Before We Met(82)

‘I’m just going to wear my navy dress. It needs dry-cleaning but . . .’

‘You’ve had that for ages and is it smart enough, really? I think you should buy an investment piece, something you’ll wear for a while. You’ll feel good in it next week and it’s always worth spending money on something top quality.’

She hesitated. ‘I don’t think I can afford it.’

It was a second before he realised what she meant. ‘God, sorry,’ he grimaced. ‘Take that credit card I got made for you – the one on my account. No, don’t look at me like that – this isn’t a back-door scheme to turn you into a kept woman. It’s not as if you couldn’t have afforded a dress if someone – I – hadn’t taken your money, is it?’ He reached into his jacket on the back of the chair and got out his wallet.

Clearly still feeling guilty, he walked her to the Tube station. As they came along the edge of the Green, he reached for her hand and held it tight like he had on the way to the restaurant the night before. ‘It was Neesha who told you about Hermione, wasn’t it?’ he said.

Remembering her promise, she shook her head.

‘It doesn’t matter in the slightest. You’re my wife – why wouldn’t you call my assistant? I’ve just been trying to work it out, that’s all. No one else really knows about Hermione, not that I’ve been in touch with lately, and Neesha just asked whether I had my phone, which means she must have had a reason for thinking I might not, which means – given that it was only you I told that fib to – you must have talked to her.’

‘Yes, all right, Sherlock. I called to see if she’d heard from you when you didn’t show up at the airport and I thought you’d been snaffled by some opportunistic femme fatale. I promised her I wouldn’t tell you. You won’t say anything, will you?’

‘Of course not.’ He smiled. ‘I’m just flattered you both think I’m capable of such Don Juanery.’

‘Don Juanism?’

He laughed. ‘Or Don Juanity?’

When they reached the station he got an Evening Standard for her to read on the train then took off his scarf, looped it around her neck and pulled her towards him. She slid her hands around his lower back, feeling the chill silk of his coat against her skin. ‘If anything happens, if I hear from him, I’ll ring you straight away,’ he said. ‘And if you’re worried – about anything at all – then ring me.’ He waited at the barrier while she climbed the stairs, giving her a final wave as she disappeared from view.

The sense of comfort evaporated in minutes. She took the train to Bond Street and wandered listlessly around the huge womenswear floor at Selfridges until admitting to herself that she was never going to be able to concentrate on shopping. The interview felt a thousand miles away, like something from a different world. She left the shop and started walking, weaving her way along Oxford Street then down into Soho. She was on Charing Cross Road when it started raining, and she ducked inside Foyles and up to the café.

She couldn’t stop thinking about Hermione; how she’d stood up and faced Nick in court, testified against him. Payback time: no wonder she’d looked so alarmed that day. Hannah felt another wash of guilt. Perhaps she should go back to the hospital this afternoon, now, and apologise? Or would that just make it worse?

On the table in front of her, her BlackBerry started flashing and she snatched it up. She’d had it in her hand constantly this afternoon, set both to vibrate and ring at maximum volume.

Everything all right? Starting to get worried about you.

At first glance she thought it was from Mark – he’d already texted twice to check in – but looking again, she saw that the message was from her brother. She felt bad: he’d rung on Monday night when she’d been gorging herself on the news stories and again yesterday evening, but she hadn’t been in touch with him since Sunday, when she’d texted to let him know about the conversation with Pippa.

Sorry, she wrote now, poor correspondent this week. All okay. How did things go with Luke and the headmaster? She hit send and put the phone down. Seconds later, it flashed again.

Hideous. Talked to Head on Monday. Luke resigned then had meltdown in staff car park – wife had to come and get him. Feel like total bastard. How are things with Mark?

Hannah hit reply then stopped. She had to tell him something – after asking Tom’s advice, she couldn’t just sweep the whole thing under the carpet – and she wanted to tell him, she was desperate to. Loyalty to Mark, however, pulled her in the opposite direction. She remembered what he’d said about his life dividing into two halves, before and after, and she wanted to help him keep that distinction, at least when it came to her family. It was Nick’s crime, not Mark’s, but knowing about it – knowing how his girlfriend had died – would change her family’s view of Mark irrevocably. They would never dream of saying anything but it would be there behind every conversation, at every family occasion, and she couldn’t bear that.