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A hitch in my strategy emerged when we reached the empty reception desk. No one else was around, either.
“I’m going to leave you here for a second while I run and get Neil. I’ll be right back. Promise.”
She nodded, leaning up against the desk and cradling her belly.
No time to lose, I raced down the corridor and through Christine’s office where the desks at each end of the room were empty and the door through to Neil’s office was closed.
Is he here?
I rapped on the door loud enough to signal that this was a matter of urgency. No response. I couldn’t stand around waiting, so I flung the door open and charged inside.
There he was, standing in the centre of the room, framed by the two leather couches, half of him bathed in sunlight, the other half in shadow. He had his phone pressed to his ear. His suit jacket had been discarded over the back of the chair behind his desk. Those dark, unnerving eyes met mine, flashing with something unrecognisable. His jaw tightened like a bowstring about to shoot an arrow.
“Neil!”
He analysed me for a second, then spoke to the person on the end of the phone. “I’m going to need to call you back.” He lowered the phone from his ear and gave me his full attention. “What do you want?”
“Christine needs to go to the hospital. Right now.”
His eyes widened. “Where is she?”
Did I detect a hint of panic in that smooth voice of his?
“This floor. Reception.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, he jumped into action, striding to the exit behind me. “Did you call an ambulance?”
“No. I think it will take too long to wait for one. Can you drive us?”
“I’ll call Winston.”
That name again.
He tapped on his phone and lifted it to his ear as we walked briskly, side by side, down the corridor. “Bring the car around the front,” he said. “It’s an emergency.”
At reception, a very anxious-looking James had returned and was attending to Christine. I could imagine what he was thinking: Please don’t have the baby here. He slumped with obvious relief when he saw us approaching.
Neil lent his arm to Christine. “We’re going to get you to the hospital,” he said calmly. “You’re going to be okay, and so will the baby.”
Christine gave a weak nod.
I dashed ahead to push the down button on the control panel between the lifts. The lift came quickly, and I held the button down to keep the door open as Neil guided Christine inside.
The whole time my brain ticked over, planning what to do next. I decided the most logical next step was to call the hospital’s maternity unit to report Christine’s symptoms and let them know we’re on our way.
While the lift descended to the ground floor, I Googled the phone number and made the call. An automated message greeted me and told me to hold the line. Gentle music played.
“I’m calling the maternity unit,” I explained to Neil and Christine.
Neil acknowledged this with a sharp nod.
I continued to hold the line as the lift door clunked open onto the ground floor. Neil and I flanked Christine and brought her to the main entrance, where a black Audi sedan awaited us outside, its engine running.
I didn’t ask if I could come. In my mind, there was no question whether or not I should. If something happened on the journey to the hospital, I might be able to provide at least some help. Plus, I was still waiting for someone to pick up the phone.
Neil bundled Christine into one side of the back seat, and I opened the door to the other side, about to get in next to her.
“The front,” Neil said to me in a tone of voice I didn’t dare argue with.
