Cautiously I take a few steps forward so I can hear their conversation.
“So, Mr. Brandon’s not ill?” he’s saying.
Oh no.
I retreat behind a door and slam it shut. What do I do now?
I take a gulp of champagne to calm my nerves — and then another. A couple of guys from IT saunter past and give me an odd look, and I smile gaily back.
OK. I can’t cower behind this door forever. I inch my head above the glass panel in the door until I can see into reception — and thank God. Chalk-stripe guy has gone. With a whoosh of relief I push the door open and stride nonchalantly into the reception area.
“Hi!” I say casually to Janet, who’s typing busily on her computer. “Who was that just now? That man talking to you.”
“Oh, him! He works for a man called… Nathan Temple?”
“Right. And… what did he want?”
“It was weird!” she says, pulling a face. “He kept asking if Luke was ‘better.’ ”
“And what did you tell him?” I say, trying to depress the tone of urgency in my voice.
“Well, I said he’s fine, of course! Never better!” She laughs gaily, then as she sees my face she suddenly stops typing. “Oh my God. He isn’t fine, is he?”
“What?”
“That was a doctor, wasn’t it?” She leans forward, looking stricken. “You can tell me, Becky. Did Luke catch some tropical disease while you were away?”
“No! Of course not!”
“Is it his heart, then? His kidneys?” Her eyes are watering. “You know… I lost my dear aunt this year. It really hasn’t been easy for me… ”
“I’m sorry,” I say, flustered. “But honestly, don’t worry! Luke’s fine! Everything’s fine, it’s all fine… ”
I glance up — and the words wither on my lips.
Please, no.
This can’t be happening.
Nathan Temple himself is walking into the building.
He’s bigger and more barrel-chested than I remember, and is wearing the same leather-trimmed coat he was wearing in Milan. He exudes power and money and a smell of cigars. And his sharp blue eyes are looking right at me.
“Well, hello,” he says in his Cockney rasp. “Mrs. Brandon. We meet again.”
“Hell-Hello!” I say. “Gosh! What a… lovely surprise!”
“Still enjoying the bag?” He smiles briefly.
“Er… yes! It’s fab!”
I have to get him out of here. I have to get him out of here.
Or I could tell Luke everything.
When this is over, I promise myself, I will never tell him a lie again. I will be honest and straight and truthful. Plus I will learn to make waffles.
“Er… Luke?” I manage at last.
“Yes?”
“There’s… there’s something I have to tell you.” I swallow hard. “I should have told you ages ago, but… I didn’t… and I was dealing with it, but—”