Chapter 12
CHRISTOPHER
Christopher stared hard at her through the restaurant window, attempting to decipher her body language.
Amy, his Match Your DNA date, was sitting at the table with her arms folded and her legs crossed at the ankle. She looked nervous, he thought. But according to one of the many instructional YouTube videos he’d viewed, this meant she was defensive. Either one worked for him, as it put him at an advantage.
Amy glanced at the clock on her phone’s display at least once per minute. She frequently fiddled with her hair or tapped her feet against the leg of her chair. She was an attractive woman, he conceded, and looked exactly like the picture she had emailed him, after having been filtered, of course.
Her long, dark hair had a slight wave to it. Fashionable black-rimmed glasses framed her eyes and her use of make-up on her pale skin was subtle. She was of a slim build but did little to advertise it, playing it safe with trousers, heels and a plain blue top and jacket.
Christopher was aware it was perceived to be bad social etiquette to arrive late for a date, especially with a person science decreed had been made for him. But he didn’t care; it was all part of the game. It was better to keep her waiting and on edge, as then he’d be in control of the situation and maintain the upper hand from the off.
As he bided his time outside the busy restaurant, he caught sight of his own reflection in the window. He’d not been acquainted with a good night’s sleep for some weeks, so had bought a cover-up stick from Boots to dab at the bags and shadows under his eyes. He’d also used a tinted moisturiser he’d obtained from the bathroom cabinet of Number Four to disguise the fact his nocturnal project affected his melatonin levels; he mainly slept during the day.
While he’d found time to shave, he hadn’t been able to book an appointment to get his hair trimmed, so he’d done the best he could with his side parting, using a generous helping of a product that made it look much darker than its usual reddish brown colour. He smiled to himself, satisfied that, unlike many of his former schoolmates, his wrinkles were minimal, his teeth were as near to straight as could be and his features were angular rather than plumped by excess skin. He looked at least five years younger than his thirty-three years.
Christopher straightened the lapels of his tailor-fitted jacket, holding out a little longer until Amy looked like she was about to leave, and then entered the restaurant.
His eyes scanned the generically furnished room as he pretended to search for his date. Her frustration at his tardiness dissipated the moment their eyes locked. To Christopher, it looked as if an invisible force had thrown her back into her chair, as she stammered a nervous, ‘Hello.’
‘Amy, hi. I am so sorry I’m late,’ Christopher apologised, shaking her hand confidently and kissed her on both cheeks.
‘That’s OK, I only just got here myself a few minutes ago,’ she lied and swallowed hard.
‘I was held up at work on a new magazine I’ve been working on,’ Christopher said as he took his seat. ‘And then I got stuck in traffic.’
‘You said in your email you were a graphic designer?’ she asked. As she drank him in he could tell that she was playing it cool.
‘Yes, I’m freelance so I have a quite few projects on the go at any one time.’
‘Who do you design for?’
‘Mainly luxury trade magazines, you know, companies that build yachts or planes and brochures for holiday destinations that you won’t find at Thomas Cook,’ he boasted. ‘It’s very exclusive.’
She didn’t look as impressed as he had hoped, and asked, ‘Where are you based?’
‘I work from home in Holland Park, which is convenient. Shall we order some drinks?’
Christopher moved his glass so it sat next to Amy’s, then opened the wine menu. When the waitress arrived, he ordered the most expensive bottle on the list.
‘Will you be eating tonight?’
He looked up and into the waitress’s eyes as she spoke, wondering what noises she’d make if his trusty garrotte penetrated her throat and severed her thyroid cartilage. It fascinated him how each one of his sitting ducks had, so far, offered a different squawk from the last.
Christopher looked at Amy and raised his eyebrows. ‘Do you have time for something to eat?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I’d like that,’ she replied, trying – but failing – not to appear too eager.
As they both read their menus in silence, Christopher felt Amy’s eyes lift from the page to his face. He glanced at her and she offered an embarrassed smile. Her cheeks flushed and he looked to see if her irises widened. He’d read enough about human behaviour to know that that meant she was attracted to him.
‘I’m sorry, do you mind if I just quickly use the bathroom?’ she asked. ‘You can order for me if you like. See it as your first test of how much of a Match we really are.’
‘Of course,’ he replied, and rose to his feet as she left the table.
Impersonating a gentleman came easy to Christopher, but other behaviours, like reading facial expressions and being mindful of people’s emotions, he’d learned from books and online. He rehearsed several different smiles as he waited for Amy to return, and checked his mobile phone to see where Number Eight was. He hoped she would have returned home by the time he and Amy finished their desserts, as it was only a ten-minute car journey from the restaurant to her flat.
He spotted Amy slipping her phone back into her purse as she left the bathroom, and wondered if she’d called a friend to inform them her first date with her Match was going well. It was clear she was one of the 92 per cent who felt an instant attraction to their pairing.
Then, as she sat down, there was something about the way her tongue ran over her lips that sent a mild rush of blood to his head, like the first puff from a cigarette or when he stood up too quickly. He dismissed it as tiredness and shook the feeling off as quickly as it had arrived.
‘Is everything all right?’ he asked. She was still visibly flushed.
‘Yes, I just had to make a call to work,’ she replied. ‘It’s been a chaotic few weeks.’
‘I don’t think I asked you what you did for a living?’
‘Oh, I thought I’d mentioned it?’ Amy took a sip of her drink. ‘I’m a police officer.’
Chapter 13
JADE
Jade slept for around three fitful hours of her thirty-hour journey. Before that day, the furthest she’d ever flown to was Magaluf with the uni girls and that ended with her drunkenly getting ‘No Entry’ tattooed on her left buttock.
Much of the journey from Heathrow to Bangkok, Thailand, and then to Melbourne, was spent with her fingernails embedded in the armrests of her seat, terrified that each jolt of turbulence was going to bring her plane down. That’s one of the things she hadn’t wanted to tell the girls when they were persuading her to come. She was terrified of flying. She read one of the several thriller novels she’d downloaded to her Kindle, then watched six movies back to back to take her mind off it. She eventually drifted off to sleep shortly before landing.
Jade had just enough time to change her outfit and freshen up before she picked up a pre-booked sedan-style hire car. She was relieved to discover Australians drove on the same side of the road. She programmed the vehicle’s satnav with the address she’d be travelling to. It was some 250 kilometres to Echuca, Murray Basin, the place where she would begin the next phase – and the biggest adventure of – her life. As she drove along the Great Northern Highway, she sang along to Ed Sheeran and Beyoncé, and tried to keep her nerves at bay.