Kate waited until he had hung up before replacing the receiver herself. She looked around the empty room. The need to talk, to tell someone, was like a suppressed shout. But she was on her own. She phoned the restaurant to make the reservation.
CHAPTER 9
The restaurant was full. Conversation bubbled along, snatches of laughter occasionally surfacing through it. Waiters swirled around the tables like eddies in a stream, trays balanced, pads held at the ready.
Kate flinched as a loud hiss and billow of flame showed through the open hatch into the kitchen. She looked again at her watch. It was five to one. She had been there since a quarter to, long enough to feel as though she’d been waiting a lifetime.
She stiffened as the door from the street opened. A man walked in, dark hair swept back, wearing a bow tie and camel-coloured waistcoat despite the hot day. He spoke to the girl behind the reception desk, who scanned the book in front of her before answering. The man looked imperiously around the room, and his gaze stopped on Kate. Just as she was about to give a tentative smile, he turned away. The girl escorted him to another table, where two men greeted him. Kate felt a small wash of relief.
She had spent the night before trying to reassure herself. It was no different from a business lunch, really. If they reached an agreement, fine. If not, then what had she lost? It wasn’t as though she was committing herself. He didn’t know where she lived, and if she didn’t like the look of him she didn’t have to take it any further. After two of Jack’s brandies, she was almost convinced.
But when she had woken that morning, the doubts had descended again. By the time she reached the agency, they had developed almost to full-blown panic. She had gone to her office and drawn on an unlit cigarette, the flame from her lighter dangerously close to the tip, until her nerves had steadied.
The panic had retreated, but not gone entirely away. She could feel it pushing against her will as she waited at the table. It surged up as the restaurant door opened again, but this time it was a man and woman who entered. Kate turned away and stared out of the window. The street outside was bright and sunny beyond the low awning. The sound of it was lost against the restaurant’s busy hubbub, so that it was like looking at a silent film.
She looked up as a waitress approached. Behind her was the man who had just arrived. Kate looked beyond him and saw that the woman he had come in with was kissing someone at the far side of the room. Then the waitress was moving off with a smile, and the man was standing by her table, looking uncertainly at her.
“Kate Powell?” he said, hesitantly. “I’m Alex Turner.”
Kate half rose to her feet, feeling the blood rush to her face. “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought … I saw you come in with someone, so I assumed …”
He looked confused for a moment. “Oh! No, we just arrived at the same time.”
They were both standing, facing each other across the table. “Please,” Kate said. “Sit down.”
She tried to gather her wits as they arranged themselves. He didn’t look at all how she had imagined. From his voice, she’d pictured someone altogether more like the man she’d seen earlier, all bow tie and arrogance. But he didn’t give that impression at all. He looked reassuringly normal; a little younger than she’d expected, slim, with an earnest, unobtrusively attractive face. His hair was thick and wavy, almost as dark as her own, and a blue shading of beard was already colouring the line of his jaw. He was dressed casually, in fawn chinos and a navy blue short-sleeved shirt. It was open at his throat, revealing a glint of thin silver chain around his neck. Kate felt overdressed in her business suit. He held himself very still, looking around the room before letting his eyes settle on her. With sudden intuition, Kate guessed that he was as nervous as she was. The knowledge gave her confidence.
She smiled. “You managed to find it all right, then?”
“Yes, no problem.” He returned her smile, but his tension was almost palpable.
Kate’s own anxiety diminished even more. She set about trying to put him at ease. “It’s a bit of a funny situation, isn’t it?” she said, voicing her thoughts. “Meeting for something like this?”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Yes, I suppose it is.”
He looked around the restaurant again, as though he was unable to keep eye contact with her for more than a few seconds. She thought about how he’d sounded on the phone the previous evening. He hadn’t been arrogant after all. Just nervous.
“So you’re a psychologist?” she said. “Did you see the advert in the Psychological Journal?”
“Yes.” He gave an apologetic smile. “I’d have contacted you before, but it was a few weeks old by the time I got around to reading it.”
There was a faint stumble in his speech, not so much a stammer as a syncopation on certain words. C-contacted. Kate took it as further evidence of nerves.
The waitress returned and handed them each a tall menu. “Would you like something to drink?” she asked.
“Mineral water for me, please.” Kate said. “What about you, Mr Turner?”
“Oh … I’ll have the same, thanks.” He waited until the waitress had left before adding, “And, er, please call me Alex.”
Kate was carefully non-committal. “Whereabouts do you work?” she asked, as they opened the menus.
“In Ealing. Part of an NHS unit.” He blinked at the French script and glanced up at Kate. “How about you?”
“I’ve got a small PR agency,” she said, checking herself as she was about to add where it was.
“Your own?” He seemed impressed.
Kate felt irrationally pleased. “It’s only small.”
“Is it doing well?”
“At the moment.”
She smiled, drawing unexpected satisfaction from the simple statement. He smiled back, and for a moment their reserve was gone. The waitress returned with the drinks, and the moment of contact was broken. Kate ordered a salad. Alex, after a pause, chose a plain omelette.
“So,” Kate said into the silence left by the waitress’s departure, “I suppose I’d better ask you to tell me a little bit about yourself.”
He nodded. “Okay. I went to university in Edinburgh, came away with a degree in psychology and a PhD in clinical psychology. Then I worked in a psychology unit in Brixton before I moved to the one at Ealing. Er … I’m single, I don’t smoke or do drugs …” He shrugged. “That’s about it.”
“What about your family?”
Alex had picked up his fork, holding one end with the fingers of each hand, slowly turning it. His fingers were slender, Kate noticed.
“My mother and father are both retired. They live in Cornwall now.”
“Have you any brothers or sisters?”
“Two brothers, both older than me. One’s in Australia, and one’s in Canada. We’re pretty scattered, I suppose. How about you?”
Kate smoothed her napkin on her lap. “No. I’ve no family. My parents are dead.”
Alex looked unsettled again. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
She turned the conversation back to him. “So what made you want to be a psychologist?”
“Oh … I’m not sure, really.” He put down his fork, considering. “It was just something that’s always interested me, I suppose. I’m a better listener than a talker, which helps.” He gave a shy grin. “And I read the Foundation trilogy when I was a kid, so perhaps that had something to do with it. You know, Isaac Asimov?”
“No, I’ve heard of him, but …” She shook her head.
Alex made a throwaway gesture. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I used to read loads of science fiction, and then I came across that, and … wow. It was brilliant. There are these ‘super psychologists’ in it, who’ve developed psychology into such an art that they don’t even have to speak to communicate. God, I thought that was great! You know, the thought of being able to know people so well. Understand why they do things. And understand themselves, as well. It just seemed — ” He broke off, self-consciously, as the waitress returned with their food.