It was eight-thirty on a Wednesday morning, but Dominic wasn’t in bed; he’d been up for ages. He was sitting in his spare room, researching top worldwide locations for free-diving, where the biggest communities of enthusiasts hung around, what extra equipment he’d need if he went ahead and did this job. He hadn’t done much underwater stuff before, but he had a mate who specialised in it, so it would probably be a lot more sensible to hire him to shoot the stuff that went on below the surface, rather than trying to shoot it himself. He made a scratchy note on a pad to call Tony later on that day.
While he surfed and read articles, he kept one ear on the open door that led to the hallway, waiting for any noise to indicate Claire was on the move. He’d got up at seven, just to be sure not to miss her, and had decided he might as well get something productive done while he waited.
Ten minutes later, his patience was rewarded and he heard her door open at the top of the stairs. He leapt up silently and took quiet steps to his hall, where he held his breath and flattened his body against the wall next to his front door.
He heard her neat footsteps on the stairs, deadened by the carpet, then louder as the heels of her shoes met the tiled floor of the hall. Two clicks and the front door opened. He heard the familiar groan as it swung wide on its hinges, then there was a thud, and silence.
For a second he stayed rooted to the spot, but then he was off and out of his flat, computer forgotten. The front door banged a second time.
He’d chosen his wardrobe for this morning carefully. Running shorts and shoes, which he intended to use, and he’d topped it off with a hoodie. He’d probably get a bit warm, but the anonymity it would afford him was worth it. He flicked the hood up over his head as he got to the end of the garden path and cleared the box hedge that ran behind the garden wall. It was getting a bit messy, he noticed. He’d have to see if he could borrow a pair of clippers off Pete …
He quickly looked left and right. For a moment, he thought he’d been too slow, that he’d lost her, but then he spotted Claire walking briskly towards the main road that ran across the end of their street, where there was a couple of cafés, a convenience store, a newsagent’s, a florist’s and an Indian takeaway.
In recent weeks, he’d grown used to darting off in the opposite direction from whichever one Claire had chosen, but this morning he set off after her. He wanted to jog, but he knew he’d catch up to her too quickly, so tried to keep his paces really, really short and stopped to do stretches every now and then, ignoring the quizzical looks of an old lady with a shopping trolley who was taking great interest in his progress.
God, he’d be rubbish as a spy. If Pete could have seen him now he’d have laughed his socks off.
Claire turned left at the end of the road, confirming his suspicion she was heading for the shops. Which one, though? He suddenly broke into a sprint so he could reach the corner before she disappeared inside one of them. His quads didn’t thank him for it.
Once he got there, he jogged on the spot and kept an eye on her blonde head, not fifty feet away, as it made its progress down the road. The old lady with the shopping trolley passed him as he huffed and puffed on the spot, waiting for the moment when Claire would be far enough away that he could resume his surveillance without the danger of getting caught.
‘Pervert,’ the old lady muttered as she trundled past.
Dominic stopped jogging and looked quite affronted. ‘Am not!’
The woman gave him Yeah, right kind of look.
‘I saw the way you were following that girl,’ she replied. ‘Ought to be locked up!’ And she carried on towards the shops, muttering and turning to give him evil looks over her shoulder every few seconds.
It was only as Dominic returned his attention to his primary task that he realised the blonde head had disappeared. Claire had gone. He swore silently, then jogged softly towards the shops, wondering if the sun reflecting off the windows would prevent him from seeing clearly inside.
He jogged up to the newsagent’s and tried to peer past the posters into the darkened shop. As he was standing there trying to work out whether Claire was inside, something heavy squashed his foot. He spun round to discover the old lady passing. Her trolley wobbled as if it had just regained balance after hitting something.
‘Hey!’ he said. ‘Did you just run over my foot on purpose?’
‘I’m watching you,’ she muttered darkly and carried on her way.
He was just turning round again to see if he could spot Claire inside the shop when something else crashed into him. Or, to be more precise, someone.
‘Oh, my God! Nick! What are you doing here?’
His heart did a little hiccup and he took a moment to gather his thoughts before turning to look at Claire. ‘Running,’ he said breezily. That much was true, at least. He just didn’t tell her why he was haring round the streets of Islington. ‘I don’t live a million miles from here and I like to vary my route so I don’t get bored. What about you?’
She glanced at the magazine in her hand. ‘Just about to get a coffee before I head off to the office. I was going to get one to take away, but …’ The smile disappeared and she looked at him seriously. ‘Do you have five minutes? I’ve been trying to get hold of you all week about your trip.’
Dominic inhaled. ‘Sure.’
That had been his plan all along: to bump into Claire – although not quite so literally – so he could talk to her face to face. He’d composed email after email in the safety of his flat in the last seven days, and then had deleted every single one.
He’d thought about going to her office again, but she seemed to snap into professional mode more easily there. If he was going to come clean, it would be a lot easier if he could talk to the smiling, relaxed Claire he knew out of the office. That would remind her just how well they got on before she had to merge her mental pictures of ‘Nick’ and ‘Dominic’.
She looked over her shoulder at the little coffee shop next door. ‘Care to join me?’
Even better. He smiled back at her. ‘Only if it’s my treat.’
‘Oh, no. You don’t have to do that. Not when it was my idea to chat in the first place.’
‘I want to,’ he told her firmly and walked over to the coffee shop door and held it open for her.
