'I'm not going up there with you.'
'But it's breaking and entering.'
'Technically, it's just entering.' I look back up at the apartment. No way am I going up there. No way. No how.
'Lucy!' Clive calls out. 'Now. It's quarter to seven. And Maya, you'll have to go with her. The concierge knows about you. He won't let Lucy in on her own.' His attention flips back to his phone. 'Brian, what the hell's going on?' And with that, he walks off again, listening intently to his mobile.
'Brian,' Lucy gasps, watching him go. 'Brian and Clive? What on Earth was their mother thinking?'
'Who cares? Just go and fetch my bloody handbag.'
'You heard what he said. The concierge won't let me in without you.'
'Then I'll come into the lobby, but that's it.'
Grabbing Lucy by the arm, I drag her through the main door.
'No,' Lucy snaps, stumbling to a halt. 'We've gone to all this bloody trouble to get your bloody handbag back, the least you can do is just come up in the bloody lift with me.'
'No,' I snap back.
'Then I'm not bloody going up.'
'Jesus Christ.'
'Good evening, Miss Scotton.'
A stranger's voice cuts across our argument. In unison, we turn to face the concierge. I've only ever seen him once before, and I'm wondering how the hell he knows my name.
'See.' Lucy jabs me with a finger. 'He knows who you are. We've come to collect her bloody handbag,' she announces. 'You won't let me go up on my own, will you?'
'To Mr Foster's apartment?' He shakes his head. 'Miss Scotton, of course, has full access.'
Obviously, he hasn't been informed by Mr Foster that the former piece of skirt is out of the picture.
'I've over-ridden the code,' he goes on. 'The lift will take you straight up.'
'There.' Lucy prods me again. She gives the concierge a smile. 'And is Mr Foster in?'
The concierge shakes his Brylcreemed head. 'He left a couple of hours ago.'
'There.' Her eyes flicker with determination. 'So, what's the bloody problem? Come on.'
I'm tugged across the lobby and watch helplessly as Lucy punches the call button for the lift. The door opens immediately and I step inside. It doesn't take long for us to reach the top floor, but all the way Lucy huffs and puffs like a steam engine. When the door slides open again, revealing the white marble of the entrance hall, I feel the hackles rise on the back of my neck. Stepping out into the hall, I'm half-expecting the lift to close behind me, to be trapped. But it stays open.
'I'll wait out here,' I tell Lucy.
'Fair enough.'
She fiddles with the key, slips it into the lock and disappears inside the flat. And I wait, listening to the jittering of my breath.
'Maya, you've got to see this.' Her voice is distant now. Muted.
'What?' I call back.
She reappears in the doorway, her face bright with excitement.
'He's hung your painting. It looks amazing.'
I shake my head and swallow hard. The picture of Limmingham. I didn't get a chance to get a last look on Friday night. Ian Boyd's arrival saw to that.
'There's nobody here,' she grins.
And what harm could it do, my brain niggles. Go on. Take a quick peek, say goodbye and draw a line under everything. And while you're at it, drop off the necklace. That's called closure.
'Come on.' Grabbing me by the arm, Lucy hauls me into the apartment and my stomach lurches. On full alert, I edge my way through the kitchen. It's eerily silent but Lucy was right: there's no one here. He really has gone to Surrey. Either that or he's lurking at the Tate, waiting to take a chance that I'm not about to give. Inching further, I notice the handbag, perched on the counter top, the very place where Dan first kissed me and lured me into his world. I touch the bag, place the little black box on the counter, open it up and take out the necklace. Watching the tiny sweet pea flicker in the light, I think of the jar of sweet pea flowers, of sitting in the kitchen garden with Dan by my side, and my ridiculous vision of a happy ever after. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes and I blink them back. No crying, I tell myself. Not now. Not here. You've made a decision and now you're going to stick to it. After all, it's the only way to keep your sanity. Holding the necklace in my hand, I say a quiet goodbye and lay it gently on the worktop.
'There it is.' Lucy's voice snatches me out of my dream world. Unusually serious, she waves a hand towards the living area.
Following the direction of her wave, I turn and catch sight of it: hanging above the fireplace, the colours shimmering with life, it's my painting of the woods in Limmingham. It looks so different to when it was propped up in my bedroom, or on display at Slaters. I take another step forwards, amazed by the way the light catches the branches. I'm about to take another step when I hear the door slam. Swivelling round on my heels, I find myself alone.
