“It keeps vibrating,” I said, and as if it had heard me, the phone lit up again. “It’s annoying. And I trust you to give me the money anyway.”
Slowly, almost as if he wanted to give me time to change my mind, he reached for his iPhone. “I could just get up and leave now. You know that, right?”
“Yes, but you won’t.”
He raised his eyebrows. “How do you know?”
I pushed a chip into my mouth. Chewed. Swallowed. Smiled. “Because you, Henry Darlington, are an honest person. Far more honest than I am.”
He looked even more surprised. “You can’t know that. You barely know me.”
“Perhaps not, but I have a gut feeling.”
“A gut feeling,” he repeated, as if he’d never heard the phrase before.
“Yes. Gut feelings shouldn’t be ignored. If you’re a woman living alone on the streets, you really have to watch who you trust.”
“And you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Given the allegations against my dad, most people would probably think trusting me is a mistake.” His tone was matter-of-fact, but I could detect a hint of pleasure in his voice.
“Well, I’m not most people. And you’re not your dad.”
Henry didn’t reply but fixed me with a blank stare. His gaze was sharp and probing, as though he were no longer merely looking at me but peering deep into my soul. I didn’t like it. As good as I was at reading other people, I hated being read in return. Only someone who knew the real me could truly hurt me, and my life was dangerous enough without me putting my feelings on the line.
“I think I’ll save the rest for later,” I heard myself say, feeling an urge to flee. I began stuffing the leftovers into one of the paperbags. “There’s a cashpoint right around the corner. And then you’ll be rid of me.”
Henry hesitated. “OK.”
Was I imagining it, or did he sound disappointed? No, it couldn’t be. My imagination was running away with me.
We left the restaurant without a word and walked to the cashpoint. I stepped back as Henry withdrew the money. Moments later, he was beside me, brandishing a gigantic wad of bills.
“Here,” he said, holding it out to me.
His voice was entirely devoid of emotion, as if four thousand pounds meant nothing to him. Which it probably didn’t. My heart, on the other hand, did somersaults at the sight of it. I’d never had so much money in my life, let alone held it in my hands. My fingers tingled as I reached for it, and I felt uneasy. Four. Thousand. Pounds. I could get Randell off my back for good. The thought briefly crossed my mind that Henry could have given me more money. He had enough of it, after all. But I didn’t want to use him. More importantly, I never wanted to owe anyone anything ever again. Not Randell, not Henry. I just wanted to be free.
“Thank you,” I said, which seemed inadequate. We both knew I hadn’t earned the money, but it didn’t stop Henry from smiling at me as though I had done him a favour. “I’m sorry I stole your phone. I’m not a bad person. I...”
“I know, Kate,” he interrupted before I could pour my heart out to him. He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, pulled out a little card, and gave it to me. A business card. It had the logo of The Darlington embossed on it in gold, and beneath it were Henry’s name and contact details. “For emergencies. If you ever find yourself in trouble... Call me, or come to the hotel.”
Stunned, I looked up at Henry when I realised what he was offering me: his help. But taking it was out of the question. I’d already taken more from him than I was entitled to.
I shook my head and held out the card to give back to him. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”
He didn’t take it. “Keep it. Please.”
“I don’t need it.”
“Then don’t use it,” he answered, and with that, he’d won.
With an annoyed sigh I hoped would conceal how much his gesture meant to me, I stuck the card into the pocket of my leather jacket. Even if I knew I wouldn’t call the number printed in gold on my own accord. “Thank you. For the money, the food, and... the card,” I said, swallowing hard. There was a lump in my throat that hadn’t been there before, and I had no desire to analyse it. I took a step back. I’d got what I wanted, and there was no reason to stay any longer. But I didn’t really want to leave. It was probably the odd tug in my stomach that prompted my next move: I saluted.
I saluted. At Henry. As if he were the King of England and I was a member of his royal guard. But what else was I supposed to do? Shake his hand? Give him a high five? Hug him?
“Have a nice life, Snowflake.”
