‘Been a shocker of a day. Started with a virus. Then I got bollocked by the new IT man and then Pietro missed curtain up. And Alison,’ I twisted my mouth in a bad-medicine taste expression, ‘Kreufeld went ballistic and wants to see me tomorrow.’ I covered my face with my hands, stretching my skin over my cheekbones. ‘I just know she wants to get rid of me. And that freelance woman, Arabella Barnes, is desperate for a job.’

‘Well, she can’t do that because you’re ace and Jeanie and Vince would put syrup of figs in this Arabella bird’s coffee. Although personally I don’t get it.’ He shook his head and jumped to his feet. ‘How do you put up with all that gruesome squawking?’ Clutching his chest and holding out one hand, he launched into a horribly shrill falsetto vaguely reminiscent of Bohemian Rhapsody. ‘Kill me now. I beg of you. Spare me from this awful music.’

In spite of myself I burst out laughing. ‘You are awful. You should come, you might even enjoy it.’

He shook his head like a mutinous toddler.

‘How do you know if you’ve never tried it?’

He pulled a face. ‘That’s what mothers say when they want kids to eat green stuff, like broccoli or cabbage or Brussels sprouts. If I ever have children, they can live on jelly and ice-cream if they want.’

‘They’ll get malnutrition,’ I giggled.

‘Yeah but they’ll be the happiest kids on the block.’ He took a long swallow of beer, almost downing the whole bottle in one and then smacked it down on the table.

‘So, what have you done?’

I told him about the Santa baby image because quite frankly that seemed the least of my problems.

‘Oh missus. You big numpty!’ He jumped up, oblivious to the cupboard door which dropped another inch, and then gave me a fleeting hug before whirling over to the fridge to help himself to another beer. ‘I wouldn’t worry about it,’ he grinned.

‘People get those virus things all the time. It’s no big deal. That’s what you have virus protection for. It’ll be fine. I think half the time, the IT bods just use the fear of a possible virus to frighten people, so that you think you need them.’

‘Well we’ve got a new one. An IT Director. He’s a bit of a stiff. He caught me yanking the plug out of the computer.’

‘Director eh? Big title. I’m sure he’s got more important things to do than worry about that. Next.’

I closed my eyes, remembering the flutters of panic when I thought I might not get Pietro to go on stage. ‘Much worse … the absolute worst. Pietro delayed curtain up.’

‘Blimey.’ Even Felix knew how serious that was. He squeezed my arm with an immediate show of understanding. Felix really did get how important my job was to me.

‘It wasn’t even my fault but AK immediately assumed it was. She didn’t even give me a chance to explain that Pietro got a call and the press … He’s being blackmailed.’

‘Ooooo what’s he done? Been caught in a compromising position with a rent boy in the box office?’

‘Felix! Don’t be so horrible.’

‘What’s he done then? Something worse?’ His keen-eyed curiosity had me hesitating for a second, I could almost hear him smacking his lips in anticipation.

I sighed. ‘He was so upset. When he was younger, his family didn’t have the money to pay for singing lessons. He got a part in a porn film to earn the money.’

‘I can’t wait to tell Kevin that one.’

‘Felix! You can’t tell anyone.’

‘Just joking. So, what’s happened?’

‘Pietro’s sleaze-ball of an ex-brother-in-law has threatened to contact the press unless Pietro is nice to him. Shorthand for give him a big hand out.’

‘Can you imagine it? If the press get wind the film will be all over the internet. At the moment if he can keep a lid on it, it’s unlikely anyone will track it down.’

‘Blimey. What a boy.’

I shook my head and sighed. Poor Pietro. ‘He told me a bit about it, sounded quite racy. Very Lady Chatterley. Apparently, he played the young gardener seduced by the Contessa. Pietro said it was called Il Gardiniere.’

‘Doing her lady’s garden for her,’ giggled Felix. ‘Classic. Go Pietro. Someone would pay good money for pictures.’

‘Felix, you shouldn’t say that.’ I shook my head. ‘It’s not funny. I feel so sorry for him. You didn’t see how upset he was. He almost couldn’t go on.’

‘You’re too soft. He’ll get over it,’ dismissed Felix. ‘No such thing as bad publicity.’

To: Wig, Hair, and Make-Up Team

From: Director of IT

All members of staff are reminded that under no circumstances should attachments from unauthorised sources be opened or any unapproved material downloaded.

