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The remark might have been construed as condescending, given that she’d travelled down from London this morning and Euan lived ten minutes’ walk away. There was nothing in her face that betrayed anything other than a straightforward question, but Euan still couldn’t see her eyes.
‘No.’ He indicated the mug in his hand. ‘Just in time for coffee.’
‘Good.’ She picked up the soft travelling bag at her feet and he stood back from the door, locking it shut behind her.
‘Let me take that.’ He gestured towards her bag and she hesitated, giving it to him with an air of slight suspicion, as if she thought he was about to run off with it.
‘Would you like to see the bedsit upstairs? It’s not very big...’ Euan decided to concentrate on the practicalities first.
‘That’s fine. All I need is a bed and a bathroom.’ She seemed different as well as looking different. The assured businesswoman had disappeared completely, as if she’d sloughed that identity off along with the red suit.
He motioned her up the stairs, careful not to touch her as he squeezed past her in the small space outside David’s office and opened the door to the narrow, dark staircase that led to the loft apartment. The smell of disinfectant drifted down the stairs, and then the subtler scent of freshly washed linen.
‘This is great.’ She glanced into the cubbyhole that boasted two easy chairs and a small coffee table and made her way straight through to the slightly larger area, which contained a bed and the smallest wardrobe known to man. Euan dumped her bag onto the bed and she sat down next to it, bouncing up and down slightly. ‘Good mattress. That’s all I need.’
Her smile seemed genuine enough, but it had done the last time they’d met. ‘Is this okay for the clinic?’ She spread her arms, looking down at her costume. That was what it seemed like, a consummate actress wearing a costume for a part. ‘David told me not to dress up, so I came as I am.’
‘This is how you are?’ The question seemed a bit forward, but it slipped out before Euan had a chance to stop it.
‘Yes.’ She grinned, finally taking off the sunglasses. Her grey eyes were the same, at any rate. Thoughtful and clear, almost luminous, the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen on a woman. ‘I’m a code-hacker at heart.’
Her smile was still infectious too, and before he knew what he was doing Euan had smiled back. ‘And this is what a code-hacker looks like?’
She shrugged. ‘Well, the stereotype has a couple of days’ worth of stubble on his chin and wears T-shirts with nerdy computer jokes printed on the front. That’s not a good look for me.’
Euan sighed. She was like a Russian doll. Every time you thought you’d got to the real Sam, there was another underneath, exquisitely painted and quite different. Bringing a woman that he couldn’t fathom, who had admitted to nameless personal reasons, into the delicately balanced community of the clinic suddenly didn’t seem like such a good idea.
‘I’ll...’ He’d intended to take her with him this morning, but instinct had just changed his plans. He needed to think, and he didn’t seem to be able to do that with any clarity when Sam was around. Perhaps because she smelled so nice. ‘I’ve got to get going in half an hour, I’ve a surgery at the clinic this morning.’
‘Saturday morning?’
‘The weekends are often our busiest times. People who are working can only make evenings and weekends.’
If he was looking for surprise in her face, he was disappointed. So many people reckoned that substance abusers automatically slept on other people’s floors, wore dirty clothes and had no prospect of a job. There was that element, of course, but Euan numbered a stockbroker and a couple of company directors among his clients as well.
‘Yes, I suppose so.’ She slipped out of her jacket, revealing a purple printed top made from some kind of gauzy material, which begged to be touched. ‘When can I join you?’
The little quirk of her mouth betrayed that she’d noticed that he’d sidelined her. He supposed he ought to feel guilty, after she’d got up early and come all the way here, but his clients came first. ‘Why don’t we meet up for lunch? David will be here in half an hour, and he’ll take you through the clinic procedures and tell you about the new residential centre we’re planning to open soon.’
She brightened, seeming to have put the rejection behind her, now that there was an alternative to occupy her. ‘That’s a good idea. Yes...it’ll be good to have an overview before I see how it all works in practice.’ A glimpse of the woman in the red suit. She looked at her watch. ‘Say...twelve-thirty? Is that convenient?’
* * *
His footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Sam heard the street door slam. She flopped down onto the bed, looking around her. The apartment was small, scrupulously clean and already warm from the sun. Sam wondered whether the dormer window above her head would open to afford some ventilation, and decided that her first task was to find something to climb up on so she could find out.
Here she was, then. She’d promised Sal that she would do this, and here was the first real step towards making it a reality. Two years’ work and a load of false leads from people who’d pretended to be interested in her software just so they could say they’d explored all the options.
‘We’ll be on top of the heap by Christmas...’ The old joke made her smile and set a tear worrying at the side of her eye, all at the same time. Whatever the time of year, and however unlikely the prospect, Sally had always marked their triumphs with tubs of ice cream and that toast to the future. One Christmas they’d actually found themselves on the top of the heap. At least Sal had lived to see that.
Sam shook her head. It didn’t matter how alone she felt in this empty building, or that the familiar pain of rejection seemed to twist deeper when it came from Euan Scott. He could be as handsome as he liked and as difficult as he pleased. She had a goal to achieve, and no one was going to get in her way.
* * *
The quiet, deliberate nature of the morning’s work with David had settled her. He had offered to walk her down to the clinic, in much the same way as one offered to walk you into a lion’s cage, and Sam had smilingly refused, zipping her purse and her keys into her jacket and pocketing her phone. If Euan thought she couldn’t blend in, then she’d show him that melting into walls was her speciality.
The clinic was at the end of a row of small shops and offices in one of the streets that led from the shabbier end of the promenade. It didn’t advertise itself, and once inside the main door there was another set of doors straight ahead, almost as if you needed to pass through an airlock to get into the place. Sam noticed the discreetly placed surveillance cameras, and wondered who was watching her.
Whoever it was, they buzzed her in and she found herself in a large, bright area that boasted comfortable chairs, a reception desk and a mural that appeared to have been made from the fruits of a beachcombing expedition. Euan was on the far side of the room, deep in conversation wi
