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A noise startled her. She glanced up to see the man reappearing through the door.
‘I left the door ajar,’ he said, coming over. ‘I didn’t want you having to get up. I got these from the shop downstairs.’ He handed her a box of tissues. ‘I also got you this.’ He handed her a takeaway cup. ‘It’ll help relax your airways.’
She accepted the carton. ‘You seem to know a lot about this.’
‘My brother had asthma as a kid. Do you have an inhaler?’
She glanced away, embarrassed. ‘It’s not asthma…’ she trailed off, not wanting to admit that she suffered panic attacks. There was nothing to be ashamed of, but she hated losing control, especially in front of strangers. She took a sip of the drink and the velvety taste of chocolate hit her senses. ‘You got me hot chocolate?’
He gave a half-hearted shrug. ‘I figured you’d need something sweet.’
Was the man a mind reader? She wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or alarmed. Both, probably. Either way, she was glad ofthe drink. ‘Thank you, it’s really kind of you.’ She’d forgotten his name… Kevin? Keith? Calum?
‘No worries, is it helping?’
She nodded and took another mouthful. ‘You can sit down, if you’d like.’
‘Okay.’ Except there was nowhere to sit, other than on the solitary sofa – the rest of the furniture had disappeared. He looked apprehensive about sitting close to her again, so perched on the arm of the sofa. A moment later, he said, ‘Were you really attacked?’
She stared down at her lap; it was easier if she didn’t look at him. ‘A couple of weeks ago. I was on my way home from a court hearing and a man tried to take my bag. I managed to get away, but it shook me up.’
‘I’ll bet. Were you hurt?’
‘Not badly. Bruised ribs, a mild concussion. But it’s left me a bit… unnerved.’
‘Understandably.’ His voice was soft, and she noticed he had a northern accent. Yorkshire, maybe. ‘You said you’d been in court?’
It seemed strange to be sharing her woes with a stranger, but he’d been so kind to her, and the least she owed him was an explanation for having misjudged him. ‘I was defending an application by HMRC to make me bankrupt. I managed to persuade the judge to allow me more time, but he’s only given me three months to find the money. And it’s a lot of money, nearly ten grand.’
He whistled. ‘Tough ask.’
Her chest began to tighten and she tried to rub away the ache. ‘Luck hasn’t exactly been on my side of late.’ She grabbed more tissues and tried to stem the onslaught of further tears. ‘They’re not even my debts.’
He reached over and took the cup from her so she could blow her nose. ‘You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to.’
‘I need to, so you don’t think I’m a horrible person.’
He drew back, alarmed. ‘Why would I think that?’
‘Because I jumped to conclusions when I saw you and assumed you were a bailiff.’ She shifted to face him. ‘It’s just that my ex-husband had a gambling problem, which became worse when his business got into trouble, and then he started covering up the extent of the issue by lying and borrowing money from payday loan companies.’ She sucked in a breath, trying to draw in enough air to continue. ‘And then after we’d split up, bailiffs started showing up. They’ve taken all my jewellery and valuables; they even seized my car… and threatened to have me arrested if I didn’t pay up.’
‘Jesus, you must’ve been so scared,’ he said, sounding genuinely sympathetic and looking sheepish. ‘And then I show up. Sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault, really. I haven’t been here for months. I only popped in today to pick up the last of my things and hand over the keys to the mortgage company. I thought I’d be okay, but all these bad memories came flooding back… and, coupled with being mugged, I guess I panicked when you knocked on the door. I made a horrible assumption, and I feel awful. I’m so sorry.’
He hesitated, as if his instinct was to go to her again, but he thought better of it and stayed put. ‘Honestly, no harm done. It was my fault for turning up here. I did send letters, but not everyone replied, so I thought I’d visit in person.’
‘Your letter’s probably in that bag,’ she said, nodding at the bin liner.
He offered her the takeaway cup. ‘Want some more?’
‘Thanks.’ She took the hot chocolate, grateful for something to sooth her scratchy throat. ‘You said you needed information on the flat lease?’
‘That’s right.’ He shook his hand, loosening the fancy watch on his wrist. ‘My uncle died a few months ago and I’m trying to sort out his estate.’ His hands came to rest in his lap and she noticed beautifully manicured nails. And she’d thought he was bailiff? What an idiot she was. ‘He was an architect back in the day and he designed a load of tower blocks in London. He retained the freehold on some of the buildings, but I can’t get a value until I know who owns the leases and whether any of them have been extended.’
Kate sipped her hot chocolate. ‘Wouldn’t you be better off using a solicitor? Leases can be complex.’
‘I can’t find anyone willing to take on the case.’