M Walker

Director of IT

London Metropolitan Opera Company

Chapter 3

Dreams of heart-shaped doodlebugs, reducing London to rubble, while AK handed me an Air Warden’s helmet, filled my head all night leaving me feeling blurry around the edges by morning. Stuffing my corkscrew curls into a hasty ponytail, I secured it with a silk paisley scarf pinched from the wardrobe department and glared at my anaemic reflection before poking unhappily at the bags under my eyes. All the tricks of the trade weren’t going to be able to disguise those babies.

I shot the computer in the workroom a quick look. I was staying clear of that thing today. Vince, who was just arriving, smiled as he caught me.

‘Morning our Tilly. Want me to check your emails for you, lovie?’

‘Don’t. I’m jinxed. I’m not touching it again unless I absolutely have to.’

‘That reminds me, you’ve had a few deliveries.’ He nodded towards my work area with a sly smile.

‘Ha blinking ha!’ I scowled at the pyramid tower of loo rolls which had appeared on my worktable. ‘Maybe we should be starting up a comedy club.’

Judging by the number of them, I guessed every last member of staff in the building had received my email yesterday. Blinking marvellous. Alison Kreufeld would just love that.

As I got my materials out to start work, Vince wandered over. ‘Can I borrow … ooh those bags still need some work sweetie.’

‘Thanks a ton,’ I muttered. ‘I’ve used half a tube of concealer. I didn’t get much sleep.’ I did a double take, his skin positively glowed. ‘Whereas you, you look all bright-eyed and bushy tailed. Have you been at the Beauty Flash Balm again?’

‘Me darling? I swear by it, especially when you get home with the larks.’

‘Larks? Late night, early morning?’

‘All work and no play would make Vince a very dull boy darling. Bit of drinking and dancing, you know how it is.’

Behind him, Jeanie sighed. ‘Drinking and dancing? I don’t know where you get the energy.’

‘High on life, me. High on life,’ chirped Vince.

‘Oh God,’ groaned Jeanie. ‘Who is it this time?’

Vince pouted and sniffed. ‘Who says there’s a man involved?’

Jeanie and I exchanged grins. ‘There’s always a man involved.’

Vince swallowed hard. ‘Not this time.’ Even trying to sound brave, he managed to be dramatic. ‘We’re just good friends.’

‘Aw Vince,’ I reached out and patted his arm. He seemed destined to be unlucky in love and it would be lovely if he could find the perfect partner.

Jeanie rolled her eyes. ‘You mean he’s straight.’ She shook her head. ‘Vince. Vince. Vince. What are we going to do with you?’

‘He’s not straight.’ Vince’s words spewed out in a brief burst of anger. ‘He’s in denial.’

‘Really?’ I reached over and patted his hand. ‘Maybe he’ll come around.’

He snatched his hand away. ‘Easy for you to say.’ His mouth flattened into an unhappy line. ‘Smugly engaged.’

The sharp words hit like unexpected hailstones and I flinched. It was unlike Vince to be snippy. Jeanie’s jawline tensed.

‘Sorry Tilly. Sorry.’ He gave me a sheepish look. ‘I– I sh– I didn’t mean to take it out on you.’

She gave him an approving look.

Wary of touching him again, I nodded. ‘Don’t worry Vince. I understand. If you ever want to talk about it.’ I encompassed Jeanie in the look but her face was closed. It struck me that she’d been drawing back more recently.

‘Thanks, lovie, but no one can help this time.’

The expression on his face made me want to comfort him but something in his eyes warned me to back off.

‘Right, then to work.’

‘Come on. My office. We need to get cracking and start thinking about Romeo and Juliet for next year’s season.’ She stopped and her eyes twinkled with sudden enthusiasm. ‘And guess what? It’s going to have a Regency period setting.’

‘Oooh,’ I rubbed my hands together. ‘Research.’

Vince groaned, ‘Research.’ Before adding, ‘Tilly will be down to the Portrait Gallery faster than Fagin can pick a pocket or two.’

I beamed, my fingers twitching at the thought of getting started on the hairpieces we would need.

‘Well, before you go beetling off on your little jaunt, we can make a start here.’ Jeanie pointed to a pile of large coffee-table-sized books on the floor in front of her feet. Despite being no bigger than a broom cupboard, her office housed a huge collection of books.

‘Being sexist, let’s start having a look at this lot to get some ideas of the period for the ladies and you Vince,’ she pushed another set of books with her foot across the floor to him, ‘for the gents.’

Vince winked at me. ‘Goody, lots of eye candy for me.’

