“What?”
“I said, get back in here and sit down. Now.” His tone has hardened, his eyes are cool. The dimples are gone. His expression is stern, implacable. It never occurs to me to disobey. I return to the table and take my seat.
“Here. Drink this. And tell me why you’re here.”
He places a cup of tea in front of me and takes the seat opposite. I notice he also has a drink. He seems to be in no rush to put his shopping away right now.
I take a sip. It’s hot. Too hot. Like him.
“Take your time. Calm down, then talk to me.” He sounds less harsh now, less commanding. My pleasant, friendly next-door neighbour is back.
I take another sip of my tea, and concentrate on re-gathering my shattered wits. Well, sufficient to frame an answer.
“I wanted to thank you. For last night. You were very kind.”
“You’re welcome. As I told you, I’ve been concerned about you. I wish I’d been able to talk to you sooner.”
“No, that’s fine. You’re busy. I understand that. And, there’s something else too.”
“Oh?”
“I’m starting a business.”
“I see. In graphic design? You did say you were a graphic artist, didn’t you?”
I’d told him a little about myself and my job over our cups of tea last night. I nod now. “Yes. My own design agency. I’m going to specialise in web design. I’ll work from home.”
“Right. That won’t be too isolating for you?”
“No. I don’t think so. I’ll be busy, and of course there’ll be a lot of client contact. I’m thinking I could convert my attic into a design studio. Install a roof window to get the best light. I have some money, from the insurance…”
If my mention of life assurance causes him any pain, he hides it well. “Sounds like a plan then. You didn’t mention this last night.”
“I hadn’t thought of it then. Or at least, not properly decided. Now I have. So, what do you think?”
“I think it sounds great. You go for it. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No, I mean, I just… I just wanted to know what you thought. If you approved.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why does my approval matter to you? Why not ask your sister? Or someone at work? Friends, maybe. Why me?”
Good question. And one I can’t answer, at least not out loud. Not even to myself. All I know is I woke thismorning, the notion of starting my own firm already crystallising in my head, and my one thought was to come round and tell Ewan Lord about it. So here I am.
I shrug. “No reason really. I just wanted to talk to someone, and…”
He smiles again, quite dazzling. The dimples are back. “I’m glad you chose me. Any time you want to talk to someone, if I’m here, you’re to come round. Or you can give me a ring if I’m away.”
“I don’t have your number.” It doesn’t occur to me to ask him why I should rely on him. It’s enough that I just can.
“Give me your phone.”
I hand my mobile over and he keys in his number. “There, now you do. Remember, any time.” He hangs on to my phone. “Now, do you have an accountant? A business bank account?”
I shake my head, my heart sinking at all the officialdom I’ll need to navigate. I like design; the paperwork leaves me cold. Oh, God, I’ll even have to deal with the VAT man.
