'He agreed to it?'
She nods. 'I shouldn't have left it so long really. We organised to meet at his office.'
'So, what went wrong?'
'I have no idea. He was on edge right from the start. It felt like … like he changed his mind as soon as he saw me. I told him that Dad had died, but he already seemed to know about that. And then I told him about Mum, and he just flipped, completely lost it, told me to get out.'
'Why would he do that?'
Turning her mug on the table, she shrugs.
'I don't know. Maybe I reminded him of someone he'd rather forget. People always say I look like my dad. That's my best guess.'
'Maybe you should try again.'
'What difference would it make?' She nods towards my handbag, her eyes clouding with tears. 'He ripped up my birthday card.' She falters, suddenly perplexed. 'How did you know I was his sister?'
I hide behind a sip of tea, wondering just how much I can explain, how much I can offer.
'He's talked about you. I think he wants to get back in touch, deep down.'
Her eyes glimmer.
'He does?'
'We just need to give him time.'
'Time?' She laughs. 'It's already been over twenty-five years. How much longer is it going to take?'
'You can't rush him,' I interrupt, suddenly panicking.
'And you never know what's round the corner,' she smiles. 'Life's taught me that. I've got my sister back now, and maybe there's another chance with Dan.' She drifts away for a few seconds, gazing down at her mug. When she finally looks up again, she's suddenly excited. 'If I could see him again, if I could just talk to him, maybe I could win him round.'
'I don't know.'
I shift about on my chair, uncomfortably aware that the conversation has taken a new, unexpected turn. I came here to do nothing more than rebuild a bridge, but now that I've given her hope, Layla seems determined to push right across it.
'You could help me,' she suggests. 'You could fix this up.'
Before the next words creep into the open, my heart gives a leap and the sickness returns. I shouldn't get involved. I really shouldn't. But I just can't resist this woman's pleas, or the desperation in her eyes.
'I suppose I could,' I murmur. 'Leave it with me. I'll see what I can do.'
Chapter Fifteen
It's almost eight o'clock by the time the sat nav brings me back to Lambeth House. Lunch with Layla and the boys, followed by tea and chat with my parents, followed by rush hour snarl-ups on the way back into London haven't helped at all. I glance up at the penthouse, wondering what on Earth's waiting for me up there. One seriously pissed off boyfriend is my best guess. But never mind, I'm just going to have to face the music. And whatever type of music that turns out to be, it's all going to be worth it in the end.
The garage doors slide open automatically and I drive into the gloom, only to find a stranger waiting for me: a giant, suited goliath of a man, standing impassively next to the lift door. Edging the car back into its space, I kill the engine. As soon as I get out, the goliath approaches me, holding out a huge spade of a hand, palm upwards. I examine him closely, noting the shaved head, the iron-like eyes, a straight, humourless mouth.
'Who are you?' I ask, my voice quivering.
'Security, miss. May I have your keys?'
'What?' Instinctively, my fingers tighten around the fob. 'But this is my car.'
'And Mr Foster would like me to look after the keys.'
So, that's it then. The start of the retribution for today's wilfulness. He sends in some sort of Terminator creature to confiscate my freedom. I should have seen that coming.
'Where's Beefy?' I ask with feigned innocence.
'He's been replaced.'
And I should have seen that coming too.
'So, what's your name?'
'You can call me Spencer.'
'As in your first name?'
'As in my surname. I'll be your bodyguard from now on. I'll need those keys.'
As if to make a point, he thrusts the hand forwards. I take another peek at his eyes and immediately, I know I'm about to get nowhere in this particular stand-off. With jittering fingers, I give him the fob.
'This is bloody ridiculous,' I complain. 'I'm a grown woman.'
Without responding, he opens the back door of the Jag.
'What's going on?'
'Mr Foster's waiting for you. I'm to drive.'
'But where?'
'A restaurant, just round the corner. It won't take a minute.'