After about an hour, with pages marked with yellow stickies, scribbles in notebooks and the occasional, ‘What about this?’ Vince got to his feet. ‘My knees are killing me darlings. I need caffeine.’

‘I doubt it will help your knees but I wouldn’t say no.’ I held up my empty mug.

As he stepped over me, I shifted onto my bottom and stretched out my legs, taking over what little space he’d just vacated. My back twinged as I sighed in relief.

Jeanie’s phone buzzed and she leaned over me to get it. A resigned expression settled on her face.

‘I’ll send her up now.’

Alison Kreufeld’s office was a lot grander than Jeanie’s in that there was room to swing a whole cat and possibly a hamster too. With a cursory nod, as I approached the open door she invited me in. I’d only been here a few times before and was fascinated by the patchwork of designs that filled the walls, sets, make-up, wardrobe, lighting rig plans. She had a huge job, like a spider in the centre of the web spinning all the threads to create the final look and feel of a production. I might not be too keen on her but her reputation was fearsome.

‘Morning, Matilde. Take a seat.’

She shook her head and sighed. ‘Bit of a balls up last night.’

‘Yes. Pietro … He had a bit of a crisis.’

‘Do you know what? I don’t actually give a … he’s the talent. I can’t bollock him. You however, I can. It’s your responsibility to make sure he’s where he’s supposed to be. You, I can sack. And I bloody will if you make a balls-up like that again.’

What did she want me to say?

‘I’m sorry but–’

‘Like I said. I don’t give a toss. And yes, I know it’s bloody unfair but that’s the way it is and you have to suck it up.’

Alison sighed and turned to the view outside her window. ‘You’re a good make-up artist. Talented. But there are plenty of good, talented make-up artists. They’re standing ten deep in a queue out there.’ She actually stabbed her finger at the pane of glass. ‘You need to be better than good. Deal with stuff. Like getting Pietro on stage on time no matter what. You’re too casual about things. You need to take some responsibility.’

I opened my mouth. I’d got Pietro down to the wings. Calmed him down in the lift. Got him to sing scales. He was two minutes late but it wasn’t my fault.

‘Your attitude is far too cavalier. Just that bit too laid back. It’s not acceptable. You’re letting yourself down. The executive board has decided to appoint an assistant head of department to Jeanie in the New Year. It’s a management post.’ Her eyes bored into mine. ‘And it has to be advertised internally and externally. I’d like to see you apply but I need to see you buck your ideas up. I’m going to be keeping a very close eye on you, one more cock-up and you’ll be on a disciplinary. Consider yourself on probation between now and Christmas.’

I opened my mouth aghast and for once thought better of it and closed it quickly. The quick calculating glance she shot me suggested she’d seen the brief movement.

‘Probation?’ What on earth did that mean?

‘Yes. For the next few weeks I’ll be reviewing your work very closely and at the end of the period, I’ll decide whether to recommend you for the job or not. You have a tendency to jump in feet first without thinking about the further consequences,’ she continued. ‘That is not managerial behaviour. Managers reflect, think and then act.’

‘I’d really like to apply. I love it here and–’

‘I appreciate that but we want someone who doesn’t just get the job done but who also understands the bigger picture. You love it. Great. You’re brilliant at it. Wonderful. But you are just one small cog. Make-up … yes, it’s important. But so is the sound, wardrobe, the electricians, the lighting riggers, the props guys. If you’re in management, you can’t afford to think that your department makes a bigger, better, more special, more authentic, cleverer contribution. I know the detail, the attention, the amount of work that goes in, but,’ she paused and gave me a ferocious stare, ‘if you don’t get the talent on the fucking stage, none of that counts for jack shit and actually shafts all the other buggers who have done their job just as bloody well and don’t get the notice. Prima donnas on the stage I can cope with, but not the backstage crew.’

She sat down back at her desk and began to flip through her diary.

‘You need to prove that you can do more than wield a hairbrush. And not make stupid cock-ups such as sending effing pictures of Dr sodding Who to my opposite number at La Scala when she’s expecting shots of our leading lady. Yes, I did hear about that and it makes us all look stupid. Especially when we’re in competition with the Royal Opera House only a stone’s throw from here.’

‘That was …’ One of my ditzier moments.

‘Unprofessional.’

‘But they … thought it was funny,’ I said in a small voice.

‘Funny?’ Her voice dripped icicles. ‘It undermines the reputation of the London Metropolitan Opera Company, the heart of what we are – a world-renowned institution which employs the very best people, not a bunch of amateurs who can’t use modern technology. What does that sort of dumb ass thing say about us? We’re a bunch of effing dinosaurs? We’re supposed to be at the forefront of artistic endeavour, avant garde, cutting edge, innovative, ground breaking.’

