thinking. ‘You know what? I’m maybe not the best person to ask.’
She spotted a thin leather band just below the collar of his T-shirt. It sat on a tanned neck, reinforcing the impression that he travelled. She looked up and saw him watching her, and flicked her eyes away, embarrassed. ‘But you wrote the book . . .’ Her voice sounded more abrupt that she meant it to.
He hesitated. ‘Ah, but you see, with my work, I travel all over the world for conferences. The kind of airlines I fly with are sometimes the ones with the less favourable safety records.’
Kate stared. ‘Even though you know they have a high chance of crashing?’
‘Well, higher, yes. Not high.’
She blinked. ‘How do you do that?’
Just as she said it, the Dusty Springfield song that was playing finished. Kate’s question blasted into the silence left in its wake. Her tone was so pleading that the man, the New Age couple and the waitress all glanced at her, warily.
‘Sorry,’ she said, lowering her voice, ‘I just meant that . . .’
The man held up his hand. There was a glimmer of concern on his face. ‘No, it’s fine.’ He opened his palms in a gesture of explanation. ‘I just don’t think about it.’
Kate stared.
The man’s words reached out and wrapped themselves around her.
She couldn’t explain it.
They reached out and pulled her in like safe, warm arms.
A stranger had opened his mouth and said something so profound, she knew, irrationally, that for a reason she couldn’t explain, that it might hold the key to her survival.
‘So, does that help? Have you got what you need?’ the man said, standing up.
‘Uh. Yes. Thanks.’ Damn. Where was he going? Her mind darted around trying to find an excuse to stall him.
‘Actually, can I just . . .’ she started desperately, not even knowing what she was going to say.
But just as the man looked back, his eyebrows raised in question, his phone rang. He smiled apologetically at Kate and started a conversation with someone called Mike about a seminar he was teaching at the university that afternoon. Kate waved him on, even though she didn’t want to. He waved back. ‘Nice to meet you,’ he called, walking out of the door. Kate craned her neck to see him unlocking a bike with one hand, as he spoke on his phone.
‘Cor . . .’ The waitress giggled, coming up, and lifting the man’s glass.
‘Sorry?’ said Kate, jerking back. The waitress watched Jago, twisting her long auburn plait in her fingers. Kate looked at her, surprised. The man must be fifteen years older than the waitress.
Kate hesitated, then realized she had no choice. ‘You didn’t hear him say what college he taught at, did you?’ she said, as casually as she could.
She saw the waitress’s expression.
‘It’s a work thing.’
The girl grinned. ‘No, but let me know if you find out! Mmm, that accent . . .’ She fanned herself dramatically.
Kate watched the waitress uncertainly. She looked back out of the window and saw the man speeding off down Cowley Road precariously, still with a phone at his ear. For a second, she wished she had brought her bike so she could have followed him into the traffic.
The thought took her completely by surprise.
Kate never cycled in traffic.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The presentation was going well. Much better than she’d expected.
Saskia watched the suave man from the London marketing agency that she had hired for today’s presentation to Dad and his partners fixing his smile firmly on Dad, just as she’d suggested. She’d chosen a marketing agency that specialized in design businesses, and the man certainly knew his stuff. It was important, he reiterated, that an agency such as Richard’s quickly prioritized marketing to head off the effects of the current economic downturn. The Richard Parker Agency needed to concentrate on winning new, younger clients with a viral campaign that relied more on a multifaceted social media campaign.
Saskia tapped her feet
She spotted a thin leather band just below the collar of his T-shirt. It sat on a tanned neck, reinforcing the impression that he travelled. She looked up and saw him watching her, and flicked her eyes away, embarrassed. ‘But you wrote the book . . .’ Her voice sounded more abrupt that she meant it to.
He hesitated. ‘Ah, but you see, with my work, I travel all over the world for conferences. The kind of airlines I fly with are sometimes the ones with the less favourable safety records.’
Kate stared. ‘Even though you know they have a high chance of crashing?’
‘Well, higher, yes. Not high.’
She blinked. ‘How do you do that?’
Just as she said it, the Dusty Springfield song that was playing finished. Kate’s question blasted into the silence left in its wake. Her tone was so pleading that the man, the New Age couple and the waitress all glanced at her, warily.
‘Sorry,’ she said, lowering her voice, ‘I just meant that . . .’
The man held up his hand. There was a glimmer of concern on his face. ‘No, it’s fine.’ He opened his palms in a gesture of explanation. ‘I just don’t think about it.’
Kate stared.
The man’s words reached out and wrapped themselves around her.
She couldn’t explain it.
They reached out and pulled her in like safe, warm arms.
A stranger had opened his mouth and said something so profound, she knew, irrationally, that for a reason she couldn’t explain, that it might hold the key to her survival.
‘So, does that help? Have you got what you need?’ the man said, standing up.
‘Uh. Yes. Thanks.’ Damn. Where was he going? Her mind darted around trying to find an excuse to stall him.
‘Actually, can I just . . .’ she started desperately, not even knowing what she was going to say.
But just as the man looked back, his eyebrows raised in question, his phone rang. He smiled apologetically at Kate and started a conversation with someone called Mike about a seminar he was teaching at the university that afternoon. Kate waved him on, even though she didn’t want to. He waved back. ‘Nice to meet you,’ he called, walking out of the door. Kate craned her neck to see him unlocking a bike with one hand, as he spoke on his phone.
‘Cor . . .’ The waitress giggled, coming up, and lifting the man’s glass.
‘Sorry?’ said Kate, jerking back. The waitress watched Jago, twisting her long auburn plait in her fingers. Kate looked at her, surprised. The man must be fifteen years older than the waitress.
Kate hesitated, then realized she had no choice. ‘You didn’t hear him say what college he taught at, did you?’ she said, as casually as she could.
She saw the waitress’s expression.
‘It’s a work thing.’
The girl grinned. ‘No, but let me know if you find out! Mmm, that accent . . .’ She fanned herself dramatically.
Kate watched the waitress uncertainly. She looked back out of the window and saw the man speeding off down Cowley Road precariously, still with a phone at his ear. For a second, she wished she had brought her bike so she could have followed him into the traffic.
The thought took her completely by surprise.
Kate never cycled in traffic.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The presentation was going well. Much better than she’d expected.
Saskia watched the suave man from the London marketing agency that she had hired for today’s presentation to Dad and his partners fixing his smile firmly on Dad, just as she’d suggested. She’d chosen a marketing agency that specialized in design businesses, and the man certainly knew his stuff. It was important, he reiterated, that an agency such as Richard’s quickly prioritized marketing to head off the effects of the current economic downturn. The Richard Parker Agency needed to concentrate on winning new, younger clients with a viral campaign that relied more on a multifaceted social media campaign.
Saskia tapped her feet
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