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“I guess this isn’t your favorite part of the job,” Alex says to the two police officers.
They give small smiles. “No, it’s not the easiest bit,” the sergeant says.
“Can I get either of you a tea or coffee?” I ask, feeling helpless.
But they both shake their heads. “We’ll get going in a minute,” the constable says.
I look out at the two men on the terrace. James is getting to his feet. The glass is empty. He walks slowly back to the boardroom, listening as Henry talks. They stop outside the window and finish their conversation, and James nods.
When he comes in, he looks more composed. “I called my father,” he says. “The police had just rung him.” He clears his throat. “So you want me to identify her first?” he asks, and the sergeant nods. “Where do I go?”
“The Forensics Department at the hospital.”
“And afterward I can bring Leia back with me?”
“Of course.”
“Where do I collect her from?”
“The foster mum is bringing her to Lyttelton Police Station at five, if you could meet us there.”
“You’ll need a car seat,” I tell him and Henry. “And bottles and formula. Clean clothing, and nappies.”
James runs a hand through his hair. “Shit. Of course.”
“We can call in at Maddie’s house,” Henry says, “and pick up what we can from there temporarily.”
James stands there for a moment, looking at the floor, his hands on his hips. His expression is hard, wracked with grief and, I suspect, an inner fury at what’s happened, but despite his initial shock, he’s still in control. At that moment, I have no trouble believing he’s a billionaire and a successful businessman.
He looks at me, then, taking me by surprise. “I wonder if you’d do me a favor,” he says.
“Of course, anything.”
“Alex told me you’re a qualified childcare assistant?”
My eyebrows rise. “Yes, that’s right.”
“I need someone to look after Leia temporarily, until everything is sorted, but all the agencies are closed at the moment, and I’m not going to be able to get anyone at this short notice. Could I hire you as her nanny for a few days?”
My jaw drops, but I close it hurriedly. “Um, sure.”
“I’ll pay you,” he says.
I flush. “You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s not up for debate,” he says abruptly. “Would you be able to come with me to the station to pick her up?”
For some reason, I feel embarrassed and humiliated that he won’t accept my help—that he feels he has to pay me. But that’s silly—he knows I’m short of money, and he’s probably just keeping it professional and making sure I’m not out of pocket.
“Of course,” I say. “I can help you decide what to pick up from the house, too.”
“That would be great,” he says with relief.
“I’ll take you in the Range Rover,” Henry says. “You won’t get a baby seat in the back of the Porsche.”
“Are you sure?” James asks.
“Bro, come on. You don’t have to do this alone.” Henry claps him on the shoulder. “Do you need to take anything with you?”
