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enthusiastic about me moving in. In fact I’d got the distinct impression that she, like me, had had her arm painfully twisted.
She certainly wouldn’t be dialling the emergency services today. Or tomorrow. Not until Don called, anyway…
Anticipation of his agonised realisation that I might not even have got on the train, that my disappearance might be entirely his fault for not seeing me off, made me feel momentarily happier.
The pleasure was short-lived, however, swamped by instant recall of a lifetime of my mother’s awful warnings about the inadvisability of taking lifts from strangers. And with that thought came relief.
My mother, even from thirty thousand feet, came to my rescue as, pushing the five-pound note into my jacket pocket, I gripped my attack alarm. It was just a small thing on a keyring and I’m ashamed to say that I’d laughed when she’d given it to me, made me promise I’d carry it with me while I was in London. But, as she’d pointed out, I’d need a new keyring so it might as well be this one…
I sent a belated—and silent—thank-you heaven-ward before forcing my mouth into an approximation of a smile and looking up at the man I’d decided was tall, dark and dangerous. As if that were a good thing.
‘You really didn’t have to see me right to the door,’ I said, trying on a laugh for size. It wasn’t convincing.
‘I wouldn’t,’ he assured me, ‘if I didn’t live in the apartment next door to you.’
‘Next door?’ He lived in the same block? Next door? Relief surged through me and I very nearly laughed.
‘Shall we get inside?’ he said coolly. He’d clearly cottoned on to my unease and was offended. ‘If you’ll just close the umbrella—’
In my hurry to comply, I yanked my hand out of my pocket and the keyring alarm flew out with it.
I made a wild grab for it and as my fingers closed over it I felt the tiny switch shift. I said one heartfelt word. Fortunately, it was obliterated by a banshee wail that my mother probably heard halfway to Australia.
Startled by the blast of sound, I let go of the umbrella, which, caught by a gust of wind, bowled away across the entrance and towards the road. TDD—his patience tried beyond endurance—swore briefly and let my suitcase drop as he lunged after it. It was too much for the over-stressed zip and the case burst open in a shower of underwear. Plain, white, comfortable underwear. The kind you’d never admit to wearing. He froze, transfixed by the horror of the moment, and the world seemed to stand still, catch its breath.
Then reality rushed back in full colour. With surround sound.
The rain, the piercing, mind-deadening noise of the alarm, the red-hot embarrassment that was right off any scale yet invented.
I was gripping the keyring in my fist, as if I could somehow contain the noise. There was a trick to switching it off—otherwise any attacker could do it. But I was beyond rational thought.
TDD’s mouth was moving, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying and finally he grabbed my wrist, prised open my fingers and dropped the wretched thing on the footpath. Then he put his heel on it and ground it flat. It seemed to take for ever before the sound finally died.
The silence, if anything, was worse.
‘Thank you,’ I said when the feeling came back to my ears, but my voice came out as little more than a squeak. A mouse squeak and heaven alone knew that at that moment I wished I were a real mouse—one with a hole to disappear down.
‘Wait here,’ he said, and the chill factor in his voice turned the gravel into crushed ice. Well, it wouldn’t take a genius to work out why I was holding an attack alarm. He’d surrendered his taxi to me, refused my share of the fare, and I’d reacted to his kindness as if he were some kind of monster.
As my abused knight errant disappeared into the darkness in search of his umbrella, I knew that I should go after him, help him track it down. I told myself he’d probably prefer it if I didn’t. That was what the ‘wait here’ had been all about. A keep-your-distance-before-you-do-any-more-damage command. Besides, I could hardly leave my knickers scattered across the entrance to this unbelievably grand block of flats.
I captured a pair that was about to blow away and stuffed it into my pocket. I knew I should wait for his return, apologise abjectly, offer to pay for any repairs. After all that wasn’t any old cheap-and-cheerful bumbershoot. The kind that it didn’t matter much if you left it on the bus. The kind I regularly left on buses.
Gathering the rest of my scattered belongings, I reasoned that waiting was not necessary. He lived next door. I could put a note through his letterbox later. I sincerely believed that when he’d had a moment to think, calm down, he’d prefer that.
Which was why I stuffed my clothes back into the case as fast as I could before sprinting for the lift.
Sophie Harrington took her time about opening the door. I stood there with my case gripped under both my arms to prevent the contents falling out, wishing she’d hurry up.
I’d promised myself while I’d been travelling up in the lift that next time I met my new next-door neighbour I’d be dressed tidily, with my hair and my mouth under control. I didn’t expect him to be impressed, but hoped he’d realise I wasn’t the complete idiot he’d—with good reason—thought me.
Heck, even I thought I was an idiot. And I knew better.
But if Sophie didn’t hurry up, I’d still be standing in the hall when he reached the top floor.
It wasn’t an appealing prospect and I hitched up my suitcase and rang the bell again. The door was instantly flung open by a girl in a bathrobe and a bad mood.
Oh, good start.
Having gravely offended the next door neighbour, I’d now got my new flatmate out of the shower.
And if I hadn’t already known just how bad I looked—the lift had mirrored walls—her expression would have left me in no doubt.
‘You must be Philly Gresham,’ she said, with a heaven-help-us sigh. ‘I’m Sophie Harrington. You’d better come in.’
‘Thanks.’ I stepped into the hall, still clinging to my suitcase and unwilling to put it down. The floor was pale polished hardwood and I didn’t want to make a mess. ‘I’ve had a bit of an accident,’ I said, unnecessarily. But I felt someone had to fill that huge, unwelcoming silence. ‘The zip broke.’
Sophie’s older sister, Kate, appeared behind her and, taking one look at me, said, ‘Good grief, did you swim here?’ Then, kinder, she said, ‘I’ll show you your room. You can dump that and have a hot shower while Sophie makes a pot of tea. You look as if you could do with a cup.’
That had to be the understatement of the year.
Sophie didn’t look as if making a pot of tea had been part of her immediate plans, but after another sigh—just to reinforce the message—she flounced off.
‘Take no notice of my little sister,’ Kate said as she led the way. ‘She had other plans for your room. She’ll get over it.’
‘Oh?’ I said politely, imagining a study, or a work-room.
‘There’s a stunning new man at work. He’s just moved down from Aberdeen and he’s looking for somewhere to live. She’d planned to seduce him with low-rent accommodation.’ She glanced back at me, her expression solemn, but her eyes danced with humour. ‘A mistake, don’t you think? Suppose he moved in and then brought home a succession of equally stunning girls?’
‘Nothing but trouble,’ I agreed, with equal solemnity.
We exchanged a look that suggested that, two years older than Sophie, we were both too old, too wise to ever do anything that stupid and I decided that, while the jury was out on Sophie, I was going to like Kate.
‘I was quite