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‘Yes. I know…’
‘So, here’s your chance to end it—after all, if you’re living with another man…’
‘As his employee…’ Philippa reminded her quickly.
‘Well, yes, of course, but you’ve got to admit it wouldn’t be as easy to entertain a lover under someone else’s roof as it would under your own.’
‘Yes, you’re right,’ Philippa acknowledged. ‘Everything you say makes sense, I know, but…’
‘Have you thought that it might not be your fear that Blake might think you still have a crush on him that’s holding you back, but your change of status…?’ Susie suggested gently.
‘No… no, of course it isn’t,’ Philippa denied indignantly.
‘Then take the job,’ Susie counselled her. ‘After all,’ she added cheerfully, ‘you can always leave if it doesn’t work out.’
‘No… that’s the one thing I can’t do,’ Philippa contradicted her. ‘Not once I’ve made a commitment to Anya. She’s been through so much already, lost so much… I don’t know why Blake is so keen to employ me,’ she burst out. ‘I mean, there must be dozens of other women far better qualified for the job than I am.’
‘It depends what you mean by better qualified,’ Susie told her. ‘I imagine he wants you for the same reason that Elizabeth Humphries recommended you for the job in the first place. And that’s quite simply because he knows that to you it won’t just be a job. Take it, Pip,’ Susie advised her firmly. ‘After all, what other real option do you actually have?’
‘None,’ Philippa admitted tiredly.
The letter from the bank was still on the kitchen table, her promise to Rory very much to the forefront of her mind.
Susie was right. What real option did she have?
‘Ring him now and tell him that you’ve thought it over and that you’ve decided to take the job,’ Susie urged her.
* * *
Numbly, Philippa stared at the telephone.
It was pointless trying to put off what she knew had to be done.
She picked up the receiver and slowly punched out Blake’s number.
The answering machine was on again. She waited for the tone before leaving her message.
There, it was done. There was no going back now, unless Anya took a dislike to her.
The phone rang as she stood there, her stomach still churning with reaction to what she had done.
‘Philippa?’
‘Blake.’ She hadn’t expected him to ring back so quickly.
‘I was working at home,’ he told her. ‘But you rang off before I could reach the phone. I’m glad you changed your mind.’ He paused. ‘I’m due to collect Anya from the foster mother who has been looking after her tomorrow. If you’re free it might be a good idea if you come with me.’
‘Wouldn’t you prefer to get Anya settled first, let her find her feet a little…?’ Philippa protested.
‘Philippa, I might be a psychiatrist, but I’m also a man; what I know about pre-teenagers and their problems might fill half a dozen textbooks in theory, but theory is exactly what it is. The thought of applying that theory to good old-fashioned hands-on reality terrifies me and so do the thoughts I can almost see running through the mind of the Social Services people.
‘What Anya needs more than anything right now is a bit of human warmth and comfort. I can’t give her that. She might be my god-daughter, but she’s also a stranger to me. I’ve seen her once since Lisa and Miguel were killed… until all this happened, I hadn’t seen her since she was christened…’
Philippa could hear the exasperation in his voice. It made him seem more human.
‘I’m not asking you to come with me as some kind of Macchiavellian psychological test,’ he told her drily. ‘I’m asking you to come because Anya needs you and so do I.’
It was the last admission she had expected him to make, and hearing it shocked her into complete silence.