And from the look on his face, I'd say this is a second stand-off I'm not going to win. Reluctantly, I slide onto the back seat, watching as the door closes and the Terminator takes his place behind the wheel. The car pulls back out of the garage, taking a left down the embankment and veering into a side street. Before I can even begin to calm down, we draw to a halt outside a restaurant: nothing swish or posh, just a cosy little local establishment, and Italian judging by the green, white and red flag fluttering above the front door. Before Spencer can do anything, I'm out of the car and staring in through the window at a clutter of plain wooden tables, all candlelit, some of them taken. On any other day, this would be the perfect location for a romantic dinner, but right now my stomach is threatening to turn somersaults, especially as there's no sign of Dan.
'Miss?'
My bodyguard holds open the door. With a grimace, I shuffle past him. As soon as I cross the threshold, I'm met by a small, round, black-haired waiter.
'Miss Scotton?' he asks, his Italian accent playing havoc with my name.
'Yes.'
'Mr Foster's waiting at the back.'
He guides me through the restaurant, round the edge of a bar and into a back room where there are no tables, only booths: four of them in all, and all of them empty apart for the one at the end where I find Dan studying his mobile, a glass of water in front of him. Suddenly aware of me, he looks up, puts the phone into his jacket pocket and stands. Curling an arm around my waist, he smiles with an unnatural warmth and kisses me on the cheek. Instead of the normal reaction, my body seems to freeze. It's clearly all for show.
'Glad you could join me.'
He signals to a leather bench and I sink onto it.
'What would you like to drink?' he asks.
'Same as you.'
He turns to the waiter. 'Acqua.'
With a nod, the waiter scurries off, leaving me alone with Mr Mean and Hot and Moody. Seating himself opposite me, he stretches an arm across the back of the bench and says nothing. Instead, he simply rests his gaze on my face, his irises dark and inscrutable. In a split second, my heart rate seems to triple. Willing it back into submission, I watch as the waiter returns, leaving a glass of water on the table. With a shaking hand, I take a sip, place the glass down and look back at Dan. As if he can see right into the depths of my soul, he examines me, and I shiver, reminding myself that there's no way he can know where I've been, or what I've been up to.
'What's going on?' I ask. Somebody needs to break the silence, and it might as well be me.
'We're having dinner,' he replies without a smile, just a cold edge of irritation in his voice.
'Why here?'
'Why not?'
'You're mad at me.'
'Fucking furious.'
'So that's why we're here then? Because you don't trust yourself at home?'
I search his face for a reaction. All I get is the slightest hint of a frown.
'Is that what you really think of me?' he asks.
'I don't know what I think of you.'
He tilts his head back and takes in a breath.
'We're here because I booked a table. And for your information, I arranged this meal before you went off on your little jaunt. It was supposed to be a romantic gesture but it's obviously been ruined. I've been out of my mind with worry all day.'
'What was there to worry about?' I swallow back a lump of nerves. I hate this deception, but it's all for the best. 'I went to see my parents.'
'Really?'
He watches me some more. Instructing my face to behave, I send up a silent prayer that he'll be satisfied with my answer.
'Really. But you probably already know that.'
'Of course I do. Satellite tracking systems are wonderful. Why couldn't you just tell me you were going to Limmingham?'
Quick. Come up with an excuse, woman, and make it good.
'I didn't want to mention the place.' Shit. That'll have to do. 'I didn't want to upset you.'
'And that's all you did?'
'Yes.' I should leave it at that, but I don't. 'You can call them if you like.' Bugger. That really is giving the game away.
'Why would I need to call them?'
'You might not believe me.'
'Of course I believe you.'
I'm not so sure about that. Maybe a little more explanation is in order.
'I went to apologise, to sort things out after what happened.'
His eyes examine mine, probing for the slightest tell.
'You left your mobile at home.'
'I forgot it.'
'And you left your bodyguard in a side street. Did you forget him too?'
'He was annoying me.'
'He won't annoy you any more. Thanks to your actions, he's no longer employed.'
We're interrupted by the waiter's arrival. He speaks to Dan, in Italian of course, and Dan replies. I simply let him get on with it. I have no idea what's going on, and even less interest. Suddenly, I'm seething. As soon as the waiter leaves us, I launch my attack.
'You got him sacked?' I scowl.
'He didn't do his job properly.' With a slip of the mask, he scowls right back at me.