Their conversation had meandered its way along familiar paths and ended up, as it inevitably did, with a trip down memory lane. The three of them didn’t seem to be able to stay away from their mutual past, as if recounting at least one story was required to validate all subsequent meetings. It was sweet, really, and Romany hoped that when she got to university, she too would find a set of friends that she managed to stay close to for the rest of her life, like these three. Seeing them together, it was clear that they shared such an easy rapport born from familiarity. However, the thing she liked best was how they all cut each other slack for their failings, because they all had pretty huge failings.

  Take Tiger, for example. It was obvious to Romany that he had been running from something for his entire adult life. She was beginning to get the impression that even he wasn’t sure why he couldn’t stop, but was it maybe that he was frightened of what might happen if he did? He would have to settle somewhere eventually, though. He was in his fifties now and he couldn’t keep running forever.

  Maggie, too, was frightened of something. Romany didn’t really get it because from where she was standing Maggie always seemed to be completely in control, but at the same time she could see that there was always something holding her back, as if she’d got her coat stuck in a door and couldn’t quite pull herself free. Romany wanted to tell her to just take the coat off and leave it behind, but it really wasn’t her place and she liked Maggie – she didn’t want to do anything to upset her.

  And Leon. The world’s most ordinary man with the world’s most extraordinary talent. It was such a waste, having something like that and then just pretending that you didn’t. What was that? Fear again? Who knew that being an adult could be so scary? But her mum hadn’t been scared of the world, Romany thought. Her mum had never been scared of anything.

  Hope was the real mystery, Romany thought as she watched her move from table to table clearing away the debris. She still had no idea why her mum had included her in the gang of four. She seemed nice enough. She was a bit frosty, but Romany imagined that if you looked like Hope then you probably needed to find ways to protect yourself from unwanted attention. But being beautiful wasn’t enough of a reason to have landed her with the job of guiding Romany through this tricky year and beyond. There must be something else. If Romany knew anything about her mum, it was that she didn’t do things by accident. No, there would have been a purpose in her mind. Romany just needed to work out what it was.

  Romany’s thoughts were interrupted then, because there was Hope, strolling across the restaurant towards them with a bottle of champagne in her hand. A waiter who Romany recognised from school followed behind with half a dozen sparkling flutes on a silver tray.

  ‘Sorry I’ve been so long,’ she said as she reached them. ‘Things always take more time than you think, don’t they? But I’m here now. Have you had a lovely time?’

  ‘We have, thanks,’ replied Romany, feeling that as the soberest amongst them the role of spokeswoman should fall to her. ‘The food was great. You should tell your boyfriend from us.’

  ‘You can tell him yourself,’ she said. She turned and shouted back to the kitchen. ‘Dan. Come and meet Romany and the others.’

  Moments later the person who must be Dan emerged. His tall chef hat had gone now and there was a smear of sauce down the front of his whites, but his eyes were shining.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, pushing his damp hair away from his forehead. He scanned the group and then settled his gaze on her. Their eyes locked, but his look was so intense that it made Romany feel uncomfortable, as if she were being interrogated. It was weird, off somehow.

  She held his stare, defiant, but then, when he still didn’t look away, she dropped her eyes. Had she done something to inadvertently upset him? She couldn’t think what. She had just said how much she had enjoyed his food, although she supposed he didn’t know that yet. She’d heard that chefs were highly strung but not like this, surely. She wiped round her mouth with a tentative finger in case she had food on her face, but found nothing. She could still sense his eyes on her. What was it with that bloke?

  ‘Romany was just passing her compliments on to the chef,’ said Hope with a wink, and Romany looked at him again. He was still focusing on her, but now his expression was softer, the intensity gone. Maybe she had imagined it. Her mum was forever telling her that teenagers made everything about them when they really weren’t.

  Finally, Daniel smiled, and it changed everything about him, making him appear far more normal. He had lovely eyes, Romany thought, a deep rich brown colour, and a friendly face, when he wasn’t staring.

  ‘Did you really enjoy it?’ he asked. ‘That’s amazing!’ He sounded needy, as if her approval was actually important to him, which it obviously wasn’t. ‘What was your favourite part?’ he added.

  Romany didn’t have to think. ‘I loved that lemony taster thing,’ she said, ‘but I liked the triple chocolate tart best.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ replied Daniel. ‘My own personal favourite too.’

  ‘And the rest of you enjoyed it too?’ he asked, finally turning his attention from her to the others.

  There was a general murmuring of approval from around the group. Hope, who had been fiddling with the wire cage around the cork, opened the bottle in one smooth movement and poured a glass of the frothing champagne without spilling a drop. Romany was impressed. Whenever she’d seen people do it in films it always looked like a particularly messy business. Hope filled the glasses efficiently and Daniel passed them around.

  Maggie seized the moment, raising her glass and slurring, ‘To the chef!’

  They all did likewise, and Daniel lowered his eyes modestly for a moment. Then he looked up and gave them a broad grin before settling his eyes on Romany again.

  ‘What?!’ she wanted to say. ‘What is your problem?’

