‘Mrs Reilly?’ He looked up from the paper and smiled at her. There was a chill in the air in the lobby and he was in his cold-weather uniform, a ribbed oiled-wool sweater with the name of the management company embroidered over his heart. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure.’
‘How are you, Tony?’
‘I’m doing all right, thank you, yes, not too bad. Wild weather last night, wasn’t it? I walked through Bishops Park on my way in this morning and there were branches down all over the place.’
Hannah made a face. ‘Yes, I’ve just been tidying up at home.’
‘Well, we’re under control here. The gardeners have been this morning, got the grounds looking spick and span again.’ He looked at her as if she should be relieved, as if untidiness outside might pose some sort of threat to Mark’s business.
‘That’s good. Tony, I wondered, could I zip upstairs for a couple of minutes? Mark’s away for the weekend but we’ve got a meeting with the bank manager first thing on Monday and Mark’s just told me he’s left all the paperwork in his office. Would you mind?’
‘Well, it’s totally against the rules,’ he said. ‘Without a pass, no one’s allowed past the—’
‘I can imagine, and I’m sorry to have to ask – it’s just . . .’
‘Oh, I’m only pulling your leg.’ He gave her a little wink. ‘Of course you can go up. Mr Harris is around but he’s just popped out to get a bite of lunch. I’ll let him know you’re here if he gets back before you go.’ Tony stood up from behind the desk and walked over to the smoked-glass security gate, which he opened with a card attached to the extending lead on his belt. ‘There you go.’
The lift carried Hannah soundlessly to the seventh floor where she stepped out into the lobby. The receptionist’s desk was unmanned, of course, and there were no lights on in the row of offices behind the plate-glass wall in front of her. Upstairs, no doubt, at least some of the programmers would be in. Mark paid big bonuses for projects completed early, which meant that they worked round the clock, weeks and weekends. Their floor was a lot more relaxed-looking than this one. It wasn’t Silicon Valley but there was a large room with sofas and beanbags, table football and snooker, and a cupboard full of caffeinated, sugar-heavy drinks and lethal snacks. A lot of the programmers were in their twenties and there was a definite university computer-club atmosphere up there.
By contrast, this level was corporate, the face of DataPro that visiting clients saw. Here everything was light. The desks were large and clutter-free, with computers that were replaced every year, and those walls that weren’t glass were painted fresh cream. The carpets were sand-coloured, and the entire floor was dotted with lush bamboos and a type of glossy deep-green succulent she’d never seen anywhere else. The place had a beach-like, almost tropical feel.
Mark’s office was at the end of the corridor. It was the same one he’d always had, he’d told her, one of the original two rooms. When she’d asked, surprised, if he hadn’t been tempted by the much larger corner office with its full-on view of the river, he’d said that this one had sentimental value, and it was big and smart enough to use for client meetings if he didn’t want to use the conference room.
Hannah pushed open the heavy glass door and went in. The outside wall was glass, too, and offered a view over the rooftops of Hammersmith. Directly below was the entrance to the building and then a good sweep of the lawn, but if you stood almost in the corner and looked to your left, you could see the river. If she’d had the chance to bag the corner office she would have jumped at it, she thought. The river wasn’t especially beautiful here; the opposite bank was scrubby, especially now in November when the old year’s growth was dying, and this far west there was none of the architectural glory of the centre of London. In fact, the only real man-made feature of any note was the old Harrods furniture repository which stood on the opposite bank. Nonetheless, this was the Thames, pewter-coloured today in the late-autumn sun, rolling steadily onwards as it had done for centuries, powerful and inscrutable.
She turned to Mark’s large blond-wood desk. She had to be quick – the last thing she wanted was to meet David and have to lie about what she was doing here. And if he saw her, he would mention it to Mark for sure. How long would he take to get his lunch? Apart from the business park itself and Charing Cross Hospital on Fulham Palace Road, this part of Hammersmith was largely residential, and from here it was a ten-minute walk to even an uninspiring corner shop. Tony hadn’t said how long ago David had gone out, though.