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‘And that’s not going to change. You won’t consider moving out of your comfort zone.’
She opened her mouth to tell him that wasn’t fair, and then decided that it probably was. ‘I’m out of my comfort zone now.’
He grinned. ‘Yeah, me too. And that’s exactly where we both need to be.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE TAXI SPED across the river and turned up towards the City then bumped into a quiet cul-de-sac. They drew to a halt outside a three-storey building, separated from the road by railings and a neat portico over a solid, black-painted door.
Greg caught up his bag, got out of the taxi and paid the driver. Waited for Jess to follow and then took the steps up to the doorway in one stride, pulling the old-style bell handle.
Jess jumped when the door was opened almost immediately. No time to focus on the engraved brass plate at the side of the door. A young woman, who seemed to know Greg, stood to one side.
They might just as well have stepped back two hundred years. Polished dark wood doors, a huge, gilt mirror and a pair of high backed wooden chairs, next to a small Regency table with magazines displayed neatly on it. It was a waiting area, but clearly one that people didn’t spend much time waiting around in. Just enough to phone upstairs, and for someone to hurry down to meet a valued client.
‘Thanks, Sarah.’ Greg gave her a smile. ‘Is he in?’
‘He’s waiting for you in his office. Would you like to go straight up?’ Sarah smiled at Greg and then Jess, the same well-regulated smile. ‘Can I take your coat?’
‘Thanks.’ Jess handed Greg’s coat to her.
‘Shall I bring up some coffee?’
Greg nodded. ‘That would be nice, thank you.’ He reached into his bag and pulled out a parcel, which was obviously a well-wrapped bottle, proffering it to her. ‘Happy Christmas.’
Sarah’s veneer slipped a little and she blushed. ‘That’s very nice of you… ’
‘We won’t keep you too long. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do today.’
‘There’s plenty of time. We always stay open until lunchtime on Christmas Eve.’ Sarah disappeared with Greg’s coat and left them alone to climb the long staircase, which curved up through the centre of the building. It was almost dizzying, drawing the eye upwards to the ever-decreasing circles above her head.
‘I love this staircase.’ He leaned close, as if that was some kind of secret. ‘Apparently it’s one of only a few in London that are quite this shape.’
‘Yes. It’s lovely.’ Jess had given up now. No more questions, no more let’s get this over with. It would all play out, and then Greg would go home and she’d go back to the hospital.
He chuckled, placing his hand lightly on her back and steering her across the first floor landing to an open door, where a middle aged man in impeccable pinstripes stood.
‘Charles.’
‘Greg.’ The man extended his hand. ‘How are you?’
‘Well, thank you. I appreciate you being here today. Jess, this is Charles Hamlin. Of Hamlin, Grey and… ’
‘Hamlin.’ Charles chuckled as if this was a very
old joke that still somehow managed to tickle him. He held his hand out to her and she grasped it shakily. ‘Dr Saunders. A pleasure to meet you.’
‘Jess, please. Nice to meet you too.’
‘Sit down, please.’ He waved her towards one of two chairs that were set in front of a large slab of mahogany piled high with papers, strewn with various knick-knacks and lit by a reading lamp with a green shade.
Jess looked around at the book-lined office. Charles was a lawyer of some sort. Anger spurted through her veins and she almost turned and ran, back down the aristocratic staircase and into the street, where she might be able to breathe again. She felt Greg’s hand again, light on her back. Stay. Please stay.
She should get out of there right now, but somehow she couldn’t. Maybe it was because Greg seemed so different, so much like the man he’d once been. The man she’d follow into any darkness, through any unknown door, because she trusted him.
She drew herself up as straight as she could, pretended that she wasn’t wearing jeans and a sweatshirt with sparkle all over it, and sat down. She crossed her legs tightly, and wished that Greg would give her back the clipboard so she could either shield herself or hit him with it, whichever turned out to be appropriate. At that moment Sarah appeared behind them with coffee, on what looked suspiciously like a silver tray. What had she got herself into?
Greg had placed another bottle-shaped parcel from his bag on Charles’ desk, and he unwrapped it while Sarah was pouring the coffee. His smile turned into a beam of approbation as he examined the bottle. ‘I say. Thank you, I shall enjoy that immensely.’
