The cause of her embarrassment laughed, clearly amused. Jenna didn’t have a clue who he was and could feel her cheeks reddening. He approached the booth and, tall enough to do so, he leaned over the edge of the opening and peered inside. ‘There’s not much room in there, is there?’ he observed.
He was about the same age as she was, maybe a little younger, and dressed in a pair of dark indigo jeans with rips at the knees, and a charcoal coloured T-shirt that declared him to be ‘built for speed’. It was pretty much the standard uniform for most male co-workers at Heart-to-Heart. Not that there were many male employees, they were far outnumbered by women. That was the charity sector for you, as she was told when she came for her interview.
‘No,’ she said in answer to the question. ‘Not much room at all.’
He eyed the puppets on her desk. ‘Can I have a go?’
Jenna hesitated, suddenly feeling protective of Mr Percival’s bequest. The puppets had very likely represented a life’s work; they weren’t toys to be played with for the benefit of a cheap laugh.
‘I promise I won’t break anything,’ he said. ‘You know, when I was a child I was once chased by a giant-sized Mr Punch on the pier at Brighton and I still suffer nightmares from the experience.’ He picked up one of the wooden puppets, a Mr Punch with a gruesomely large and pointed chin. ‘You see,’ he said solemnly, finding where to put his hand, ‘this might be a way to exorcise the memory.’
Jenna stared at him. His brows were drawn in an expression of intense seriousness. ‘A giant-sized Mr Punch,’ she murmured, ‘that must have been awful. How old were you?’
A slow smile worked its way across his grave features, and then he laughed. ‘I was joking. But a full-size Mr Punch would be bloody scary, wouldn’t it, especially if it was chasing you? I have to say, your face was a picture.’
Annoyed that he had played her for a fool, or more specifically that she had been gullible enough to be taken in, she removed the puppet from her own hand and laid it carefully on the desk. ‘Were you looking for somebody in particular to annoy, or was I your intended victim?’ she asked.
‘I heard about the puppets and was curious to have a look,’ he said. ‘We haven’t met before, have we? I’m Blake Darnell. I work upstairs in the brand and marketing team. You must be new. I’m sure I would have remembered your prickliness had I encountered you before.’
‘I’ve been here three months actually,’ she bristled, but then realised she was only endorsing his criticism of her. And had she really just saidactuallyin that absurdly prissy voice? She tried to change tack, to offer some sort of apology. ‘And—’
‘And what?’ he interrupted her, before she could get the words out.
‘I’m sorry I was short with you.’
‘There, that wasn’t so difficult, was it?’
‘What wasn’t?’
‘Being nice.’
‘I’ll have you know, I’m always nice,’ she retorted. ‘I’m known for my niceness, you could say I’m legendary for it.’
Still holding the puppet, he raised it so it was level with his face. ‘Do we believe her, Mr Punch, that she’s known for her niceness? I want to believe her, but I have my doubts.’
Mr Punch’s mouth clacked open and then closed with another clack.
‘What’s that you say, Mr Punch? I should ask for her name? Oh, I couldn’t. She might bite my head off.’
‘Okay,’ said Jenna, ‘you’ve made your point. But you know, it’s not often anybody from Brand and Marketing deigns to visit us lowly types down here.’ She should have known which department he was from. With his boyishly grinning face and collar-length curly hair, he had the look of having been ordered straight from central casting to fulfil the role of creative geek.
‘Lowly types?’ he repeated. ‘You have to be kidding; we live in fear of you lawyers, you’re all so scarily smart and grown-up. And we know what you think of us, that we’re nothing but a bunch of hyperactive toddlers let loose with a box of Sharpies.’
‘In that case, I hope I haven’t disabused you of our reputation.’
‘Quite the contrary, your reputation remains fully intact, if not further venerated. I shall report back to the others, who, when I left them, were scribbling on the walls while waiting for a responsible adult to read them their home-time story.’ He paused, then directed his words to the puppet in his hand. ‘What’s that, Mr Punch, I still haven’t asked for her name? Do you think I should risk it? It could be dangerous. There again, I’m inclined to think her name might be Mrs Tiggy-Winkle, what with all the prickliness.’
The puppet nodded and unnervingly swivelled its head to look at Jenna, its large unblinking eyes as direct as those of Blake Darnell.
‘Mr Punch, tell your friend my name is Jenna Fielding,’ she said, and with a meaningful tap of a finger against her watch, added, ‘and I’d be obliged if he went about his business, as I have a train to catch.’
Chapter Five
Her dignity entirely abandoned, Rachel had to run like the wind to make it to the platform, and after making her way through a string of crowded carriages she eventually found the one in which Jenna was sitting.
‘Made it,’ she gasped, just as the train began to pull out of the station.
‘Yes, and by the skin of your …’ – Jenna did a double take – ‘of your amazingly white teeth.’