I bit my lip as she continued her diatribe, still hanging on to that brief thread of hope, ‘I’d like to see you apply’.

‘And then there’s the small matter of yesterday’s virus. Which brings me to my second point which is going to be a key part of your probation.’ She picked up a pen and marked a date in the diary with my initials. Christmas Eve.

My heart contracted slightly.

‘Care to explain that?’

I grimaced. ‘Yes, I’m sorry I thought it was,’ I shrugged, ‘harmless.’

‘Clearly,’ she bit out. ‘Do you have any idea how much havoc that little stunt caused?’

‘No.’ I’d very much hoped that not too many people had realised. ‘W-what happened?’

‘What happened,’ she almost snarled the words, ‘was that when you opened that attachment, it attached itself to every email contact you have.’

‘Oh.’ I wriggled in my chair. That sounded really, really bad.

‘Which in turn then attached itself to every contact in all those contacts and so on and so on.’

OK, it just got even worse. My face heated up.

‘I’m a layman here but Mr Walker, our new IT Director, did explain that it could have had extremely serious consequences if they hadn’t managed to shut things down and get rid of it.’ Her eyes bored into mine. ‘Great start to his job. Now, thanks to you, he thinks we’re all a bunch of incompetent idiots.’

‘Oh.’ I ducked my head, my face now on fire.

‘The IT department spent all night trying to get rid of it. After you’d kindly shared it with every email address in the building.’

I bit my lip and slid my hands under my thighs. ‘Sorry about that.’ I felt five inches high. ‘I’m very sorry.’

‘You don’t need to apologise to me. You’re going to have to apologise to Mr Walker and Fred, the IT assistant, who burnt considerable midnight oil to solve the problem. It’s not created the best impression with the new director.’

‘Oh dear.’ I wilted inside. Our first encounter hadn’t exactly gone well.

‘Oh, dear indeed. It took considerable persuasion to get him to take the job. Julian Spencer is not best pleased, as you’ve confirmed any negative perceptions Mr Walker might have had about the ability of the Opera House to move into the twenty-first century.’

I gazed down at her table, trying to imagine how to frame a suitable apology and came up with nothing. I’d rather hoped after that first run in, I’d never have to see Mr drop-dead-gorgeous again.

‘Are you listening to me?’ She laid her hands on the desk and pinned me with a fierce stare.

I nodded vigorously.

‘Good, because I’ve decided that we are going to convince our new IT Director that all departments are open and amenable to progress. All members of staff are ready to embrace technology and make it serve us.’

What… afternoon cream teas? I rather relished the thought of the little CD disk drawers popping out on command with a lovely china cup and saucer of tea and a matching plate with a chocolate éclair. Then I realised I’d missed what she was saying.

‘… an IT champion, who will provide the link with the IT department and promote the use of new systems within their department.’

She plumped herself down in her grand leather chair as if she were Sir Alan Sugar suddenly discovering that his potential apprentices had a couple of brain cells each.

What? I’d missed something important here.

‘As part of your probation, you are now the Hair, Wig and Make-up team’s IT contact and you will be working closely with Mr Walker to identify suitable software packages for implementation in the department to streamline and update your processes.’

‘Me?’ She had to be kidding. ‘But I’m rub–’

‘It’s all been agreed. He’s expecting to see you today.’

‘Who? Mr Walker?’ I curled my fingers over the edge of the chair.

She narrowed her eyes, which I took as a yes.

‘But … but … I’ve got work to do … proper work. The designs for Juliet. And Pietro for curtain up tonight.’

She smiled and it wasn’t a nice smile. She tapped her diary rather pointedly.

‘Mr Walker will be keeping me abreast of your progress.’

I gave her a weak smile. My cup just runneth over.

As I stood to leave, she leaned under her desk.

‘A present for you,’ she said and pointedly handed me a toilet roll.

‘Did she offer you the Assistant Head of Make-up job?’

Vince bobbed up and down, firing the question at me as soon as I returned to Jeanie’s cubby hole, half an hour later.

‘You are flippin’ joking,’ I said with feeling. ‘She bloody hates me. I’m a “dumb ass”, “stupid”, “make cock-ups” and I’m an “amateur”. I think it’s safe to say, I’m not on the short list for that job.’

Jeanie gave me a stern look. ‘Is that what she really said?’

I shrugged.

