Jack grimaced in faux horror, then laughed. ‘Maybe I can help to loosen things up a bit. Unblock you, if you’re struggling for words … You and I are due a catch-up on BHGH anyway. It’s not as if Friday was a particularly productive day, workwise.’
‘To be honest, I could probably do with bouncing my ideas off someone,’ she admitted. ‘Finding the right angle on this isn’t easy.’
‘I’m not surprised. Drumming up new visitors is a tall order when what you’re trying to sell them hasn’t changed. Humphrey’s adamant that nothing needs to be done with the properties themselves, though – or with the artefacts and exhibits they have on show.’
‘That’s exactly the problem,’ Rachel said, nodding. ‘All I’ve really got to work with is smoke and mirrors … I’m trying to change people’s perceptions rather than sell them something new.’ She felt almost vindicated by Jack’s understanding of how fiddly this was – of how much rested on her ability to tell familiar stories in a different, more interesting way.
‘Have you eaten?’ he asked. The change of topic caught Rachel off guard. ‘I came straight here this morning,’ Jack went on, ‘and I’m starving. Do you want to go and get breakfast? We could chat through what you’ve put together so far – make it a work date.’
Rachel’s stomach lurched at the worddate, then grumbled loudly. Traitorously. Jack smirked at her, daring her to claim she wasn’t hungry.
‘Okay, I’ll come,’ she said, wishing she could think of an excuse not to. ‘Actually, I know the perfect place.’
They sat at Rachel’s preferred table at Cyril’s – the one she’d been at on the day she hid from Laurence.
In light of what had happened last week, it now seemed at least possible – perhaps even likely – that Laurence had been here looking for her that afternoon. The idea made Rachel feel a bit queasy, not to mention mad with indignation. Laurence had no right to stalk around North London trying to hunt her down. She was a woman who’d decided to stop seeing him, not a lost briefcase he needed to locate.
‘Are you all right?’ Jack asked. ‘You keep craning to look at the door. It’s like you’re waiting for the police to burst in and arrest you.’
‘I’m fine,’ Rachel insisted. ‘I’m good.’ She sat a little further back in her chair, willing herself to relax. There was no way she was explaining the Laurence disaster to Jack, and after the wine bar incident it seemed unlikely she’d hear from him again in any case.
‘Wherearewe, by the way?’ Jack said quietly, so that only Rachel could hear. ‘It’s like a museum in here … A tribute to late-twentieth-century greasy spoons. Or did we step through a time portal I didn’t notice and travel back to 1982?’
Rachel glowered at him as she shuffled through the pile of documents she’d brought with her, then slid several of them across the table in his direction.
Jack’s face had lit up, animated by his thorough enjoyment of teasing her. He hassled his hair with his right hand, then leaned his unshaven chin on his palm in a simper. ‘You always did bring me to the nicest places.’
‘And you always were a horrible snob,’ Rachel said, crossing her arms and averting her eyes from his face. ‘For your information, the food here is amazing – mainly because Cyril cooks everything in proper butter and doesn’t believe in cholesterol. And if you still aren’t convinced about this place after your sausage sandwich, just think of it as payback: it’s the equal and opposite to Friday, and our horrible Old Harrovians’ reunion.’
Jack laughed, and Rachel caught herself feeling warmed by the sound of it – satisfied that she’d bested him.Stop, she instructed herself.
At that moment Cyril appeared with a tray. He put down two large mugs of tea and a pair of plates, then grinned and winked at Rachel as he shuffled away, his bulbous stomach swaying as he went, swelling over the waistband of his joggers.
The bacon in Rachel’s sandwich was fried to perfection – so well done she could have snapped it in two. Ketchup oozed from between the two thick slices of white bread. Cyril knew her well.
Jack looked at his food quizzically, clearly astonished at the sight of a cafe breakfast that didn’t involve avocado, perfectly poached eggs or organic sourdough. Nevertheless, within five minutes he’d wolfed it.
‘I have to admit it,’ he said as Rachel crunched the last of her bacon. ‘That was delicious. I can already feel my arteries clogging, but it was worth it.’
‘Told you so.’ Rachel nodded, picking up her tea and rolling the still-hot mug between her palms. ‘But we should talk about the project now we’ve eaten.’ She was keen to keep this ‘date’ as professional as possible.
‘Sure,’ Jack said with a shrug. He spent a few minutes looking through the documents she’d given him, then tipped his head sideways and looked at her from beneath knitted brows.
‘Go on,’ Rachel said. ‘Don’t spare me.’
‘Okay. What you have here is definitely better than what any of the other agencies put together. But it’s still a bit …’
‘Dull. Boring.I know.’ Rachel groaned and put her mug back on the table.
‘I wasn’t going to say boring,’ Jack said. ‘Maybe more … teacher-y. There’s interesting stuff in there, but it feels too educational. Too worthy.’
‘Hmm,’ Rachel said, chewing the end of the biro she was holding. ‘That’s it. I agree with you. I mean, I know we need to make the facts and the history feel relevant … Not present them as something people “should” find fascinating on principle. But clearly I need to do better. Looking at them again, there are still bits of these mock-ups that read like a GCSE textbook.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Hmm,’ Rachel murmured again. ‘I wonder … Ironically, I reckon I might need to thinkmorelike a teacher here.’
‘How d’you mean?’
