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Once in the expansive lobby, I made it to the small arrangement of plain red sofas where visitors waited to be met and I flopped down in one. No matter how hard I tried to collect my thoughts and unscramble my pulverised nerves, I failed. I must have looked a sight as I was attracting the attention of two men at the reception desk.
“Miss Marshall, are you unwell?” said a familiar voice.
I looked up into the concerned face of Jason’s regular driver. He must have been passing the desk and saw me on the sofa.
“I….”
Nothing sensible formed in my head. I was a blithering wreck of paranoia and flash frame images, as if a slideshow was being played at high speed. I blinked at him, trying to focus on the distant face. Why did he look so far away?
He guided me through the turnstile to a room at the back of the ground floor. An open plan office with several desks and chairs, of which one desk was set to one side and larger in all dimensions. Somebody was seated in the room, a blur on the edge of my peripheral visual.
“Leave us,” snapped Martinson briskly to the occupant as he deposited me in a chair.
A plastic cup of cold water was thrust into my hands and the coolness permeated into my skin. The contents splashed on to my stockings as my hands continued to shake uncontrollably.
“Miss?” he said gently taking it out of my hands and offering the liquid to my lips.
I sipped and felt the water wash away the acrid taste in my mouth.
I could hear him talking on the telephone.
“I don’t know, sir. I found her in the lobby. She’s white as a sheet.”
I had to get a grip of myself, shutting my eyes I took deep breaths. I reminded myself that I had been mistaken. A look-alike but not him. How easy it was for me to
fall to pieces though. My vulnerability alarmed me and I could not stop the tiny rivulets of tears streaking down my face.
Deep breaths.
The door opened behind me and I gasped with surprise. It was Jason. No jacket and his necktie loosely tied about his collar, I was stunned by his appearance. Martinson must have summoned him from his top floor sanctuary. I quickly wiped the tears away with my sleeve.
He crouched next to my chair and took my hands in his. I expected him to be baffled and he did look concerned too, which relieved me.
“Gem, what’s wrong?” he asked softly.
“Nothing, just…”
I did not want him to know. My disabling memories were back behind bolted doors and his presence helped dissipate my anxieties. I felt foolish at my stupid act of mistaken identity.
“Are you ill?” he asked stroking my knuckles with his thumbs.
“Oh no,” I said quickly. “I thought I saw…. Out on the street. It was a mistake. Silly of me. I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine, quite the contrary.”
“I rushed my lunch and it made me feel a little faint, that’s all.” I sought excuses that sounded viable.
“Do you want Martinson to drive you home?” he asked.
“No!” I said alarmed. To be on my own was not what I wanted. “I’ll be OK. Once I’m back at my desk and everything digested.” I patted my stomach with my trembling hand.
Jason stood up and then look down at me, as if he was weighing up my state.
“Alright,” he said without conviction. “What did you see?”
“Sorry?” I made a pretence at confusion.
“On the street?”
