I’m staring at the notes I’ve made for my VPS, wondering how to begin, when my phone rings. I glance at the screen. Edward.
Hello, Emma. Did you get my message? He sounds amused, even cheerful.
What message?
The one I left at your office.
I’m not at work, I say. I’m at a police station.
Is everything all right?
Not really, I say. I glance down at my notes. DI Clarke told me to group the main points under some headings. WHAT HE DID. HOW I FELT AT THE TIME. THE EFFECT ON MY RELATIONSHIP. HOW I FEEL NOW. I stare at what I’ve written. Disgusted. Terrified. Ashamed. Dirty. Just words. Somehow I never imagined it would come to this.
It’s not really all right at all, I say.
Which police station?
West Hampstead.
I’ll be there in ten minutes.
The phone goes silent. And immediately I feel better, much better, because what I want more than anything else right now is for someone strong and decisive, someone like Edward, to come and pick up my life and rearrange all the pieces for me and somehow make everything work.
Emma. Oh, Emma, he says.
We’re in a café off West End Lane. I’ve been crying. Occasionally other people shoot us suspicious looks—Who is that girl? What has that man done to make her cry like that?—but Edward ignores them. One hand gently covers mine for reassurance.
It’s a terrible thing to say about something as horrible as this, but I feel special. Edward’s concern is totally different from Simon’s insecure fury.
Edward picks up the draft of my statement. May I? he asks. I nod and he reads it, frowning occasionally.
What was the message? I say.
Oh, that. Just a small gift. Well, two gifts actually.
He lifts a bag that’s been sitting beside him. On it is a big bold W logo.
For me? I say, amazed.
I was going to ask you to accompany me to something very tedious, so I thought the least I could do was to get you something to wear. But you won’t be in the mood now.
I reach into the bag and take out a clamshell case.
You can open it if you want, he says mildly.
Inside the case is a necklace. And not just any necklace. I’ve always wanted a pearl choker like Audrey Hepburn’s in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. And here it is. Not identical—there are three strings, not five, and no front cluster—but already I can see how it will fit around my neck like a collar, high and tight.
It’s beautiful, I say.
I reach for the larger box but he stops me. Perhaps not here.
What was the occasion? The one you were going to take me to?
Some architectural award ceremony. Very dull.
Have you won?
I believe so, yes.
I smile at him, suddenly happy. I’ll go home and change, I say.
I’ll come with you, he says. He gets to his feet and whispers in my ear, Because I know that as soon as I see you in that dress I’m going to want to fuck you in it.