  He raised the glass to his lips, took a sip and put it back down on the table.

  ‘Right, must be getting back,’ he said. ‘Lovely to meet you all.’

  He turned and headed back to the kitchen, leaving Romany confused. She had a quick look round to see if the others had noticed anything odd, but they seemed oblivious. Maybe she’d talk to Maggie about it later, at a soberer moment.

  Maggie began to get to her feet. She was making heavy weather of it and grabbed on to the table to stop her falling back into her seat. ‘This has been lovely,’ she said, her words tripping into one another, ‘but we should be going. Let you good people get back to your families on Christmas Day.’

  ‘I’ll get your coats,’ said Hope, and sashayed away to find them.

  Maggie was checking under the table to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything and Leon was looking at his phone, but Tiger was just sitting there staring at the spot where Daniel had just been standing.

  ‘Come on, Tiger,’ said Maggie. ‘Time to go home.’

  Tiger still didn’t move, his face a picture of confusion.

  ‘I know him,’ he said.

  ‘Know who?’ asked Leon without looking up from his phone.

  ‘That chef bloke, Daniel. I’m sure I’ve met him before.’

  ‘Probably,’ said Leon. ‘You must have met half the population of the world on your travels.’

  Leon set off towards where Hope was standing with a bundle of coats in her arms, but Tiger stayed where he was, his eyebrows knotted together as he tried to think.

  ‘Tiger!’ Maggie called. ‘We need to leave.’

  Tiger stood up and reluctantly moved towards the others, but Romany could hear him still muttering under his breath as he tried to work it out.

  49

  Maggie was in her usual place at the reception desk of Space Solutions. It was, as you might expect for a modern, forward-thinking architect’s practice, a bright and airy space with trendy but uncomfortable furniture and a lot of bleached wood. In the corner of the space was a glass box, the board room, in which important meetings were conducted. Today it was full of exasperated-looking men. Jackets had been shed and sleeves rolled up, as if the discussions that were going on were complicated and arduous. There appeared to be some frayed tempers as well and her own boss, the senior partner (who was actually a good ten years younger than she was) was looking particularly frazzled.

  As she watched, his junior assistant came out, closed the door behind him and rolled his eyes.

  ‘It’s horrible in there,’ he said. ‘Do you think you could rustle us up yet another round of coffee? Try to break the tension a bit.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Maggie, lifting her phone handset to ring the order through. ‘What’s the problem?’

  She looked expectantly at the junior, but he just shrugged and said, ‘Oh, you know, just business stuff.’ He turned his back on her and headed back to the glass box. ‘And if you could find us some biscuits too . . .’ And then he was gone.

  Maggie sucked in a deep breath through her nose, set her shoulders and then pressed the button to link her with the hospitality department.

  ‘They would like more coffee and biscuits in the boardroom,’ she said when the phone was answered. ‘Yes. More! And you might want to bring a couple of extra trays to clear away the empties.’

  Maggie heard the irritation at the other end of the line, where the coffee coordinating person clearly knew exactly how many cups there were to clear away, that being their job. She regretted that she seemed to rub people up the wrong way so regularly, but there was often a better way of doing a task than the way they were doing it. She should just bite her tongue and let them get on with it. Having ideas was above her pay grade.

  The morning wore on, with Maggie answering the phone and dealing with visitors and emails as usual. She kept an eye on the meeting, but they didn’t seem to be reaching any sort of consensus. She wondered yet again what the problem was, and found herself wishing that she was in there to help them sort it out. That had been her favourite part about being a lawyer – solving puzzles. The law itself was all very well; it was just there, and it either worked for you or against you, depending on what you were trying to achieve, and sometimes did both. Coming up with a solution to the problem was different, though. That took creative thinking, imagination and a knowledge of which risks you could take and which you absolutely shouldn’t. Maggie had been good at that. Ironic really, considering how few risks she had taken in the rest of her life.

  Around lunchtime, the glass box door opened and its occupants began to float out, rubbing necks and shoulders, replacing jackets over creased shirts. Eventually the only ones left were the senior partner Mark and the man who Maggie assumed was his client. They stood directly in front of her desk and continued their discussion as if she were invisible.

  ‘It’s a total cock-up, Mark,’ the client said. ‘And I can’t believe that I’m in this deep and this problem is only just coming up now.’

  Mark appeared to be exasperated but was doing his best to remain polite and positive – clearly a real struggle. ‘The thing is, Tim, until we open the ground there’s just no way of knowing what’s under there. That’s what contingency budgets are for.’

  ‘The contingency budget is already shot to hell after all the issues about access to the site,’ moaned Tim. ‘At this rate, it’ll all be spent, and we won’t have even started the main build. And now this. An Anglo-Saxon burial site right under my beautiful new office block. Honestly, you couldn’t make it up.’

  Mark shook his head sympathetically. ‘It is bad luck,’ he said. ‘We might have seen it before if . . .’ But then he cut himself short.

  Ah, thought Maggie. The client is one of those that wants all the bells and whistles but is only prepared to pay for the standard model.

