at my notepad, now cocooned out of sight in my in-tray. Lydia’s flowery text: Islington bound, safe and sound.
“Great. Do you want me to get Janie to handle it or will you ask them yourself?”
“I’ll do it,” I said, before I’d even realised.
“Good stuff, James. Good stuff. Let’s meet this afternoon, get the team together. I’ll send over a calendar invite.”
He made to leave, clearly satisfied with our plan, but I called him back from the doorway.
“I’ll go to Brighton, Frank.”
He shot me a puzzled expression. “There’s no need, James. Don’t feel obliged, there’s no pressure.”
“The fact is, we’d be better off if I went. I’ll go.”
Frank beamed like a cat who’d landed a fat pot of cream. He came back to shake my hand, big solid jerks of gratitude. “I appreciate it, James, and so will Trevor White. I’ll get Janie to book you a hotel.”
“Make a booking for Lydia Marsh, too,” I said. “She’ll be coming with me.”
“Good choice, James. I’ll get Janie on it right away.”
I cursed myself once the door was closed, hands in my hair at the absurdity of my impulsion.
What the fuck?!
In frustration I tore out Lydia’s Islington note and fed it through the shredder.
***
Chapter Three
Lydia
The senior management team at White Hastings McCarthy stared straight ahead at the man before them, nodding at every smooth point he made. James Clarke was polished, confident, faultless. That’s why they call him Mr Perfect, I guess.
My attendance at WHM, smiling and scribbling notes while Mr CTO presented the implementation proposal, was still a surprise to me. Apparently I’d been first choice. I was just glad he’d looked beyond my little meltdown to give me a shot. This project would be one hell of a gold star on my resume.
James handed me the room at the end of his presentation, and I was dropped right into the chaos of shared calendars and proposed schedules. By the time we wrapped up for the day we’d pretty much achieved sign-off on our timescales. We’d done good.
“That went well,” he said as we stepped out into the crisp Brighton evening.
I looked up at him, towering above. He had just the faintest shadow of stubble, his face etched in shadows against the gaudy brilliance of the pier beyond. “It went great,” I said. “They loved you.”
“They definitely loved you.”
“I scheduled in some dates in a diary, that’s all.”
“They liked you, Lydia. You coordinated well for a complex project, considering.”
“Considering?”
“Considering recent events,” he expanded, dark eyes crashing into mine without even a sliver of awkwardness.
I felt my hackles rise. “My personal shit doesn’t make me unable to do my job. I’m fine, James. Thank you.”
He laughed, and I gritted my teeth until I realised it wasn’t at my expense. “You sound like me. Knock you down and you’re scrabbling to your feet, swinging your fists at the air and claiming it didn’t hurt.”
“Oh, it hurt,” I smiled. “But I’m always straight up on my feet. Always.”
We walked along the beachfront towards the hotel in amiable silence. James Clarke was a brooding character, I could tell, but his smile was easy. I felt strangely comfortable in his presence, my steps falling into gentle rapport with his. Every now and again his eyes would catch mine, and I’d see something flash in him, some indeterminable knowing. Maybe it was concern, I dunno, but by the time we reached our venue for the night I felt a calmness I hadn’t felt for days. I put it down to the sea air, taking in cleansing deep breaths of salty breeze and thanking my good fortune for being out of the London chaos.
On arrival I paced straight through the hotel foyer, turning in the doorway to the bar to suggest we have a celebratory drink, but James wasn’t following.
“There’s a good restaurant here, by all accounts,” he said. “Have dinner and drinks on my room. I’m sorry I can’t join you, I have things to do.”
I kept my smile bright despite the major blow out. “Of course. No problem.”
“I’ll see you in the morning, Lydia.” His brush-off panged more than it should have. A rejection-fuelled chink in the Lydia Marsh armour. I elbowed it good and hard, and it fell away into nothing. No big deal.
“See you in the morning, James.”
I didn’t watch him leave.
***
I had a few in the bar. Enough to really feel them on my way to my room. James Clarke hadn’t made a reappearance and I hadn’t felt the need to keep up my