Necessary as Blood

It‘s Dr Cavendish here.‘
    Alia was Naz‘s part-time nanny, a Bangladeshi girl who minded Charlotte during the day and took college classes at night. She wanted, Naz had told Tim, to be a lawyer.
    ‘Is Mr Naz with you, then?‘ asked Alia. ‘He was supposed to be home two hours ago and he‘s not answering his phone. My parents are expecting me and I can‘t leave Charlotte. I don‘t know what to do.‘
    ‘He didn‘t say where he was going?‘
    ‘No. And he‘s never late. You know how he is. If I take Char out for an ice cream or something and we‘re even five minutes late, he‘s like, ballistic.‘
    With good reason, thought Tim. ‘Is there anyone else you can call?‘
    ‘I tried the office, but no one answered. I don‘t have numbers for Charlotte‘s mum‘s family. Mr Naz won‘t have nothing to do with them.‘ She said ‘nuffink‘ in the strong Estuary accent adopted by many young second-generation immigrants to the East End. ‘And I don‘t know how to reach Ms Phillips at home.‘ Louise Phillips was Naz‘s partner in his law firm, and Tim didn‘t have her home number, either.
    ‘He always answers his phone if he sees it‘s me,‘ Alia went on. ‘Unless he‘s in court, and then he tells me ahead of time. He knows I don‘t call unless it‘s important. I could take Char home with me,‘ she went on, ‘but I don‘t like to without his permission. I can‘t think why he wouldn‘t ring me if he was going to be late.‘ She sounded near tears.
    Nor could Tim imagine a circumstance in which Naz Malik would miss an appointment without notice, or fail to respond to his daughter‘s nanny, and his anxiety spiked into fear. ‘Okay, Alia, let me think.‘
    He could leave Holly with his neighbours and be in Fournier Street within half an hour. ‘You stay there,‘ he told her, ‘and I‘ll come straight over.‘
    But once there, he thought as he rang off, what could he do, other than send Alia home?
    He was going to have to find Naz Malik, and he was going to need help.

Chapter Three

We carried on down Fournier Street. The back of Hawksmoor‘s Christ Church loomed large over the Georgian town houses built by the Huguenots at a time when Spitalfields was known as Weaver Town.

Tarquin Hall, Salaam Brick Lane

    Hazel drove the second-hand Volkswagen Golf she had brought down from Scotland.
    ‘I see you‘ve joined the Sloane Rangers,‘ teased Gemma, the Golf having become the car of choice among the trendy in Chelsea. Having appointed herself navigator, she pulled out her pocket-sized A-Z from her bag.
    ‘They‘re only Sloanie if they‘re new and a gift from indulgent parents who don‘t want their children to appear elitist,‘ said Hazel. ‘And this one has certainly seen better days.‘ She patted the dashboard as if consoling the car. ‘I was going to leave it behind, but then I considered the logistics of getting Holly from Battersea to Islington and vice versa with no Tube stop on the Battersea end.‘
    They had crossed Battersea Bridge and were driving east along the Embankment. Gemma glanced at Cheyne Walk, then away. Her London seemed to be ever more populated by ghosts, and there were some she was more willing to allow real estate than others.
    ‘Tell me what you know about this friend of Tim‘s,‘ she said. Tim had rung just as Hazel announced it was time to open a bottle of wine, which seemed rather fortuitous timing on his part.
    Hazel had listened, then put the bottle back in the fridge as she rang off, her brow creased. ‘Tim wants us both to meet him at a house near Brick Lane,‘ she‘d explained. ‘If you can, that is. A friend who‘s a single father hasn‘t come home, and Tim‘s worried about him and the child.‘
    Gemma had agreed willingly enough, but now she added, ‘Do you think Tim‘s overreacting? Surely it‘s a miscommunication of some sort.‘
    ‘I used to tell Tim his pulse wouldn‘t go up in an earthquake. I wanted him to be more emotional.‘ Hazel‘s emphasis made clear what she thought of that folly. ‘So, no, I‘d say that if Tim‘s worried, he has reason.‘ She coaxed the Golfs sluggish gears through a down-change, then tapped her fingers on the wheel as they idled at a light. ‘All I know about his friend is that they knew each other at university and recently got in touch again. He‘s a solicitor called Naz Malik. Pakistani. I‘ve never met him. There was some sort of scandal with Malik‘s wife, and I take it Tim felt