however good it is. I need an organisation that’s forward looking enough to try something new, and in return I’m willing to work with you to make sure that the software meets your needs.’
‘Bit of a catch-22 situation, really.’ He ran his hand through his short-cropped hair, although whether it was to smooth it or create further disarray she wasn’t sure.
‘No more than the one you’re already in. I’ve done some research and you fit the profile for the kind of organisation I want as clients. You’re small, innovative and successful, and you’re looking to expand. A good software system will help facilitate that, but I’m guessing you don’t have a lot of spare cash to spend on it.’ She took a breath. Her profile stipulated a drugs charity as well, but they didn’t need to know that.
He nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face. ‘I imagine there’ll be some surprises along the way.’
‘I’m hoping we’ll be able to learn from each other. That always involves an element of surprise, doesn’t it?’ She gave a small shrug to indicate that the question was a rhetorical one, even though she wasn’t very confident about the notion. Sam would bet good money that Euan Scott had plenty of surprises up his sleeve and generally, in software terms, surprise was not a good word.
‘Why are you doing this?’
The question came straight out of the blue and smacked her between the eyes. ‘You mean why do I produce software?’
‘No, it’s clear that you’re very good at that. I want to know why you’re so committed to what’s essentially a free piece of software. Why you’re devoting so much time to something that’s not going to bring you any financial rewards.’
She had a well-rehearsed answer for that. ‘As you’ll have seen from my personal CV, I was the director and co-owner of a very successful software company. Two years ago, when I sold up, I had the choice of going somewhere sunny and sipping cocktails or doing something that I love and giving a little back at the same time.’
‘You don’t like cocktails? Or sunshine?’ He looked almost affronted at the thought.
‘I like them both, actually. When I’m on holiday.’
His heavy-lidded eyes were probing, looking for the real answer. There was no judgement there, no expectation. He gave you the feeling that he could accept and understand pretty much anything, as long as it was the truth.
‘I...’ She took a breath. ‘I’m doing what I do best in an effort to help a cause that I feel very strongly about. I have...personal reasons.’
His gaze held hers for a moment and then released her. A strange, almost dizzy feeling that she was about to slide from her chair onto the floor, and then he nodded. ‘Yeah. I can understand that.’
* * *
David had seen her off the premises with a promise to call with their decision. When he walked back into his office he was shaking his head, smiling.
‘Well, that was a turn-up for the books.’
‘I thought you said that Sam Lockyear was a man.’ She was all woman. From the crown of her immaculately coiffed head to... Euan decided he’d already given far too much head room to the thought of her perfectly manicured toes.
‘I thought she was. Easy enough mistake to make, I suppose, with the name, but you’ve seen her emails. None of the women I know write emails like that.’
Euan saw David’s point. Concise, almost to the point of being brusque, and devoid of anything that might be construed as a pleasantry, Sam’s emails had given no hint of the delights that meeting her in person had brought. ‘So what do you think?’
David snorted with laughter, flopping down into his chair. ‘Don’t pass the buck. What do you think? It’s you she’s going to be shadowing for two weeks, not me.’
‘I don’t think she’s given us much choice. The program’s great, and the offer she’s made is too good to pass up. I’m not sure how she’s going to fit in at the clinic, but we can deal with that one when we come to it.’
David nodded thoughtfully. ‘What do you suppose the “personal reasons” are?’
‘Does it matter?’ Euan had been wondering about that too.
‘You tell me.’
Euan’s own personal reasons were a matter of record. In any other line of work his ex-wife’s addiction, and the marriage that had been smashed by drugs, would have been no one’s business but his own. But he demanded honesty from those around him, and could give no less himself.
‘She’s not directly involved with our work, she’s just going to be observing. All we need to know is that the software’s going to work for us.’
‘You’re beginning to sound convinced about this.’
‘I’m open to changing my view. As always.’ Euan rose from his chair, checked his wallet and found it empty. ‘Will you call her? I’ve got to go to the bank and get some cash. And pick up something else to eat.’
‘So your best advice is to go with the flow, eh? Feel our way...’
Perhaps not anything as tactile as that. ‘If she’s willing to spend two weeks with us to find out more about what we do, I’ll do my best to...accommodate her.’
Euan batted at the ball of crumpled paper David had tossed at his head, smirking as it dropped neatly into the bin. He’d deal with the mysteries of jemmying the more intangible aspects of his work into computerised classifications when he came to it. Two small sandwiches for lunch wasn’t enough and he was still hungry.
* * *
It appeared that Sam Lockyear wasn’t going to be relegated to the bottom of his list of priorities without a struggle. Although the bank was in the other direction, a brisk walk along the promenade wasn’t much of a detour, and it was Euan’s preferred route, particularly when his head was still full of the dim echoes of last night.
If he hadn’t stopped to lean against the thick stone wall between pavement and beach for a few moments and stare out to sea, he wouldn’t have seen her. A hundred yards further along the seafront she would have been lost in the crowd if it hadn’t been for the bright flash of her red jacket, draped over the back of her chair. She sat at a table at one of the open-air cafés that sprang up at the edge of the beach in summer, bare legs stretched out in the sun, her silky blouse open at the neck and shivering against her shoulders in the breeze.
Euan wondered whether she wanted some company, and decided that he didn’t. Which didn’t mean he couldn’t watch her for a few more moments. Her head jerked suddenly and she reached for her bag, checking the display on her phone before answering it.
It was probably David. Euan wondered what his partner’s reaction would have been if he could have seen the way she absently pulled the clips from her hair as she talked, shaking her head slightly to let the breeze style it around her shoulders in a mass of shining, dark strands.
She was looking at her phone now, as if she was checking back on the conversation she’d just had. Then, laying it on the table beside her, she punched the air in a motion that shouted of both joy and accomplishment.