As he stood there, he spotted the trolley crone outside the hairdresser’s. Pervert, she mouthed at him. Dominic might have been tempted to make a rude gesture had he not been holding the door open for Claire. Instead, he turned to the old hag and gave her his most winning smile. ‘Consider it an apology for not getting back to you over the last week,’ he said to Claire as she passed by him. ‘To be honest, I’ve had a lot on my mind.’
That was the truth. But it had been mainly Claire on his mind, and how he could extricate himself from this ridiculous situation he’d got himself into with her.
‘Okay,’ she said, frowning slightly. ‘If you insist.’
Unlike the big coffee chains, this independently run shop had waitress service and, once the dour-looking owner had taken their orders, Dominic turned to Claire, took a deep breath. ‘I need to let you know that I’m having second thoughts about this trip. At least, in its current form.’
He wasn’t going to pull the plug completely. That wouldn’t be fair to her after all the hard work she’d put in.
‘Oh?’ she said.
He nodded. ‘The more I think about it, the more I realise this isn’t the right time to be planning a romantic trip. I think I’ve been getting a little ahead of myself.’
‘Oh,’ she said again, looking even more confused.
He could see her brain working overtime, a million questions zipping through her head, but then he saw her shut all those questions down, one by one. She blinked then smiled at him. ‘So, what are you thinking of? Cancelling?’
He didn’t like that smile. It was her ‘office’ smile. Just what he’d hoped to avoid. ‘I’d still like to get away,’ he said evenly. ‘I need time to think about what I want to do next with my life.’
As those words left his lips, he realised how true they were.
Yes, he loved his job. Yes, he loved making films, but the pace had been relentless in recent years. If he kept it up, when it was time to end his career and move back home, he’d discover he was old and lonely. He suddenly realised how much he didn’t want that.
Claire didn’t miss a beat. ‘And you still want my help? From what you’ve told me, you’re more than capable of managing this on your own.’
He nodded. ‘Yes. I do want you. I mean, I want your help. I need to do something different. I need to change.’
Claire didn’t look entirely convinced. A slight scowl marred her forehead, but at least she wasn’t smiling that scary plastic smile at him any more. That had to be a good thing.
‘Okay,’ she said and fell silent.
Right. He realised he’d made another error. Unlike a lot of women he knew, she obviously wasn’t the nosy type. She wasn’t taking the bait to ask him why he’d changed his plans. Damn. Since he’d been back in London he’d realised that his interpersonal skills had been severely eroded by his solitary lifestyle.
‘Somewhere temperate might be nice,’ he told Claire, as the waitress set a cappuccino in front of her and a double espresso in front of him with a surly grunt of acknowledgement. ‘As you know, I seem to have specialised in hot and dusty locations in recent years.’
Claire emptied a packet of sugar into her cappuccino and stirred it carefully. ‘Have you ever been to Uganda?’
Dominic’s stomach dropped. Did she know? Had she worked it out before he could tell her? If so, why was she so calm, making this almost a throwaway comment? When Erica had laid little traps like this for him to fall into she’d watched him like a hawk. ‘Yes,’ he said slowly. ‘Why do you ask?’
Claire shook her head and smiled. ‘Oh, no reason. Or at least not a professional one. It’s just that I saw this documentary the other night …’
He swallowed, and his blood, which had been racing round his veins, cooled and slowed to almost nothing. He knew his first self-produced project had been repeated last week. Had she really …?
‘Any good?’ he asked, trying to sound casual.
Claire nodded, and a fire lit behind her eyes. ‘Really good,’ she said. ‘So good that I’m seriously considering child sponsorship. I’ll have to try to remember the name of it.’
The Lost Generation, he whispered mentally.
And she’d liked it? Claire had actually liked it? His blood started pumping again, and this time it was doing a victory march. The oddest feeling swelled inside his chest making him feel lighter, freer, as if the impossible could happen and that he could spill his secret and everything would be okay. It was only as it took him to its dizzying heights that he realised that strange sensation had a name – hope.
‘Shouldn’t be too hard to work out,’ she added and then she laughed. ‘That was the funny thing about it. It turns out it was made by my – oh!’
She frowned and reached into her handbag, which sat on the floor by her feet.
‘By your …?’ he prompted, willing her to carry on. It would be the perfect way in to saying what he needed to say, but Claire didn’t take the hint. Instead, she pulled out her phone and looked at it.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, shaking her head and smiling, ‘but it’s Doug. Do you mind if I take this?’
Dominic shook his head. What else could he do?
Claire pressed the screen of her phone and then held it to her ear. ‘Hello, Doug? How can I—’ She stopped midsentence and frowned. ‘Oh, I see … Yes … Yes … Well, obviously that wouldn’t be suitable at all. I’ll get to work on it as soon as I—’ She paused to pull a face at Dominic, indicating the conversation she was having was as difficult as he’d been imagining. ‘Okay … Okay … Listen, don’t panic. I can’t do anything right now, but all the files are at the office. I can be there in less than half an hour. Yes … Yes … Okay. Goodbye, Doug. Try to breathe a little for me, will you? Okay. Bye.’
She finally ended the call, placed her phone on the table between them and gave him a ‘would you believe it?’ kind of look. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘An emergency involving Doug’s South Pacific trip. Would you mind terribly if we …’
Dominic felt his whole body sag, but he smiled and said, ‘No, of course.’
‘Email me,’ she said, and gave him a slow sweet smile that flipped his heart like a freshly tossed pancake.
‘Sure,’ he replied, as she tucked her phone back into her bag and signalled to the waitress that she’d like a takeaway cup for her coffee. Before Dominic could form a coherent thought, she’d hurried out of the shop and disappeared.
Emailing? That meant he was back to square one.
Fantastic.