conscience—which had never given him much trouble before—had sprung into life, propelling him out of the taxi and up the steps.
So he’d do what he was here to do. He’d check on her, and then go, and with any luck he wouldn’t have any reason to see her ever again, bar the odd Dan/Zoe occasion that might require both their presence.
Marginally reassured by that, he pressed the buzzer and waited. He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels for a couple of minutes. Was just about to give up when the intercom crackled to life.
‘Yes?’ came the muffled voice.
‘Celia,’ he said, leaning forwards. ‘It’s Marcus.’
There was silence. And then a grumpy, ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
Yup, as he’d thought. No more pleased to have him visit than he was. ‘To see if you’re all right.’
‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘You tell me. I heard you had a headache.’
‘I do. I was asleep.’
‘Then I apologise for waking you up.’
‘Not accepted,’ she said crossly. There was a rustle, and then, ‘Wait. How did you hear about my headache?’
‘Dinner. Kit and Lily’s. You were meant to be there.’
A pause while she presumably processed this fact. ‘That’s right,’ she said slowly, as if realisation had only just dawned. ‘I was. Have I missed it?’
‘Half of it at least.’
‘How rude of me.’
‘Not that rude. You cancelled.’
‘Did I?’
OK, so this was getting a little odd, thought Marcus with a frown as a flicker of concern edged through his frustration. Celia sounded confused, disorientated. Which was possibly a consequence of being abruptly woken up. Or possibly not. ‘Apparently so.’
‘Oh,’ she said vaguely. ‘So why aren’t you still there?’
‘Lily was worried.’
‘She has no need to be. I’m fine.’
At the ensuing silence he sighed and ran a hand through his hair and wished to God that her brother were here. Even either of her parents—who both unfortunately lived a couple of hundred miles away—would do because he was not the man for this job. However, something was telling him she wasn’t all that fine, and right now there was no one else. ‘Can I come up? Just for a second.’
‘I’m not a child, Marcus,’ she said, frustration clear in her voice. ‘I don’t need checking up on or looking after.’
‘Then prove it and let me in. Five minutes. That’s all I ask.’
There was a pause. A sigh. ‘Then will you leave me alone?’
‘Yes.’ If she really was as all right as she claimed.
‘OK, fine.’
The door buzzed and Marcus pushed it open. He leapt up the four flights of stairs to Celia’s top-floor flat, and at the sight of her he stopped dead, the breath knocked from his lungs.
She was standing in the doorway, her arms crossed and her chin up, and she might be channelling defiance and trying to appear all right, but she looked absolutely horrendous. Her skin was grey, her eyes dull and her hair was all over the place. She was wearing a pair of faded pink pyjamas that had seen better days, and even though she was covered from head to toe he was willing to bet that she’d lost weight. Her cheeks were hollower than they’d been the last time he’d seen her and her collarbones sharper.
Apart from that ten minutes with him in the garden, she always looked immaculate. Magnificent. Totally together and composed. Now, though, she looked like a dishevelled ghost, the energy and drive all sucked out of her, and it shocked the life out of him.
Frustration gone and concern sweeping in to take its place, he strode towards her, then, as she stepped back to let him in, past her into her flat and spun round as she closed the door behind him.
‘What on earth is the matter with you?’ he said, worry making his voice sharper than he’d intended.
Celia winced and put a hand to her temple. ‘Don’t shout at me.’
Guilt slashed through him and he swore softly. ‘Sorry.’
‘I have a headache.’
‘So you said,’
So he’d do what he was here to do. He’d check on her, and then go, and with any luck he wouldn’t have any reason to see her ever again, bar the odd Dan/Zoe occasion that might require both their presence.
Marginally reassured by that, he pressed the buzzer and waited. He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels for a couple of minutes. Was just about to give up when the intercom crackled to life.
‘Yes?’ came the muffled voice.
‘Celia,’ he said, leaning forwards. ‘It’s Marcus.’
There was silence. And then a grumpy, ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
Yup, as he’d thought. No more pleased to have him visit than he was. ‘To see if you’re all right.’
‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘You tell me. I heard you had a headache.’
‘I do. I was asleep.’
‘Then I apologise for waking you up.’
‘Not accepted,’ she said crossly. There was a rustle, and then, ‘Wait. How did you hear about my headache?’
‘Dinner. Kit and Lily’s. You were meant to be there.’
A pause while she presumably processed this fact. ‘That’s right,’ she said slowly, as if realisation had only just dawned. ‘I was. Have I missed it?’
‘Half of it at least.’
‘How rude of me.’
‘Not that rude. You cancelled.’
‘Did I?’
OK, so this was getting a little odd, thought Marcus with a frown as a flicker of concern edged through his frustration. Celia sounded confused, disorientated. Which was possibly a consequence of being abruptly woken up. Or possibly not. ‘Apparently so.’
‘Oh,’ she said vaguely. ‘So why aren’t you still there?’
‘Lily was worried.’
‘She has no need to be. I’m fine.’
At the ensuing silence he sighed and ran a hand through his hair and wished to God that her brother were here. Even either of her parents—who both unfortunately lived a couple of hundred miles away—would do because he was not the man for this job. However, something was telling him she wasn’t all that fine, and right now there was no one else. ‘Can I come up? Just for a second.’
‘I’m not a child, Marcus,’ she said, frustration clear in her voice. ‘I don’t need checking up on or looking after.’
‘Then prove it and let me in. Five minutes. That’s all I ask.’
There was a pause. A sigh. ‘Then will you leave me alone?’
‘Yes.’ If she really was as all right as she claimed.
‘OK, fine.’
The door buzzed and Marcus pushed it open. He leapt up the four flights of stairs to Celia’s top-floor flat, and at the sight of her he stopped dead, the breath knocked from his lungs.
She was standing in the doorway, her arms crossed and her chin up, and she might be channelling defiance and trying to appear all right, but she looked absolutely horrendous. Her skin was grey, her eyes dull and her hair was all over the place. She was wearing a pair of faded pink pyjamas that had seen better days, and even though she was covered from head to toe he was willing to bet that she’d lost weight. Her cheeks were hollower than they’d been the last time he’d seen her and her collarbones sharper.
Apart from that ten minutes with him in the garden, she always looked immaculate. Magnificent. Totally together and composed. Now, though, she looked like a dishevelled ghost, the energy and drive all sucked out of her, and it shocked the life out of him.
Frustration gone and concern sweeping in to take its place, he strode towards her, then, as she stepped back to let him in, past her into her flat and spun round as she closed the door behind him.
‘What on earth is the matter with you?’ he said, worry making his voice sharper than he’d intended.
Celia winced and put a hand to her temple. ‘Don’t shout at me.’
Guilt slashed through him and he swore softly. ‘Sorry.’
‘I have a headache.’
‘So you said,’
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