every other kind of builder paraphernalia. Seated at an enormous desk in one corner was a gruff-looking man in his fifties with flattened grey hair, no doubt from the wearing of a hat, a bulbous nose, flinty eyes and a ragged white beard.
No chance of making it a hat trick of handsome blokes with this one, she couldn’t help reflecting wryly to herself.
‘Cliff, this is Steve Watts’s wife,’ Daniel Craig said. ‘Mrs Watts …’
‘Angie,’ she interjected.
‘Angie,’ he repeated with a smile that made her smile too, ‘wants to talk to you about taking on a couple of her residents. They’re blokes who haven’t had the easiest of times and need someone to give them a bit of a leg-up. I said we’d be happy to do that.’
Cliff’s whiskery eyebrows rose in a way that told her he might not be quite as ready to throw out lifelines, were the decision his. Apparently it wasn’t, since he didn’t argue, simply said, ‘What skills do your residents have, Mrs Watts?’
Prepared for the question, Angie said, ‘Most of them don’t have a skill, but they could be labourers, or maybe apprentices to some of the tradesmen …’
‘The tradesmen take on their own people,’ he interrupted. ‘That’s nothing to do with us.’
‘But you can put in a word,’ the man who was apparently his boss interrupted. ‘And you were telling me only minutes ago that you’re short of a gofer.’ He smiled roguishly in Angie’s direction, and checking his watch said, ‘Sorry, I have to go, but Cliff will take your details and sort something out for you.’ As pleasantly as it was said, it was clearly an instruction, but before Angie could thank him he’d gone.
She looked at the older man, and tried to tease out a smile with one of her own.
It didn’t work. ‘Write everything down,’ he said brusquely, and pushing a tea-stained A4 pad towards her he tossed a pen after it. ‘If you haven’t heard from me in a couple of days, you can give me a call, but don’t expect miracles.’
Sensing this was the best she could hope for from this curmudgeon she wrote down her details, followed by the reminder of why she was there, and pushed the pad back to him.
‘Incidentally,’ she said, turning round as she reached the door, ‘I’d like to thank the man who brought me in here, but I don’t know his name or how to get hold of him.’
The site manager smirked in a way that made her hackles rise.
She stared at him hard. Surely he didn’t think she was trying to make a move on his boss, for that was what his manner seemed to suggest. The very idea made her want to slap the grin right off his smug face. Instead, she opened the door and stepped back into the hectic cacophony of the site.
It was at the bottom of the steps where she’d almost collided with the boss and now paused to let a transit van pass that she saw the words Stone Construction emblazoned on the side, and could have kicked herself.
Of course she’d known the name of the company before coming, but she’d been too distracted to make the connection. Now, as she did, it felt strangely as though sunbeams were breaking free of the dull grey sky to carry her back to when she’d first met the owner of Stone Construction.
Steve was laughing in that annoyingly teasing way of his that made her laugh too when she really didn’t want to.
‘You should have seen your face when I introduced you,’ he told her, eyes twinkling wickedly. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you blush like that before.’
‘I did not blush,’ she protested.
‘Oh but you did. So come on, admit it, you fancied him.’
‘You’re delusional, and may I remind you we were at his father’s funeral, so you need to show more respect.’
Suitably chastened, he tugged off his tie and threw his suit jacket over the end of the bed as he said, ‘Everyone’s going to miss Dougie Stone. He was the best mayor this town’s ever had, and a great businessman. Now what everyone wants to know is whether or not his son, who’s apparently going to inherit everything, the construction company, the properties, all the other businesses, will keep it all going.’
‘What was his name again?’ Angie asked casually, stepping out of her formal grey dress and reaching for a hanger. Wasn’t it just typical of her husband to notice when she found another man attractive? She couldn’t get anything past him.
Steve was grinning. ‘Martin,’ he replied, and coming up behind her he drew her against him. ‘They say he’s minted in his own right,’ he murmured against her neck, ‘even before he cleans up from his father.’
‘Oh well, in that case,’ she said, turning in his arms, ‘perhaps I did fancy him.’
Laughing, he touched his mouth to hers.
‘Are you jealous?’ she teased.
‘Madly,’ he declared, not sounding it at all. ‘Now get the rest of that kit off, woman, and let me have my way with you before Coronation Street starts.’
Coronation Street, she was smiling to herself as she returned to the van. He’d never watched an episode in his life. However he had worked for Martin Stone a few times since Martin had taken over the company, but today was the only other time she’d met the man. She felt pleased that he’d remembered Steve so fondly, and touched by his willingness to help her small charity – and sorry that she hadn’t made more of an effort with her appearance this morning, as if he’d have noticed, which of course he wouldn’t have.
It would be quite something though to attract someone like him, a real boost to her spirits and her confidence, to her outlook on everything, so she might play with the fantasy for a while. Better that than make an immediate return to the grimness of her actual life.
Half an hour later, Angie was leaving Hill Lodge, and focussing on her next meeting, which was with an independent-living agency for those with mental health issues. They didn’t have any apartments free at the moment, but it did no harm to keep in touch with these people, to make sure Bridging the Gap’s residents weren’t forgotten when something did come up.
On reaching the front gate of the Lodge she looked up and had to fight the sudden impulse to run back inside. A man was slouching against her van, clearly waiting for her, and she knew exactly who he was.
Suddenly damned if she was going to let him see her fear, she raised her chin as she approached him, eyes blazing contempt, hands clenched in fists in her pockets.
‘Hello, Angie,’ he drawled, straightening up in an absurdly awkward way, as if he were pulling up his trousers, or shaking them out to dry. He was short and bald-headed with a prizefighter’s physique, multiple piercings in his ears and nose and a smile that, in spite of his attempts to appear friendly, made him look like an untrained pit bull.
This was Agi, the charmer Roland Shalik sent to carry out his dirty work.
‘Get out of my way,’ she said tightly.
‘Angie,