  ‘And I just don’t have time to wait,’ the client continued. ‘Everything I have is sunk into this project. I need to get back on site and digging foundations pronto. Can’t we just turn a blind eye to the bones? I mean, who’s going to know?’

  ‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,’ said Mark. ‘We have to wait, go through the proper channels. But that can take months, I’m afraid. Forensic archaeology is a very specialised area and the expert I usually use in cases like this is booked up, sometimes for years in advance.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ hissed the client. ‘It just isn’t good enough. It’s just one problem after another. I’m starting to regret using this firm in the first place and you can expect that I’ll be looking for a discount on my bill for all the cock-ups.’

  Maggie could see that Mark was really angry now and battling to control his temper.

  ‘None of this is our fault, Tim,’ he said calmly.

  ‘Oh no? Well, whose fault is it? Because it sure as hell isn’t mine.’

  ‘Well, if you’d been prepared to spend a little more on . . .’

  Maggie could stand it no longer.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said.

  Neither man took any notice.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said a little louder. ‘Have you tried Professor Vanessa Quinn? She’s based at York St John’s. She’s quick and efficient and extremely good at coming up with solutions for this kind of problem.’

  Both men turned to see who had spoken.

  ‘I’m assuming that you uncovered a skeleton when you were digging the foundations,’ Maggie continued. ‘The contract should cover that kind of delay. It’s got the standard warranties and indemnities, right? But if you get Professor Quinn in then you may find that you can sort the issue out and move on nice and quickly. She’s not cheap, mind you, but considerably cheaper than laying off the entire site and potentially losing all your sub-contractors.’

  The client was staring at her and then he shook his head. ‘Who the hell are you? My fairy bloody godmother?’

  The old confidence that had flowed through her a moment ago was now leaking out of Maggie as if she was a sieve, and she dropped her gaze.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered. ‘I’m sure you have it all under control.’

  ‘No,’ said the client. ‘We haven’t. And what you just said is the most sensible, and practical, thing I’ve heard all morning.’

  Maggie gave him a tight-lipped smile. ‘I can make the call for you,’ she offered, and then, when she saw Mark’s face, added, ‘or give you her number.’

  ‘That’d be great,’ said the client. ‘Let’s see if we can get her to start straight away. I’ll pay what it costs.’

  Maggie saw Mark’s eyebrow rise.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘I’ll get my PA on it straight away.’

  ‘Bugger your PA,’ said the client. ‘I’d go with your receptionist. What did you say your name was?’ he added.

  ‘Maggie Summers,’ she said.

  His eyes narrowed, as if the name meant something to him, but then he offered her his hand to shake and headed for the door.

  ‘Get it sorted, Mark,’ he called and then disappeared through the revolving door, leaving the two of them.

  Maggie was aware of the awkwardness as keenly as if it had been sitting on her lap and stroking her hair.

  ‘I hope I didn’t overstep the mark,’ she said. ‘I just thought it might help.’

  Mark was still staring at her. ‘Maggie Summers,’ he said. ‘Why do I know that name?’

  ‘I used to be at Brownlows,’ she said. ‘I was a partner in the commercial property department.’

  ‘So, what the hell are you doing as my receptionist?’ he asked.

  Maggie shrugged. ‘I just fancied a change.’

  ‘I’ve just spent all morning arguing with that bunch of idiots about a whole range of crap and all the time I had you, just sitting there watching,’ he said.

  Maggie worried that he was about to explode at her, but he seemed to think it was funny.

  ‘Do you know how much I pay our solicitor?’ he asked.

  ‘I could hazard a guess,’ replied Maggie wryly.

  ‘And you have been more help in five minutes than he has been all morning. All he’s done is block my ideas and come up with reasons why we couldn’t do things.’

  ‘Then might I suggest you have the wrong solicitor,’ Maggie replied.

  ‘Yes! You might very well suggest that,’ said Mark. ‘Right. Well, if you can let me have that number, I’ll get on to Professor . . . ?’

  ‘Professor Quinn,’ offered Maggie.

  ‘Professor Quinn. Unless, of course, you fancied making the call for me. There’s a lunch in it for you,’ he added. ‘And then we could talk about how someone like you has ended up working at my reception desk.’

  Maggie had no intention of sharing her personal history with him, but she was happy to make the call. ‘That’s fine. Can I ring her now?’ she asked, conscious that to do so would take her away from her reception duties.

  ‘Please do,’ said Mark with a sweep of his arm. ‘And thank you, Maggie.’

  He walked across to the lifts, shaking his head as if the whole experience had been slightly too surreal for him.

  Maggie dug her mobile from her bag, retrieved Vanessa’s number and made the call.

  50

  Later, when she had made her dinner and rung Leon to tell him about her minor triumph at work, Maggie settled down with her laptop and began to scroll through the jobs pages. It was something she hadn’t done for a while. At the beginning, it had been too painful to even look at the details of job after job when her dream role had only just been snatched from her. Then, as the months and now years had gone by, she had gradually stopped looking. She was too long out of the game, she assumed. Things, people, the world in general had all moved on and, run fast as she might, she was never going to be able to catch up.