Any Other Name (The Split Worlds) - By Emma Newman Page 0,38

they were contact lenses.

They shook hands. “It’s good to meet you properly at last, Sam,” Neugent said and Sam forced himself to smile, even though the sound of his voice set him on edge. It had been associated with whisking his wife away and ruining their plans for far too long to mean anything else to him now.

“Hello.”

“Yes, I used that forge for my own wedding.” Marcus smiled. Smug bastard. Sam wanted to punch him, then and there. “Much more romantic than something impersonal picked out of a jeweller’s window.”

“I didn’t realise you were married,” Sam said, spotting Neugent’s wedding ring.

“My wife passed away some years ago.”

“Oh.” Sam took a gulp of the wine to fill the awkward silence.

“Good journey?” Neugent asked, sitting in one of the stylish armchairs.

“Not bad,” Sam said, wondering when he was going to leave. The silence crept back like an unwanted dog.

“So I understand you’re a computer programmer,” Neugent eventually said.

“I code.” He shrugged. “Websites though, not computers, mostly database-driven sites and server side scripts.” He spoke quickly, hoping it would end the agonising small talk. He didn’t come to London to chat with his wife’s boss. Surely Neugent would realise he wasn’t welcome?

“Well,” Neugent said, standing up, “I’ll leave you both to it. Have a lovely weekend. Good to meet you properly Sam.”

“You too.”

“I’ll make sure I have those ideas for the Bolivian situation for you first thing on Monday morning,” Leanne said, escorting him out.

“The meeting is 8am sharp but there will be breakfast there,” Neugent replied. “Remember: don’t be intimidated by their sabre-rattling.”

“Don’t worry, it takes more than a few idiots with delusions of grandeur to bother me.”

Sam looked at his wife, taking in her slender legs, her high-heeled shoes, the way her hair was perfectly straight, and wondered who the fuck he was married to now. He remembered a time when she lived in combat trousers and Doc Martens boots, her hair wild with bright purple streaks, and curves his hands could really roam over. Now she was too skinny with too many sharp angles. The way she laughed with Neugent, high-pitched and brittle, was the opposite of the throaty roaring guffaw that used to burst out of her.

He hadn’t appreciated it as sharply as he did now, sitting in an apartment in which she looked right at home but which made him feel like an alien. This wasn’t who they were, or who they used to be. The thought of leaving the home they’d scrimped and saved to buy and patched up in their first year of marriage felt like a betrayal. But it was clear she’d already left all that far behind.

She came back to the doorway. “What?” she asked.

I’m wondering if there’s a marriage to save here, he thought. “Nothing,” he said.

Cathy made it to the tube station, found the right platform, got on the train and then burst into tears. She should have known Poppy wouldn’t let her go without one last attempt to make her utterly miserable, but to ask for an Iris secret too? Even if she did unearth one, how could she possibly hide Poppy’s task from her new family? They wouldn’t want her to have anything to do with her former patron.

A man sitting across from her asked if she was all right and she mumbled something back to deflect attention, horrified she’d lost control in public. It was the beer, it had to be. Come on, she thought, hold it together. There was no one to turn to, no one to protect her from Poppy or Iris or even her own husband, so she had to pull herself together and come up with a plan.

It felt better out in the open air again. Cathy remembered the last time she’d walked to the anchor property for the Emporium of Things in Between and Besides in Cloth Fair. She didn’t know then that Lord Poppy was already waiting for her and the memory of being led into his trap almost made her turn around. But the Shopkeeper had promised he hadn’t betrayed her, and besides, there was no one else in the Worlds she could go to. The only other person who would even be capable of helping her to hide from the Irises was the Sorcerer of Wessex and she had no idea where in Aquae Sulis his house was, thanks to his extraordinary paranoia.

She recited the Charm as she knocked on the door, making it echo into the Nether reflection of the