‘James.’ It was Emily. In his flat.
He stood up so fast his whisky spilled onto the floor.
‘What are you doing here?’
She walked across the room towards him, smiling. ‘I came to apologise. I overreacted. I just thought that now would be the perfect time to get engaged, being our one-year anniversary.’ One year? Really? That long? ‘When we met in the club last year it was my birthday party.’ Her smile and voice had both hardened.
James shook his head. ‘How do you have a key?’ There were four spare keys to the apartment. He kept one in a drawer in the kitchen, and the other three were with his cleaner, the concierge company and his best friend, Matt.
‘You gave me one at the weekend, remember.’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘James. You did. When I left the restaurant.’
He worked back through Saturday evening in his mind. Oh yes. They’d been at a dinner in nearby Notting Hill with a group of Emily’s friends, and Emily had told him that she’d left something in the flat. He’d offered to return himself for it, in fact he’d tried to insist, but she’d insisted harder, saying that she also wanted to pop to the loo and didn’t like the ones in the restaurant, and was more than happy to come back by herself.
‘You borrowed my key to pick something up,’ he said. ‘And then you gave it back. How do you still have it?’
‘I got one cut,’ she said, like he was stupid.
Right. Twenty-four-hour London. Normally a good thing, but not in this instance.
‘I’d like you to give me the key.’ He put his hand out. Emily put it inside her dress, down her cleavage.
‘Come and get it.’ She lowered her head and looked up at him from under her eyelashes. Really? Did she seriously think that she could set him up to propose to her, hit him and reveal that she’d obtained a key to his flat by deception, and then flirt for two seconds and they’d have sex?
‘I’m sorry, but it seems that we have different ideas about what we wanted from this relationship. It’s over. Could I have my key, please?’
The remainder of Emily’s smile dropped from her face and she launched herself at him. This time James was more prepared. She got in one – again impressively hard – slap to his temple before he caught her arms, spun her round and marched her to the door. He had the door closed and the deadlock on before she’d managed to get the key back into the lock.
She stayed outside, smacking the door and screaming like a banshee. Very disturbing. She hadn’t seemed drunk, but maybe she was. Hard to explain this otherwise.
Despite the way she’d ambushed him, it was hard not to feel sorry for her, but he couldn’t really see how he could help her; better to keep the door firmly shut and hope that she’d calm down soon.
Two
Cassie
‘So we’re agreed that you’re going to come over to London for a week or two. Soon.’ Jennifer had a very piercing voice. Strident. Cassie winced and turned the volume on her phone down. ‘And then we can finalise where you’re going to set the books. And finally meet.’
‘I’m not sure.’ Cassie looked at the beautiful, calm, shimmery sea through the trees at the end of her garden. What would that shade be called? Cerulean? Azure? If she could get rid of Jennifer quickly, she could get a swim in before lunch. ‘I’m really sorry but I don’t think I can set any books in London. I don’t know it at all.’
‘Really? I thought all Brits knew London.’
‘No. I’ve only ever been about three times and the last time was about ten years ago.’
‘But you were a lawyer.’
‘Yes, but all my clients were in Scotland.’
‘And you never lived in London. Ever?’
‘Nope. Before I moved here I spent my entire life in Glasgow and Edinburgh.’
‘How did I not know that?’ Probably because Jennifer didn’t ever do touchy-feely small talk. ‘Well, not a problem. Maybe you don’t have to know London to set your books here. You can use the internet and your imagination.’
‘I really don’t think I can. I know Glasgow, Edinburgh and Boston very well.’ Cassie had rented an apartment in Boston for a few months after she left Glasgow, while builders made her new home on Hawk Egg Island, Maine, habitable. ‘That’s how I’ve been able to write about them. If I wrote about London, my readers would spot my mistakes. I mean, the books are supposed to be semi-educational.’
