Read Online In The Presence Of The Enemy by Elizabeth George - Free Book Online

something in their expressions because his tone altered from friendly indifference to instant wariness. “What’s going on?” He asked the question with an edge of aggression in his voice, which suggested that he was a man used to being answered at once and with deference.
    Even Government ministers, it seemed, did not entertain guests at nearly midnight without grave cause. He called sharply towards the stairs, “Eve?” And then to St. James, “Has something happened to someone? Is Eve all right? Has the Prime Minister—”
    “Alex.” Eve Bowen spoke, beyond St.
    James’s line of vision. He heard her come quickly down the stairs.
    Alex said to her, “What’s going on?”
    She avoided the question by introducing Helen and St. James, saying, “My husband.
    Alexander Stone.”
    St. James couldn’t remember ever reading that the Junior Minister was married, but when Eve Bowen introduced her husband, he realised that he must have done and fi led the information somewhere in the dustier part of his memory since it was unlikely he would have entirely forgotten that Alexander Stone was the Junior Minister’s husband. Stone was one of the country’s leading entrepreneurs.
    His particular interest was in restaurants, and he owned at least a half dozen upscale establishments from Hammersmith to Holburn.
    He was a master chef, a Newcastle boy who’d managed to shed his Geordie accent sometime during the admirable journey he’d made from pastry maker at Brown’s Hotel to fl ourishing restaurateur. Indeed, Stone was the personifi -
    cation of the Conservative Party’s ideal: With no social or educational advantages—and certainly no drawing upon government assistance—he’d made a success of himself. He was possibility incarnate and private ownership nonpareil. He was, in short, the perfect husband for a Tory MP.
    “Something’s happened,” Eve Bowen explained to him. She put a gentling hand on his arm. “Alex, I’m afraid it’s not very pleasant.”
    Again, Stone looked from St. James to Helen. St. James was trying to digest the information that Eve Bowen had not yet made her husband aware of her daughter’s abduction.
    Helen, he could see, was doing the same. Both of their faces gave great scope for study, and Alexander Stone took a moment to study them while his own face blanched. “Dad,” he said.
    “Is he gone? His heart?”
    “It’s not your father. Alex, Charlotte’s gone missing.”
    He fixed his eyes on his wife. “Charlotte,”
    he repeated blankly. “Charlotte. Charlie.
    What?
”
    “She’s been kidnapped.”
    He looked dazed. “What? When? What’s going—”
    “This afternoon. After her music lesson.”
    His right hand went to the disheveled hair, dishevelling it further. “Fuck, Eve. What the
hell?
Why didn’t you phone? I’ve been at Couscous since two. You know that. Why haven’t you phoned me?”
    “I didn’t know till seven. And things happened too quickly.”
    He said to St. James, “You’re the police.”
    “No police,” his wife said.
    He swung round to her. “Are you out of your mind? What the
hell—
”
    “Alex.” The MP’s voice was low and insistent.
    “Will you wait in the kitchen? Will you make us some dinner? I’ll be in in a moment to explain.”
    “Explain what?” he demanded. “What the fuck is going on? Who are these people? I want some answers, Eve.”
    “And you’ll get them.” She touched his arm again. “Please. Let me finish here. Please.”
    “Don’t you bloody dismiss me like one of your underlings.”
    “Alex, believe me. I’m not. Let me fi nish here.”
    Stone pulled away from her. “Bloody
hell
,”
    he snarled. He stalked through the sitting room, through the dining room beyond it, through a swinging door that apparently led to the kitchen.
    Eve Bowen contemplated the path he’d taken. Behind the swinging door, cupboards opened and slammed shut. Pots cracked against work tops. Water ran. She handed the photograph to St.