Clara’s eyes were drawn to the bright blue handbag on his arm, one very similar to her own. In fact, it was her handbag. Her gaze shot up and met Taylor’s vivid blue eyes staring down at her.
“Hi,” Clara said in surprise.
“Hi. How’s Mr Atrosky? Did he make it?” Taylor asked.
Clara nodded. “Yeah. He’s looking good. Still unconscious. But stable.”
“Did you want to come and see him?” The nurse offered.
“No, thank you. I work for him; I don’t think he would want me to see him like that. I just came to collect Clara,” he said politely to the nurse.
“No problem. Clara, I won’t bother with the taxi voucher.” The nurse looked at Clara, who nodded in agreement. “I don’t suppose you have details of Mr Atrosky’s next of kin?” she asked Taylor.
“No, although I saw his assistant at the emergency room check-in desk. They’ll definitely know,” Taylor supplied.
“Fantastic. I’ll check on the computers.” The nurse lifted a hand to Clara and strode back into the intensive care.
Clara gazed at Taylor without saying anything.
“Sorry it took me so long to get here. I had to get rid of Devon.”
Despite the seriousness of the day’s events, Clara laughed at the disgust in his voice when he said Devon’s name.
“Where did you dump her body?” She chuckled—her black humour rearing.
“She was distraught. It took us a long time to calm her down, but a friend of hers, Helena, arrived and took her back to the hotel.”
Clara nodded. She didn’t want to talk about Devon, so she gestured down to her bag. “Nice handbag.”
“I agree.” He hefted her bag onto his shoulder and did a twirl for her.
“That blue is your colour,” Clara joked to hide her embarrassment at the state of her tatty old handbag.
“It is. However, I have one question. What on earth do you have in this thing? It weighs a tonne,” he grumbled, slumping over one way, pretending the bag was weighing him down.
Clara stepped forward and took the bag off him, unzipping it to show him. “Laptop, purse, drink bottle, sandwich.”
Taylor cut in, “Is that another petrol station sandwich?” He reached out and poked the plastic packet with a grimace.
“Yeah, just in case I didn’t get taken to craft services again. As you may have noticed, I get angry when I’m hungry.” Her stomach rumbled loudly, and she snatched the sandwich out of her bag. She didn’t care; she was eating it.
Taking two steps, she sat down on a plastic chair in the row that lined the corridor, grabbed the sandwich, opened it, and offered him half.
“I did notice the hangry,” Taylor said with a raised eyebrow. “And you won’t try and bite me if I accept half?”
“No, I won’t bite you. But you’d eat a cheese sandwich from a petrol station that’s been in my bag all day?” Clara handed him the half that he was staring longingly at.
“I don’t think I’m going to have work tomorrow. So if I get food poisoning, it’s not the end of the world.” He checked each way down the corridor to ensure it was empty before pulling his mask down and taking a large bite of the slightly stale bread. “Delicious.”
“Really?” Clara took a tentative bite.
“Not really. But it’s food, and I’m hungry.” He finished the sandwich in two bites. “That was terrible. But thanks for sharing.”
Clara finished her own half and winced a little at the plasticky flavour. She was pretty sure she couldn’t get food poisoning from something that more resembled plastic than cheese.
“No problem.” She rummaged in her bag again. “Tic-tac?”
“Thanks.” He held his hand out as she poured some mints onto his palm.