‘Or did you just listen to the bad bits and ignore the positrons?’

‘Positives,’ I said absently, staring mutinously at the floor. ‘She wants me to have a meeting with the Prince of Darkness to discuss the use of IT in our department.’

‘What? The new IT Director? Oooh lucky you. Sadly, I don’t think he bats for our side.’

Jeanie shot Vince a look.

‘Good, that will make life up here a little less precarious when you use that thing.’ She nodded at the computer.

‘But I don’t want …’

Jeanie sniffed. ‘One meeting won’t kill you. You are a great make-up artist but these days, it isn’t enough.’

My heart sank. As Alison had told me. Presumably she’d had this conversation with Jeanie already, after all she was my boss.

‘You need as many strings to your violin as you can get.’ She turned back to the stack of books on her desk. ‘Now we need to crack on.’

With that clear signal, both Vince and I got our heads down to do some serious research.

At the London Met Opera Company, it’s an adventure just travelling in the lift. You might meet members of the orchestra rocking the escaped mafia hitman look in their dinner suits carrying violin cases, a props guy carrying a papier mâché lobster, costume ladies buried in yards and yards of chiffon, set designers in paint-splodged clothes and petite dancers of both sexes, who always seemed to be wearing millions of layers and carrying bags double their size. Today, I didn’t even take note as my heart plummeted along with the lift.

I wandered as slowly as I could along the corridor to the IT department. Once you passed the sound engineers’ offices, it became very different down here in the basement. A million different cables found their way around every surface; coiled and suspended with the sinuous grace of snakes in the jungle, blue wires, black wires, curly cable, straight cable and an infinite amount of silver connecting thingummies at the end of each. Passing a couple of storerooms, I finally came to the IT offices. I’d only been down here a few times but I almost didn’t recognise the area today.

‘Ah, come to see the damage.’ Fred glared at me from where he sat hunched over a screen in a central station in the middle of the room and shook his head. ‘What are you like? Here till bloody 3am because of you.’

‘Was it really that bad?’ I asked, wincing at his outraged face. ‘I’m so sorry.’ Poor Fred had been my saviour on more than one occasion, the most recent being an unfortunate incident with a can of Coke and a keyboard.

‘You will be when his nibs gets hold of you.’ Fred sniffed, rolling his eyes and went back to peering at his screen. I took a quick look around the room.

‘Blimey, what’s happened in here?’

‘Marcus.’ Fred inclined his head towards the office over on the outside wall.

Ah, so the M stood for Marcus. It suited him, sounded slightly posh.

The entire room appeared to have undergone operation de-clutter. For once, you could see the floor and on the opposite wall, a bank of shiny white glossy cupboards lined it like storm trooper lockers. One open door revealed neatly organised shelves filled with spare mice, keyboards, green circuit board things and various other bits I didn’t recognise.

‘Very smart. Very Star Wars.’

‘Comes of working in the City,’ answered Fred, glancing over towards his boss who was clearly visible through the glass door, his back to us, gesticulating with surprisingly graceful hands with a phone tucked under his ear. ‘And he cares about this department.’

‘Actually, he reminds of Darth Vader, without the breathing problems.’

An animated look came over Fred’s face. ‘Might be an ordinary bloke doing his job, but he’s bloody brilliant at making things happen.’

He’d obviously made quite an impression on Fred. He’s usually very laid back, although with his long streaky blonde hair thinning on top and the baggy paunch around his middle he looks more surfer dad than surfer dude.

‘Precisely Fred, no one here is ordinary. He doesn’t belong. You dress up as Thor, with a Viking helmet and a silver spray painted mallet for Comic Con. You’re one of us … even if you do understand the machines.’

I laughed at his sheepish attempt to study the ceiling.

‘Don’t deny it. I saw the pictures on Facebook and the props guys told me they made the hammer for you.’

‘I had a great time. You should see the outfit Leonie in wardrobe’s going to make me this time. A proper one.’ His eyes lit up with glee. ‘Don’t suppose you’d do my make-up for me?’

‘Of course, I’d love to …’ I stopped, ‘but please don’t say you want to be that blue one from X-Men.’

‘Mystique? Nah, she’s a girl.’ Fred pulled a ‘yuk’ face.

‘And you think that dressing as an imaginary alien species is more acceptable than a spot of cross dressing?’

He shrugged.

‘So, who are you going as? I’ll need to do my research to make sure it’s right.’

‘The Joker. Leonie’s making a purple suit.’

