Chapter 11

Arriving at the Haswell Corporation office building, all steel and plate glass, I hand over the letter at the reception. The receptionist checks my name against a day book and directs me to the tenth floor, where I find a second reception desk, with a pleasant-looking woman sitting behind it.

Again, I hold out the letter. "Hello, my name is Elizabeth Kimberley. I was told to report here."

The woman smiles. "Ah, yes, Miss Kimberley. Mr Haswell is expecting you. I'll tell him you're here."

She buzzes through on an intercom. "Mr Haswell, Elizabeth Kimberley for you."

"Thank you, Francis," replies the voice I came to know so well yesterday, under such unusual circumstances. "I'll just be five minutes. Please ask her to take a seat."

Francis points me to a row of low chairs, and gesturing to a coffee thermos on a low table, she says, "Make yourself comfortable, Miss Kimberley. Do help yourself to some coffee." But I am feeling too nervous already to want more coffee now.

After a