‘It’s part of my job to keep the client happy.’
‘I must remember to tell Roly that,’ said George with a wink, which I met with a stony look.
‘Would he like this report or not?’
‘Oh, absolutely.’
‘Fine.’ Tucking my clipboard under my arm, I shouted to Frank over the sound of the concrete mixer. ‘Can you carry on, Frank?’ I pointed at the clouds. ‘And keep an eye on those!’
Frank lifted a hand in acknowledgement and I led the way to the site office. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried it, but there is no way to walk gracefully through mud in a pair of Wellington boots. The mud sucked at my feet and made horrible squelching sounds, and I was horribly aware of George behind me, watching me waddle. I had to resist the urge to tug my safety jacket further down over my rear.
‘Boots,’ I said, pointing to George’s feet when we reached the prefabricated building that housed the site office, and he threw a crisp salute. Needless to say, he had made it across the mud as if he were walking across a perfectly mown lawn.
I ignored him. My boots were so clogged with mud that I struggled to get them off even using the scraper at the bottom of the steps, but after a tussle that George watched with undisguised amusement I managed to replace them with a pair of pumps I kept just inside the door. Tossing my hard hat onto a chair, I stalked across to my computer and pulled up the file, my colour still high.
George—of course—had no trouble taking off his own boots. He lounged in the doorway in his socks while I bent over the printer and concentrated fiercely on the pages spewing out. I could feel his eyes on me, and I plucked at the collar of the simple blue shirt I was wearing, wishing I could blame the single electric radiator for the warmth climbing into my cheeks.
Collecting up the pages, I banged them neatly together on the desk and fastened them with a bang of the stapler. ‘There you go.’
‘Thanks.’
But instead of leaving, George threw himself down in the visitor’s chair on the other side of the desk and flicked through the pages. ‘I see you’ve changed the specifications for the storm water drainage system,’ he said, then he glanced up at my face. ‘What?’ he said.
‘Nothing. I was just...surprised.’
‘What, you thought I couldn’t read a report?’
‘Of course not.’ I tugged at my shirt front. The truth was that I had assumed that he was too laid-back to pick up on the details of the report. ‘You don’t strike me as a details person, that’s all.’
A faint smile curled his mouth. ‘I can pay attention when required,’ he said.
‘Right.’ I cleared my throat. ‘Well, as you’ve noted, I’m putting in a different kind of underground chamber to store the rainwater run-off. I think this one is a better design.’
‘More expensive though,’ George commented, flicking through to the figures.
‘It is, but we’re saving money with a better deal on the glass wool cavity insulation slabs. If you look at the last page, you’ll see we’re still on target to stick to the budget.’
‘Good. We can’t—’ George broke off as a disembodied voice started shouting:
HEY, YOUR PHONE IS RINGING! PICK UP THE PHONE! YES, YOU, IT’S YOUR PHONE. DON’T EVEN TRY AND IGNORE IT! PICK IT UP RIGHT NOW!
He laughed at my expression. ‘Good, isn’t it?’
Embarrassed at having jumped so obviously, I smoothed back my hair. ‘Hilarious,’ I said, watching as George extracted the still-squawking phone from his pocket. I always leapt to answer my phone, but George only studied the screen in a leisurely manner, apparently able to ignore the noise it was making.
‘It’s Roly,’ he said. ‘Wonder what he wants?’
ANSWER THE PHONE! PICK UP THE PHONE! It wasn’t often that I found myself in agreement with an object.
‘Crazy idea, I know, but you could try answering it and find out,’ I suggested acidly.
George only grinned as he pressed the answer button. ‘Yes, my lord?’ The comment at the other end made him laugh. ‘I understand I’m not showing you enough respect,’ he explained, waggling his eyebrows at me. I tucked in the corners of my mouth and refused to respond.
Irritably, I began straightening the already immaculately aligned files set out in order of priority. I had phone calls to make of my own, but how could I concentrate when George was leaning back in the chair, tipping back dangerously as he yakked on to Lord Whellerby?
‘Who?’ he said suddenly, letting the chair crash forwards in his surprise. ‘You’re kidding! What’s she doing there?’ A pause as he listened, his eyebrows climbing towards his hairline. ‘Yes... Yes, it is... Her what?’
I shifted uneasily as the blue eyes focused on my face. ‘You’re kidding!’ he said again, looking at me so strangely that I mouthed What? at him. ‘Yes...yes...I’ll tell her. See you in a bit.’
George snapped the phone back and stared at me.
‘What?’ I said out loud.
‘You’ve heard of Saffron Taylor?’ he said conversationally, and a dreadful feeling of foreboding stole over me.
‘Omigod,’ I said in a sinking voice.
‘Adored daughter of charismatic tycoon Kevin Taylor? The ultimate IT girl? Darling of the celebrity circuit?’
‘Omigod,’ I said again.
‘She’s crying in Roly’s private sitting room.’
I stared at him, aghast. ‘Omigod!’ It was all I could say.
‘And she says she’s your sister.’
I dropped my head in my hands. ‘Please tell me this is a joke! Saffron can’t be here. She gets disorientated if she leaves Knightsbridge!’
‘Saffron Taylor is your sister?’
‘OK.’ I lifted my head and set my palms flat on the desk. Drawing a deep breath in through my nose, I exhaled slowly. ‘Random sister in client’s house. No need to panic.’
‘She is your sister!’
‘Half-sister,’ I said, rummaging in my bag for Audrey’s keys. ‘What in God’s name is she doing at Whellerby Hall?’
‘Crying, I think.’
A thought zoomed in out of nowhere and hit me so hard I almost buckled at the knees. ‘Has something happened to my father?’
God, what if something had happened to him? My mind spun frantically. What would I do? What would I say? What would I feel?
‘I think we’d have heard on the news if something had happened to Kevin Taylor,’ said George in a practical voice and I clutched