'Lucy?'
No answer.
'Lucy!'
Nothing.
A whirlwind of panic spirals into life. I stumble back to the kitchen, my eyes raking pointlessly across the cupboards, the counter, the sink. And then some tiny, still fully functioning region of my brain registers what's just happened. That was Lucy slamming the front door.
Racing over to it, I tug at the handle, but nothing moves.
'Lucy!' I'd lean down and call through the letterbox but there is no letterbox, just a solid mass of wood. I run a hand over it. 'What the fuck's going on?' I shout. 'I can't open the door.'
'I know.' Lucy's muffled voice comes from the other side. 'I've locked you in.'
I gape at the door, my thoughts reeling. Locked me in? But why has she locked me in? And then my brain lands on the only possible answer.
Shit.
Resting my forehead against the wood, I close my eyes, desperately reminding myself to breathe. The stupid bloody woman. She's come up with a last-minute, hair-brained plan to get me back with Dan. Of all the ridiculous ideas she's ever had, this has to take the biscuit.
'Lucy, for fuck's sake! Let me out!'
'Sorry, Maya.'
I give a start. That certainly wasn't just Lucy's voice. In fact, it was Clive's voice, muffled too. He's here? Blood pounds through my brain. I'm in full-on flight-or-fight mode and I know it.
'What are you doing?' I plead.
'It's an intervention,' Clive calls back.
An intervention? A bloody intervention? Has the world gone mad? I'm starting to shake now, furious at the interference.
'Let me out,' I shout. 'I'm perfectly capable of making my own mistakes, thank you very much. I don't need your help.'
'No!' Lucy shouts back. 'Sometimes, drastic actions are called for.'
'If this is your stupid fucking idea of how to get me back with Dan, you can take a fucking hike.'
'It's not my idea,' Lucy shouts. 'And it's not Clive's either.' She pauses before she springs the next surprise on me. 'It's Dan's.'
Dan's idea? How can it be Dan's idea?
'Shit.' I've been a complete idiot.
'And if you don't like it,' Lucy goes on, 'you can tell him yourself.'
'What?'
I stare at the door, somehow knowing what I'm about to hear.
'He's in there with you.'
'Shit,' I breathe. 'Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.'
This is a trap.
And I've walked right into it.
Chapter Four
I hold my breath as I turn. Don't ask me how I already know he's close by. I just do. And sure enough, there he is, right in front of me, wearing faded jeans that hang loosely from his hips and a white T-shirt. In an instant, I register it all: the ruffled blond hair, the perfect face, the soft lips, the glimmer in those bright blue eyes. With his hands in his pockets, he stares at me, all mean and hot and moody. And it hits me immediately: the full-on Daniel Foster effect. It's like standing in the path of a freight train and watching a beautiful sunrise and launching into a bungee jump, all rolled into one. I freeze, shortly before I gasp, and then the adrenalin takes effect. My stomach goes into a spin, my heart beat triples and all manner of sensations kick off between my legs. I curse my body to hell and back. I might have decided to get this man out of my life, but Jesus, he still manages to set off the sex fairy. And dear Lord, don't let him come anywhere near me because if he does, I'll be half way to oblivion.
He takes a step forwards and I flinch.
'You took your time,' he murmurs.
The first words he ever spoke in my presence, on my very first day at Fosters. All part of the evil plan, I'm sure, to remind me of where we started. But I'm not playing his game. Oh no. In fact, I'm going to scupper it. And bearing that in mind, I'd better come up with something pithy and intelligent in return. I scramble through my head for something fitting. Finding nothing, I opt for the easiest route.
'Piss off.'
'You know … ' His lips curl upwards. 'You don't have to swear like a builder.'
And that sets me off.
'Really? I'd say I've got every right to be swearing like a builder. What the fuck's going on?' I wince at my own foul mouth. Making a mental note to cut back on the cursing, I fold my arms and squeeze my legs together. I'm going to get through this in one, unsweary, respectable piece if it kills me.
'Isn't it obvious?' He gives me a classic Daniel Foster eyebrow arch.
'Of course it's fucking obvious.' Damn it. So, I'm not doing too well on the swearing front, but never mind. 'Open this door.'