He gets up, moving towards her with a smile. ‘You are just fucking amazing – I bet they were eating out of your hand.’
The smile falters for a moment and she seems about to say something but obviously changes her mind. ‘Christ,’ she says, looking at her watch. ‘Is it really that late? I’m exhausted.’
She makes to move past him but he grasps her, holding her upper arms. ‘Come on – tell me the details – what did they say?’
His lips are inches from hers now and he can feel the heat coming off her body. The sheer excitement – the exhilaration of her success. She’s been giving him ‘Fuck Me’ signals for weeks, and as far as he’s concerned that’s a game you’ve no business playing unless you’re prepared to follow through. And in any case, what’s Seb got that he hasn’t? Because she screwed him – it’s supposed to be some big secret but of course Seb couldn’t resist rubbing his nose in it, the smug bastard.
She frowns again now, pulls back.
‘No, Caleb – you know what I said –’
He smiles. ‘Oh, come on, Marina – you know you want to – you know I want to – there’s no one like you – no one – the way you look, the way you smell, everything about you – you’re driving me fucking crazy –’
She’s shaking her head, pushing him away. ‘How many more times – I told you. I like you, you know I do, but it would just make things too bloody complicated.’
‘If it’s Freya you’re worried about –’
‘No – it’s not that –’
‘– then honestly, it’s not an issue – I mean, she’s OK and I like her but it’s not serious. And look at you – Jesus, there isn’t a bloke in the world who’d choose her over you, given the choice.’ He smiles now, turning up the charm. ‘I mean, why have prosecco when you can have the real thing? And I mean the Real Thing.’
But she’s shaking her head. ‘No, Caleb, I’m sorry, but no. You’re just not listening. You and me – it’s never going to happen.’
A darkness crosses his face and he turns away and leans heavily against the worktop. She feels a tiny pang of remorse. He’s very young, and he probably wouldn’t be that bad in bed. With a bit of coaching, he might even be quite passable. But she’s not the one who’s going to do it. Absolutely not. She made that mistake once before. She’s not risking all that again.
She reaches across and touches him gently on the shoulder. ‘Friends?’
He looks at her, then gives a rueful smile. ‘Course.’ He straightens up. ‘Right, I think we have something to celebrate.’ He goes over to the fridge. ‘Champagne?’
She smiles. ‘Not for me. I’ve already had far too much and Tobin could wake up at any moment.’
‘He won’t,’ he says with a quick glance back at her. ‘I just went up to check. He won’t disturb us.’
‘Honestly, I really don’t want any more –’
But it’s too late – the cork pops and the wine gushes down into the glasses, up over the rim, down on to the counter. She bridles a little, behind his back. For heaven’s sake, that’s Bollinger Grande Année.
He’s fiddling with the champagne flutes now, wiping up the spill. She thinks he’s just being good-mannered – he’s well brought up, probably a bit embarrassed at his faux pas.
But she’s wrong. He’s buying himself time. A few crucial seconds for the effervescence to do its job – for that little sachet of white powder to completely disappear. Because he knew there was always a risk she really was just a colossal prick-tease, and he came prepared. And he’s not stupid, either. No way Fisher’s going to fuck him around like she did to Seb. No fucking way. This is going to be on his terms, and with no blowback.
He turns to her at last and hands over the glass.
‘To you,’ he says with a dazzling smile. ‘To your triumph. And to getting everything – and I mean everything – you deserve.’
Acknowledgements
This was the book that got finished during lockdown, in that strange period of half-life that should have made concentrating easier but somehow didn’t. It’s been a year of upheavals for everyone, including the publishing industry, but ‘Team Fawley’ has kept going throughout, adapting to circumstances, experimenting with new approaches, and basically just getting on with it and refusing to be defeated. So even though I thank them with every book, they deserve it more than ever this time. My fabulous editor Katy Loftus, and the whole Penguin Viking team – Jane Gentle, Olivia Mead, Ellie Hudson, Georgia Taylor and Vikki Moynes. My exceptional agent Anna Power, and Hélène Butler, also at Johnson & Alcock, who’s now taken the number of overseas editions to twenty-five. My copyeditor Karen Whitlock, and the whole production team at Penguin, led by Emma Brown. Jessica Barnfield and the team at Penguin audiobooks, as well – of course – as Lee Ingleby and Emma Cunniffe for doing such a fabulous job as narrators. Julia Connolly, who developed the new cover design, which has really taken the look of the books to the next level. And, last but not least, the dedicated crime-lovers at Dead Good for their support.
My ‘pro team’ have again been superb – DI Andy Thompson, Joey Giddings, Nicholas Syfret QC, and a new member of the team, Dr Paul Zollinger-Read. None of the books would have been the same without their professional know-how, and their tireless willingness to share it. Any inaccuracies that remain are mine alone.
Thank you also to my ‘early readers’, whose insights and suggestions made a huge difference in the final stages – probably more so this time than in previous books: my husband Simon, Sarah Wall, Stephen
