"Dinner?" she said.
"Yes."
"As in, go out on a date with you?"
"Yes, again."
It was the last thing she had expected. "No!" she said. Then she remembered how dangerous this man could be, and tried to soften her rejection. "I'm sorry, Carl, you took me by surprise. I've known you so long that I just don't think of you that way."
"1 might change your thinking." He looked boyishly vulnerable. Give me a chance."
The answer was still no, but she hesitated for a moment. Carl was handsome, charming, well paid, a local celebrity. Most single women pushing forty would jump at the chance. But she was not even mildly attracted to him. Even if she had not given her heart to Stanley, she would not have been tempted to go out with Carl. Why?
It look her only a second to find the answer. Carl had no integrity. A man who would distort the truth for the sake of a sensational story would be equally dishonest in other areas of life. He was not a monster. There were plenty of men like him, and a few women. But Toni could not contemplate becoming intimate with someone so shallow. How could you kiss, and confess secrets, and lose your inhibitions, and open your body, with someone who could not be trusted? The thought was revolting.
"I'm flattered," she lied. "But no."
He was not ready to give up. "The truth is, I always fancied you, even when you were with Frank. You must have sensed that."
"You used to flirt with me, but you did that with most women."
"It wasn't the same."
"Aren't you seeing that weather girl? I seem to remember a photo in the newspaper."
"Marnie? That was never serious. I did it for publicity, mainly."
He seemed irritated by the reminder, and Toni guessed that Marnie had thrown him over. "I'm sorry to hear that," she said sympathetically.
"Show your compassion in actions, not words. Have dinner with me tonight. I even have a table booked at La Chaumiere. "
It was a swanky restaurant. He must have made the reservation some time ago-probably for Marnie. "I'm busy tonight."
"You're not still carrying a torch for Frank, are you?"
Toni laughed bitterly. "I did for a while, fool that I am, but I'm over him now. Very over."
"Someone else, then?"
"I'm not seeing anyone."
"But you're interested in someone. It's not the old professor, is it?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Toni said.
"You're not blushing, are you?"
"I hope not, though any woman subjected to this kind of interrogation would be entitled to blush."
"My God, you fancy Stanley Oxenford." Carl was not good at taking rejection, and his face became ugly with resentment. "Of course, Stanley's a widower, isn't he? Children grown up. All that money, and just the two of you to spend it."
"This is really offensive, Carl."
"The truth so often is. You really like high flyers, don't you? First Frank, the fastest-rising detective in the history of the Scottish police. And now a millionaire scientific entrepreneur. You're a starfucker, Toni!"
She had to end this before she lost her temper. "Thank you for coming to the press conference," she said. She held out her hand, and he shook it automatically. "Goodbye." She turned and walked away.
She was shaking with anger. He had made her deepest emotions seem unworthy. She wanted to strangle him, not go out with him. She tried to make herself calm. She had a major professional crisis to deal with, and she could not let her feelings get in the way.
She went to the reception desk near the door and spoke to the supervisor of the security guards, Steve Tremlett. "Stay here until they've all left, and make sure none of them tries to take an unofficial tour." A determined snoop might try to enter high-security areas by "tailgating"- waiting for someone with a pass then going through the door right behind.
"Leave it to me," Steve said.
Toni began to feel calmer. She put on her coat and went outside. The snow was falling more heavily, but she could see the demonstration. She walked to the guard booth at the gate. Three canteen staff were handing out hot drinks. The protestors had temporarily stopped chanting and waving their banners, and were smiling and chatting instead.
And all the cameras were photographing them.
Everything had gone perfectly, Toni thought. So why did she feel depressed?
She returned to her office. She closed the door and stood still, grateful to be alone for a minute. She had controlled the press conference well, she thought. She had protected her boss from Osborne. And the idea of giving hot drinks to the demonstrators had worked like a charm. It would be unwise to celebrate before seeing the actual coverage, of course, but she felt that every decision she had made had been right.
So why did she feel so down?
Partly it was Osborne. Any encounter with him could leave a person feeling low. But mainly, she realized, it was Stanley. After all she had done for him this morning, he had slipped away with barely a word of thanks. That was what it meant to be the boss, she supposed. And she had long known how important his family was to him. She, by contrast, was just a colleague: valued, liked, respected-but not loved.
The phone rang. She looked at it for a moment, resenting its cheerful warble, not wanting to talk. Then she picked it up.
It was Stanley, calling from his car. "Why don't you drop in at the house in an hour or so? We could watch the news, and learn our fate together."
Her mood lifted instantly. She felt as if the sun had come out. "Of course," she said. "I'd be delighted."
"We might as well be crucified side by side," he said.
"I would consider it an honor."
12 NOON
THE snow became heavier as Miranda drove north. Big white flakes swooped onto the windshield of the Toyota Previa, to be swept aside by the long wipers. She had to slow down as visibility diminished. The snow seemed to soundproof the car, and there was no more than a background swish of tires to compete with the classical music from the radio.
The atmosphere inside was subdued. In the back, Sophie was listening to her own music on headphones, while Tom was lost in the beeping world of Game Boy. Ned was quiet, occasionally conducting the orchestra with one waving forefinger. As he gazed into the snow and listened to Elgar's cello concerto, Miranda watched his tranquil, bearded face, and realized that he had no idea how badly he had let her down.
He sensed her discontent. "I'm sorry about Jennifer's outburst," he said.
Miranda looked in the rearview mirror and saw that Sophie was nodding her head in time to the music from her iPod. Satisfied that the girl could not hear her, Miranda said, "Jennifer was bloody rude."
"I'm sorry," he said again. He obviously felt no need to explain or apologize for his own role.
She had to destroy his comfortable illusion. "It's not Jennifer's behavior that bothers me," she said. "It's yours."
"I realize it was a mistake to invite you in without warning her."
"It's not that. We all make mistakes."
He looked puzzled and annoyed. "What, then?"
"Oh, Ned! You didn't defend me!"
"I thought you were well able to defend yourself."
"That's not the point! Of course I can look after myself. I don't need mothering. But you should be my champion."
"A knight in shining armor."
"Yes!"
"I thought it was more important to get things calmed down."
"Well, you thought wrong. When the world turns hostile, I don't want you to take a judicious view of the situation-I want you to be on my side."
"I'm afraid I'm not the combative type."
"I know," she said, and they both fell silent.