No, no of course not, it's fine. I'll see you later. Bye."
Check encyclopaedia reference -- ‘Tom smiling'. See fireworks going off, sunset walks along the beach, champagne frothing out of bottles, my heart galloping at a million miles an hour, my cheeks warming to pink... I avert my gaze back to the computer monitor. Libya. Terrorist. British contacts.
Danny is making a note in the folder, and Tom clicks off and rolls his chair back to the desk. He catches my eye as he speaks, and my face is perfectly expressionless.
"So...I'm not the only spy in active British service who knows the recipe for playdough."
I shrug.
"My niece is three."
Tom's raised eyebrows seem to demand more information.
"She...likes playdough."
He regards me, face serious with curiosity.
"I didn't know that you have a niece, Zoe."
I blink for a moment, the rejoinder is so obvious. Then I just give my patent polite smile and a quick nod.
"Mm. She's in Suffolk." Then I point at the monitor. "I think maybe we should wire the brother-in-law's house, too -- it says here they were in the army together."
Tom squints at the screen.
"Right. Erm..."
He takes a breath as he speaks, and in that instant crystallizes again -- cool reserve climbing up his features, layers sliding back on. I can see it, I'm watching it happen: Matthew tucking himself away into some dark corner. See candles being extinguished, night in the Arctic circle, the solar eclipse. Something inside me is relieved. And then I wonder how Ellie feels, living with a split personality disorder.
"...yes, that sounds like a capital idea. Danny, could you get me a work-up on that, for, say, tomorrow night? And we'll need Harry's go on the paperwork."
Danny nods. Tom's already looking back at me.
"So can you get onto Tessa about known associates? When we start getting the feeds from the cameras at place-of-business I want to be able to put names to faces. Thanks."
I make appropriate acknowledgment, and then we're both left staring at the computer as Danny packs up his notes to move to the other workstation. Tom switches his attention to my face as I scroll down the page of data.
"A niece."
Fishing for info, with that disarmingly clear expression he employs... I'm used to his tricks by now.
"Yes."
Danny looks over and grins.
"Is she as pretty as her aunty?"
I smile. I'm used to Danny's clumsy compliments too. Go away Danny.
Danny goes away.
"What's her name?"
I watch the data roll by. It means I can totally avoid looking at Tom's face.
"Rebecca. Her name's Rebecca."
There's a pause. Think of the calm before the storm, the rumble before the earthquake hits, the roaring silence preceding the tsunami.
"And is she?"
Take another man's compliment, add a dash of wry humour and a tablespoon of knowing grin and serve warm. I'm startled into looking at him, my eyes wide. See me, becoming playdough.
"Goodness, Zoe, are you blushing?"
I hate him for a second. My eyes dart back to the computer screen, and I clear my throat.
"No." I stand up, grab my notes and tap the monitor with them. "It says he has a business meeting this afternoon. I'll go see Tessa."
"Righto."
But I've already turned towards the other room. I fight the urge to pull at my shirt, smooth my pants. Put my hands to my cheeks.
I can feel his eyes, watching me as I walk away.