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She looked embarrassed at being caught out, but he also saw her sudden flood of relief that this nightmare really was over.
‘I should leave,’ Mary said, sounding flustered. And she turned to do just that.
He let her go with a brief nod.
In fact, now that the so-called ‘meeting’ was over, Costa took his phone from his jacket pocket and turned it on. While waiting for it to load, he glanced up. Previously he had noticed only her nerves and her ill-fitting shoes. Now, though, he saw that her dress was not so plain. The slight dip at the back allowed a glimpse of pale spine and accentuated her tiny waist.
There was an old-fashioned beauty to her, Costa thought, as she nervously tiptoed through Reception on little matchstick legs. There was something about this Mary Jones that forced his attention.
He turned back to his phone and tried to swat her from his mind, but found himself looking up again. She hadn’t got very far—in fact she stood nearby at a table. The flush from her face had gone and she was suddenly incredibly pale as she dragged in air and looked around nervously, as if in dread that Ridgemont might suddenly appear.
‘Mary.’ To his own surprise Costa walked over. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Fine,’ she attempted.
But she was suddenly overwhelmed by her own foolishness, recalling her trembling fear as she had practically hidden in the restroom, planning her escape.
‘Well, not fine, exactly. I’ve had better Saturday nights...’
She let out a shrill laugh, because actually she’d had nothing but a string of miserable Saturday nights, but right now she’d settle for an evening spent folding a mountain of pink towels back at the salon, slowly losing more of her spirit.
‘I just need a moment.’
‘You’re okay,’ Costa said, even though she looked as if she might faint.
He had already noticed her very slender frame and he felt a sudden twist of guilt—for they had missed dinner, after all, and perhaps she had been counting on it. Costa knew better than most the true pain of hunger and how it felt to be denied a much-needed meal.
‘Would you like to get something to eat?’ Costa offered. ‘Perhaps catch your breath before you head off?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘We could go into the bar...’
‘You warned me yourself not to mess with the big guns,’ Mary responded rather tartly, when usually she’d never dare. But adrenaline was still coursing through her veins. ‘And I’m guessing—’ from Eric’s nerves, from the deference of the waiter, she’d realised that perhaps this Costa was the one to fear ‘—I’m guessing you are one.’
‘Unlike Ridgemont, I don’t pay for company,’ Costa responded. ‘Now, you can take that as an insult and huff off, or we can take a seat here and at least get a drink...’
He gestured to the sumptuous bar with its occasional tables and carefully placed leather chairs and velvet couches, as well as an open fire. Despite its size, and the people filling the seats, it reminded her of a cosy nook. A place to simply curl up and hide.
‘It is up to you.’
She looked to the brass doors she had first walked through. A second ago all she had wanted was to get the hell away, but she could see the arriving patrons with their umbrellas, could see the black of the night outside, and suddenly she felt safer with him than alone.
‘Justa drink?’
‘Yes, Mary, I don’t do double-speak.’
‘Meaning...?’
‘If I wanted sex I would say so upfront.’
She let out another burst of nervous laughter, but he did not join her. Instead, he repeated his offer.
‘Would you like to join me for a drink before you leave?’
Finally she could breathe. For the first time since arriving in the hotel she felt air expand right down to the bottom of her lungs. Yes, a drink sounded like something she would very much like, if only to gather herself.
‘Please.’
