“Spies?” says Felicity. “Goodness me. How does one influence spies?”
“Instagram,” says Tony. He had done some thinking.
“And what does he do on Instagram?”
Tony hadn’t expected the third degree. He takes a sip of his tea. It is much too hot, but it gives him vital thinking time. “Gadgets. Secret bugs and…spy guns.”
“Is that tea not too hot?” asks Felicity.
“No, it’s perfect,” says Tony. “So what does a viral media company do?”
“Gracious,” says Felicity. “I mean, what don’t we do?”
“Yeah,” says Tony. “It’s like people ask what I do all day. Clutches, brake pedals, dings, used to do MOTs but lost my license.”
“Exactly,” says Felicity. “Clutches, brake pedals. Et cetera.”
“Et cetera,” agrees Tony. “But if my nephew—”
“What’s your nephew’s name, Tony?”
Again, he could have prepped this. “He’s called Tony.”
“Tony like you,” says Felicity. “I approve, keep it in the family. And what would he like to do?”
“He read about influencers doing adverts,” says Tony. This bit he’s remembered. “How does that all work?”
“How does it work?” muses Felicity. “How does it work? That’s the million-dollar question.”
“Literally I hope!” says Tony, and there’s that laugh again. “But, seriously, as the expert, how does it work?”
“Well,” says Felicity, “as the expert, lots of ways, really.”
She’s being quite secretive. Avoiding the questions. Tony will report this back.
“But, what, like,” says Tony. “So a company has got like a drink, or a hi-fi, or a Walkman, and they come to you, and you give them an influencer?”
“Pretty much,” says Felicity. “You’ve hit the nail on the head there, Tony.”
“And what would he get paid?” says Tony.
“I mean, hmm,” says Felicity. “Six of one, half a dozen of the other? You know?”
Tony nods; he does know. Something he won’t share with Steve is how much he likes what he sees. How easy it seems to be to talk to Felicity Woollaston. Spies mustn’t fall in love, though. It’s the first rule.
“Do you have any of his work I could look at?” Felicity asks. Are her eyes blue or gray?
“Whose work, sorry?” says Tony. Remain focused, fella. Look sharp.
“Tony’s work,” says Felicity. “Tony’s spy work?”
“Didn’t bring any with me, I’m afraid,” says Tony.
“But we can look online?” says Felicity.
“If you have it,” says Tony.
Felicity laughs again. Tony didn’t even know he was being funny this time. Felicity just seems to bring it out in him.
“You have a very nice smile, Tony,” says Felicity. “It would really work on camera. That’s a professional opinion.”
“Thank you,” says Tony. “Thank you. You have a very nice dress.”
“Thank you.”
“And face.”
Felicity smiles again. Wow. Tony wants to invite her to the pub. Have a bit of lunch, talk about something else. But he knows he can’t. He hasn’t got a single piece of information out of her that he can pass on to Steve. The only information he has gleaned so far is that there is a picture of a man on her desk, but she is not wearing a wedding ring. No, he has to stay here and ask more questions about her agency. Be professional, Tony—what would James Bond do?
“I was wondering if you’d like to go to the pub?” says Tony. “Get a spot of lunch?”
He sees Felicity freeze for a moment. Of course, of course, he’s been an idiot. Tony realizes she was just laughing to be polite, she said he had a nice smile to be polite, she’s got a lovely guy waiting for her at home with a big dog and all his hair.
“Sorry,” says Tony. “Of course not, you must be very busy. Stupid of me to ask.”
Felicity thinks for a moment more, then leans forward.
“Tony, can I tell you a secret?”
