Cut You Dead (Dr. Samantha Willerby Mystery #4) - A J Waines Page 0,5

in,’ he said, glancing behind him at the kitchen-diner.

‘I’m not stopping,’ I said defiantly, holding my bag in front of my knees like a barrier. ‘Did you know I was on a course at Guy’s?’

‘I bumped into one of your colleagues at St Luke’s; the pushy one with the strong sickly perfume…’

‘Ava,’ I snarled.

‘Yeah, her. She told me.’

‘I’ll kill her.’ I pinned my eyes on his. ‘And you didn’t tell anyone in the Met about it?’

Terry stalled and scratched his nose. ‘I might have mentioned it in passing,’ he said lightly. He tried to clear his throat, but his voice didn’t improve. ‘To a couple of people, maybe.’

He saw me open my mouth to rail at him but got in first. ‘But I didn’t mention cold cases, or you not having any patients or discuss anything about how you’ve always loved the idea of having a go at police profiling…’

By the end of his defensive tirade, he was grinning at me.

I stayed put on the mat, forcing him to keep the door open. Either that, or he’d have to let it spring shut in my face – and I knew he wasn’t the kind of man who would ever do that.

‘How did you know that about me?’ I snapped. ‘About police profiling? And I’m not coming in.’

‘You told me.’

‘When?’

‘During a sushi meal we had in Soho… in June, I think it was… last year.’

‘Flippin’ heck.’ I dropped the bag at my feet and stood tall, my hands on my hips. ‘That’s the problem with you,’ I said, trying not to laugh. ‘You’ve got a bloody good memory and you’re too good a listener.’

He pulled a silly face and blew a raspberry at me.

‘So, you told Claussen you’re not doing it then?’

‘Not exactly,’ I muttered, not looking at him, reaching down for my belongings.

Another blast of curry enticed me to linger, together with the strains of smooth jazz and a crackle from the wood burner.

‘So, all in all, everything’s turned out in your favour then,’ he said. ‘Is that it?’

I stared at him, trying to keep a straight face.

‘Are you coming in or not?’ he said, pretending to sound exasperated.

‘No,’ I said, stepping inside after all.

As soon as he took my coat, my petulant toddler act fell apart. He accidentally brushed his sleeve against my cheek and I took in the visceral rubbed-sage aroma of his jumper. What was it about this man, who seemed to have the capacity to win me over, like no other?

‘It’s good to see you,’ I said, softening my tone. ‘Did I say that earlier?’

‘No, I don’t think you did.’

He hung my coat in the hall and led me through to the living space. I’d been to his apartment only once before and remembered how different it was from my flat. Situated in a refurbished mansion block in Earl’s Court, it was basically a one-room open-plan living space, with an en-suite bedroom. But what a space. Sleek high-gloss units lined the kitchen-diner, with an L-shaped sofa just the right toe-toasting distance from the wood burner. At the far side, floor to ceiling windows were draped with made-to-measure silky curtains. They flowed over the carpet like the gown of a monarch. The words stylish, plush and exclusive came to mind.

By comparison, I rented a first-floor flat within a tatty Victorian house. It had narrow rooms, creaking floorboards, and something different broke down virtually every week. So much so that I had the maintenance guy on speed dial.

The previous week, it was a leaking shower. The week before, the door of the washing machine wouldn’t shut. Everything about my home was battered and shabby – but it was my blissful sanctuary. Originally only meant to be a stopgap, I’d put down roots there deeper than I could ever have imagined. It would take a lot to get me to move on.

‘It’s good to see you,’ I said, trailing my fingers over the cool marble of the kitchen island, ‘it’s been a while.’

‘Too long,’ he said, avoiding my eyes.

He offered me a seat on the plump sofa and brought over a glass of wine.

When we were flung together the previous year on the case of the Regent’s Canal murders, there was definitely a spark between us. I’d known him for an age, since we were students, but I’d always thought of him as a loyal ‘brother’ figure. Until last summer. He seemed keen on me and we even went on a few ‘dates’ during the investigation. But nothing happened