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As satisfying as it had been to spit I quit in her horrid boss’s face and storm off into the night, if Catherine wanted to collect her pension, she needed to submit a formal letter of resignation and serve out her notice. She arrived at the office at the usual time the day after her kidnapping to fill out the necessary paperwork. Her calves ached as she climbed the stairs. The tiger team hadn’t returned her phone and it had been a long walk to the nearest bus stop. Looking around the box-filled mess of the office, Catherine didn’t regret her decision to quit, even if she wished she’d called a cab first before trying to walk home last night.
Jackson was snoring on his sofa when Catherine crept in to his office to put her resignation letter on his desk. A puddle of drool glued him to the cushions. He was still wearing yesterday’s rumpled clothes and smelled like a distillery. An empty bottle of whisky on the floor by his head explained why. Catherine picked it up with a grimace of distaste.
There had been a time when Charles insisted that Jackson could be First Desk in twenty years’ time if he wanted to. Back in the ‘90s, Catherine had certainly believed it. He’d been more put together then: clean, focused, driven. His banter had been witty without being cruel when she played Moneypenny to Charles’s M and Jackson’s Bond. His slide into the mess he was now had been rapid and began so quickly after Charles’s death that Catherine had always chalked it up to grief. She had put up with more of his misbehavior than she ought to have as a result.
He had used her as bait last night. She could slap him for that and yet Charles’s betrayal had been far worse if Jackson was to believed. Catherine hadn’t wanted to but the long walk home had given her too much time to think. There had been certain discrepancies: missing files, unscheduled off-sight appointments, unlogged phone calls, and the like. Catherine had been too blinded by drink and loyalty to put it together at the time. The truth was, Charles had used her to cover up his treason. The fact that he’d ultimately chosen to fall on his sword instead of taking her down with him didn’t change that.
Catherine was done being used. She looked around Jackson’s office with a jaundiced eye. Today was the last time she’d clean it. She dropped the whisky bottle in the rubbish bin and emptied the overflowing ashtray in after it. An empty soap dispenser lay on the floor by the lavatory sink. There was a jug of soap for refills in the kitchen. Jackson would have to manage that on his own going forward.
In the kitchen, Catherine put the kettle on as she fished out the soap jug. The kettle had just started to boil when she heard the pounding of footsteps running up the stairs.
River burst into the room. His face was a mass of bruises, but he lit up at the sight of her. “Oh, thank Christ,” he gasped, seizing her in an embrace. “I knew he was full of shit.”
Catherine allowed herself a moment to enjoy the hug before pulling away. “Donovan?” she asked, straightening her hair. “I know he sent you that horrible photo, but they were actually quite decent to me.”
River shook his head. “No, fucking Roddy. He said you’d quit.”
“I did.” Catherine turned away to pour herself a cup of tea. “I’m just here for the paperwork.” And to refill the soap and possibly make lists of the locations of all the supplies and daily tasks that needed to be done.
River looked gutted when she turned back to him. “Is it because of what I said the other night? You know I didn’t mean it! And I did try to rescue you.”
“What?” It took Catherine a minute to recall. He’d called her a martyr. Was that better or worse than an oblivious drunk? “Oh. That.” Catherine shook her head. “No. River—” she took his hand “—I haven’t been happy with the way the Park has been running things since—for a while now. Last night—” she hesitated. “Last night, Lamb said something that made me realize the Service has been rotten for longer than I thought. Everyone’s too busy playing by London Rules to care about doing what’s right. I can’t be part of that. Not anymore. I am so sick of being used.”
“London rules,” River said, his mouth twisted in a bitter line. “Do you know what the tiger team was after?”
Catherine nodded. “I told them where to find the files.”
“I showed them to my grandfather and he burned it.”
Catherine covered her mouth with her hand as she sank down into the nearest chair. “So it was all for nothing then. They died for nothing.” Poor Sarah. God, what a waste.
River shook his head, looking smug. “There were two copies in the file. I sent the second one to the Times.”
Catherine had never much cared for David Cartwright. He seemed to be trying too hard at playing a character in a John Le Carré novel. River was a different genre all together. She imaged he’d thought himself the hero of some American action-thriller, running through the halls of the Park to save her. It was all a bit ridiculous, really, but he had done the right thing while the David Cartwrights of the world were busy covering their arses.
“Good on you, River!”
“Christ, the pair of you.” Catherine turned to see Jackson standing in the doorway, cigarette in hand. “You do realize you just ruined any chance you had at getting back to the Park, don’t you?”