‘Batman. Yes. Big red lips. White face? Green hair.’ I studied Fred’s limp blonde mane dubiously. ‘It might not come out for a while.’

‘I can live with green hair. It’s a Saturday in about three weeks’ time.’

‘Sure, I’ll be working if we’ve got a matinee or I don’t mind coming in. I’ll have to see if I have the right coloured hair spray in the cupboard. But seriously if you want green hair-’

‘It’ll be fine.’

‘Can’t imagine he’d approve of that,’ I nodded towards the office door. ‘Surprised he hasn’t got you in a suit yet.’

‘Give him a break.’

I pulled a face.

Fred nodded enthusiastically. ‘Bit of a control freak but OK. Doubt he’ll be here long. You lot will drive him mad and besides, I reckon as soon as he’s got his shit together he’ll go back to the City.’

‘Why do you say that?’

Fred checked the room with a furtive dart of his head as if to make sure no one was listening. ‘He was at Deutsche bank before here. Bit of a leap. They’ve got some serious mainframe over there. Why he came here, unless he was fired, made redundant or caught fiddling the books? This is a come down for him.’

I put my hands on my hips. ‘This is one of the best places in the world to work.’

Fred laughed. ‘I meant in terms of technology, you great muppet. It’s not exactly cutting edge and he doesn’t have much time for artistic temperament. Knows his stuff, though. Definitely on a mission. Bring this place into the twenty-first century. You have to admit he’s got a point. Some of the kit here pre-dates steam engines and you lot in make-up and wardrobe are a blinking nightmare.’

I knew what he was referring to.

I’d once called Fred up because the computer wouldn’t switch on. The light on the monitor was on, so as far as I was concerned when he said was it switched on, it was. Not seeing the cleaners had unplugged the hard drive the night before was an easy mistake to make.

‘The monitor and the hard drive should switch on together,’ I said still feeling indignant even though it had been six months before, ‘it’s not as if you can use one without the other. It should be automatic.’

‘That probably would make good sense in some situations, Miss Hunter.’

I jumped up from the edge of Fred’s desk. How had he moved so quietly? My mouth dried.

With his white shirt-sleeves rolled up to reveal strong tanned forearms and the top few buttons unbuttoned, I found myself totally distracted by the skin on display, which wasn’t even that much.

‘Would you like to step into my office?’ He gestured for me to go ahead of him.

‘About as much as a fly does into a web,’ I muttered under my breath.

His office had the ice-cold minimalism of an executive. See, definitely alien species. A shiny silver laptop sat in the centre of the dark ash wood desk and absolutely nothing else. He did not belong here. Not a single personal item could be seen, no photos, no knick-knacks nor any colour apart from the rich red satin lining of his jacket which hung from the black leather chair at his desk. It contrasted sharply with my little cubby-hole upstairs which embraced a magpie approach, as if one had flown through my life, cherry-picking the best bits to produce a snapshot of memories with pictures of finished make-up designs, photos of me and friends on various nights out, ticket stubs of milestone productions and swatches of fabrics.

He pulled up a chair for me and then took his seat opposite. It felt as cold and chilly as being in a headmaster’s office.

Any moment now, he’d say ‘You know why you’re here, have you anything to say for yourself?’

Leaning back in his executive chair, he exuded an air of being relaxed and in control.

‘Would you like a coffee?’

Surprised, I nodded. He disappeared and within minutes returned with two pristine white china coffee cups.

‘Wow, real coffee. How did you do that?’

‘Nespresso machine.’

‘How did you wangle one of those? Is that the sort of perk you have in the City?’

‘No, there we have minions who go out and get our double espresso mochaccino lattes for us.’

I nodded, of course they did.

His lips quirked in a brief smile. It took me a second to catch up.

‘It’s my own machine. I brought it in.’

Oooh, a sense of humour. I hadn’t expected that.

I took a sip. Heaven in a cup. ‘I’ll have to remember this.’

One eyebrow twitched. ‘You’re always welcome.’

He might have meant, over my dead body, but there was something else in his expression that made my pulse flutter in recognition of something that I thought had long since passed me by. Was he flirting with me?

‘Thank you for coming to see me.’

Ah maybe he wasn’t. There was nothing flirtatious about the grave, business-like expression that had dropped down across his face as if the drawbridge had suddenly been drawn up.

I shrugged. ‘Alison insisted,’ I blurted out with my usual blunt honesty, instead of slowing down to frame the apology I’d planned. Before I managed to carry on, his face darkened and he stiffened, the brief sense of humour I’d sensed earlier vanishing like smoke.

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