had been into Claire’s
office to speak to everybody there who had worked directly with her sister. It felt
odd referring to them so impersonally, to think of it all in motion while she was
on the outside, out of the loop when it mattered more than ever before. But it was
something she was going to have to get used to.
Nicola blew her nose loudly. ‘They said very little. There was more in the Evening
Standard than what they told us.’
‘I haven’t seen a paper but I know she went to meet a man in a hotel,’ Donovan said,
not caring if it was supposed to be generally known. She was still struggling to
remember the few things Tartaglia had told her the night before, some of the details
temporarily lost in the fog left over from sleep and pills. ‘Do you have any idea
who it might be? Last I remember, she was complaining about never meeting anyone
she fancied, but that was back in the summer.’
Nicola shook her head. ‘They asked that. I haven’t a clue who he is, but I knew there
was someone that she’d started seeing. I took a message from him a couple of times.
His name was Robert.’
‘It’s a false name. Do you have any idea where she met him?’
Nicola looked down at her cold, un-drunk mug of coffee for a moment. ‘It wasn’t the
Internet or speed-dating, or anything like that. He sent her flowers – a huge bunch
of lilies and roses, with lots of shiny paper and red ribbon. I remember thinking
he must’ve spent a fortune when I went to collect them from reception.’
‘Do you remember the name of the company they came from?’
‘The police asked me that, but I don’t remember, just the colour of the ribbon. I
gave them to her when she got back from a meeting and she looked so surprised. Really
bowled over. I asked her what was the special occasion and at first she seemed a
bit embarrassed. But then she told me she had met some bloke, and that it had been
something really funny, like in the movies; he’d bumped into her in the street –
walked straight into her while he was talking on his phone. He was carrying a takeaway
cup of coffee and he spilled some on her sleeve. It burned her arm and made her drop
what she was carrying.’
‘Where was this?’
‘Right in front of the office.’
‘So he works nearby?’
Nicola stared at her blankly. ‘Why do you say that?’
She had probably had more than enough for one day and Donovan was sorry to have to
keep probing, but she needed to find out everything Nicola knew. ‘If you’re carrying
a cup of coffee you can’t be going far,’ Donovan said. ‘I mean, you wouldn’t go on
the tube or get into a taxi with a cup of coffee, would you? And it’s double yellows
for miles around there so he couldn’t have been in a car or a van, unless he had
a driver.’
‘I suppose you’re right, but she never said.’
Nicola still looked dazed and Donovan made a mental note to keep her thoughts to
herself. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. Please go on with what happened.’
Nicola took a deep breath. ‘Well, as I said, when he knocked into her, she dropped
some things and he helped her pick them up. He was really apologetic and asked her
where she worked and then he sent her the flowers.’
‘She must have told him her name?’
‘I guess so. She said she knew it was all a bit of a cliché but it was actually really
romantic. Cliché or not, who does that sort of thing these days?’
Who indeed, Donovan thought. It was all sounding like some cheesy rom-com starring
Jennifer Aniston. Like most City lawyers, Claire’s working day was a long one and
she often used to take papers home at the weekend. There was little room for a personal
life, something she had complained about, although she had loved her job too much
to make a change. As Donovan knew all too well from her own experience, the lack
of a personal life could drive even the sanest and most independent of women to
take risks and do some very stupid things. If nothing else, it
office to speak to everybody there who had worked directly with her sister. It felt
odd referring to them so impersonally, to think of it all in motion while she was
on the outside, out of the loop when it mattered more than ever before. But it was
something she was going to have to get used to.
Nicola blew her nose loudly. ‘They said very little. There was more in the Evening
Standard than what they told us.’
‘I haven’t seen a paper but I know she went to meet a man in a hotel,’ Donovan said,
not caring if it was supposed to be generally known. She was still struggling to
remember the few things Tartaglia had told her the night before, some of the details
temporarily lost in the fog left over from sleep and pills. ‘Do you have any idea
who it might be? Last I remember, she was complaining about never meeting anyone
she fancied, but that was back in the summer.’
Nicola shook her head. ‘They asked that. I haven’t a clue who he is, but I knew there
was someone that she’d started seeing. I took a message from him a couple of times.
His name was Robert.’
‘It’s a false name. Do you have any idea where she met him?’
Nicola looked down at her cold, un-drunk mug of coffee for a moment. ‘It wasn’t the
Internet or speed-dating, or anything like that. He sent her flowers – a huge bunch
of lilies and roses, with lots of shiny paper and red ribbon. I remember thinking
he must’ve spent a fortune when I went to collect them from reception.’
‘Do you remember the name of the company they came from?’
‘The police asked me that, but I don’t remember, just the colour of the ribbon. I
gave them to her when she got back from a meeting and she looked so surprised. Really
bowled over. I asked her what was the special occasion and at first she seemed a
bit embarrassed. But then she told me she had met some bloke, and that it had been
something really funny, like in the movies; he’d bumped into her in the street –
walked straight into her while he was talking on his phone. He was carrying a takeaway
cup of coffee and he spilled some on her sleeve. It burned her arm and made her drop
what she was carrying.’
‘Where was this?’
‘Right in front of the office.’
‘So he works nearby?’
Nicola stared at her blankly. ‘Why do you say that?’
She had probably had more than enough for one day and Donovan was sorry to have to
keep probing, but she needed to find out everything Nicola knew. ‘If you’re carrying
a cup of coffee you can’t be going far,’ Donovan said. ‘I mean, you wouldn’t go on
the tube or get into a taxi with a cup of coffee, would you? And it’s double yellows
for miles around there so he couldn’t have been in a car or a van, unless he had
a driver.’
‘I suppose you’re right, but she never said.’
Nicola still looked dazed and Donovan made a mental note to keep her thoughts to
herself. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. Please go on with what happened.’
Nicola took a deep breath. ‘Well, as I said, when he knocked into her, she dropped
some things and he helped her pick them up. He was really apologetic and asked her
where she worked and then he sent her the flowers.’
‘She must have told him her name?’
‘I guess so. She said she knew it was all a bit of a cliché but it was actually really
romantic. Cliché or not, who does that sort of thing these days?’
Who indeed, Donovan thought. It was all sounding like some cheesy rom-com starring
Jennifer Aniston. Like most City lawyers, Claire’s working day was a long one and
she often used to take papers home at the weekend. There was little room for a personal
life, something she had complained about, although she had loved her job too much
to make a change. As Donovan knew all too well from her own experience, the lack
of a personal life could drive even the sanest and most independent of women to
take risks and do some very stupid things. If nothing else, it
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