“Oh, ignore him,” Catherine said. It wasn’t like River was ever getting back to the Park anyway. “You’re a good man, River.” She laid a gentle hand on his cheek, mindful of the bruises. “Don’t let anyone—” she shot Jackson a pointed look “—take that from you.”
Jackson scoffed. “You should be more worried about it getting him killed. I’m off to get breakfast now I’ve had my morning constitutional. Hopefully I won’t die of dysentery, washing my hands without soap,” he said and saw himself out.
“Prick,” River muttered.
Catherine rolled her eyes, but got to it. When she went to replace the soap dispenser, she found her resignation letter crumpled up in the garbage.
The Dogs held them in the lower offices and took their statements while the forensics team dealt with the bodies. It was well past her bedtime when they finally released everyone, but Catherine didn’t leave with the rest. There was someone she needed to talk to. She found Jackson smoking alone in the kitchen.
Marcus’s body had been cleared away. His blood still pooled on the floor. It was spattered across the wall and ceiling. Charles’s blood had spattered like that. Catherine swallowed hard and looked away. She’d not been back to Charles’s flat since she found his body. She couldn’t imagine how poor Shirley was going manage walking by this spot day after day without forever remembering how her best friend had looked lying here. Catherine could scarcely imagine how she was going to manage it.
“Haven’t you gone yet?” Jackson demanded when he noticed her there.
“I could ask the same of you,” Catherine said, sitting down across from him. After all these years, she wasn’t actually sure he had a flat of his own. Jackson slept in his office more often than not. Still, she supposed he must have some place to store his clothes, such as they were.
“I just got through arranging ten years’ benefits for Longridge’s family with Lady Di.” Jackson knocked some ash into the saucer he was using as an ashtray.
“Ten?” Catherine asked. “It’s five for desk agents.”
“I sent him into the field, didn’t I.” Jackson’s hand shook slightly as he raised his cigarette for a drag. “Field agents get ten.”
Catherine melted. For all his bluster, it was obvious how much it hurt him to lose a joe. Jackson was a truly horrible boss. He had regularly belittled her, ignored her, and used her as bait. He treated them all like that, but he always had their backs. That was more than could be said for the likes of Diana Taverner. Catherine might have taken his hand to comfort him, but neither of them would have wanted that.
“I’d put the kettle on if Coe hadn’t thrown it down the stairs.”
Jackson snorted. “You can get us a new one tomorrow. Besides,” he said, rubbing his forehead, “I’m pretty sure we’d both prefer something stronger.”
Catherine ignored the obvious bait. “Why does everyone seem to think I’m coming back?”
“Two reasons.” Jackson took a long drag, presumably to build suspense. “One, I never approved your resignation and your leave’s nearly used up. And two—” he took another long drag “—you miss it.”
“Please,” Catherine scoffed. “I do not.” She had occasionally missed having a schedule and a sense of purpose, but she’d hardly missed the work. She certainly hadn’t missed dealing with Jackson Lamb or Roddy Ho either if she was being honest.
Jackson scoffed back. “You certainly jumped at the chance to involve yourself with the Cartwrights.”
“That’s different. River needed me.”
“And this lot doesn’t? Who’s going to clean up that mess?” Jackson asked, gesturing to the blood. “Not Moira. She’s headed back to the Park.”
“And you’re certainly not,” Catherine said tartly.
“Too right,” he agreed. “Dander’s going to need her hand held after this to keep her from going off the deep end. Christ knows I’m not doing that either.”
Catherine pursed her lips. Poor Shirley would need looking after, and likely River as well. It was even odds whether Louisa would burn out or explode. They would need her, all of them, and yet the idea of coming back made Catherine’s stomach clench.
“First Desk just put a kill order on River. And how many times has the Park tried to pin the blame on us for their fuck ups? I’m done being used like that.”
“Fuck the Park!” Jackson ground out the last of his cigarette. “You work for me. Not them.”
Jackson had treated her like shit, but he had never hung her out to dry or let anyone else do it either. Catherine frowned as he lit another cigarette. He’d gleefully ignored his doctor’s orders to quit smoking, but he wasn’t normally a chain smoker. Clearly he was more rattled than he was letting on.
“It sounds as if you need me too.”
Jackson glared. “I’m not going to beg.”
“Oh, alright, I am coming back,” Catherine conceded. As much as it pained her, he had her number. She hadn’t missed the work, but she had missed Slough House and at least a few people in it.
“Things will be changing though, starting with—” She snatched the cigarette from his hand and snubbed it out. “You will be following your doctor’s orders and you will listen to me.” Catherine leaned back to really appreciate the stunned look on his face. “Now go home and take a shower. I’ll find us a new teapot.”