Page 79 of Cover Story

‘Is this my replacement?’ the man continued to Bel, who with these words, looked as though she’d mentally teleported far from this place and left her body to deal with it.

‘We’re colleagues,’ Bel replied, voice flat.

‘Our conversation is more important than you, then,’ the man said to Connor. ‘Can you give us some privacy?’

Whoever this was, Connor suspected he’d done something bad enough to justify the smack in the mouth he fancied giving him.

‘I think Bel can decide that,’ Connor said.

‘Isabel,’ the man said, in a beseeching tone, gripping her upper arm.

Without knowing quite what gave him the right, Connor reached out and detached the man’s hand. He then stuck his hand out for Bel’s. She accepted it, stepping forward.

‘Colleagues?’ the man repeated, staring down at the hand holding. ‘You know who I am?’ he said to Connor.

‘Are you someone important in northern media?’ Connor said.

‘I’m the one who came before you,’ the man said.

What a weird, possessive remark, and why wasn’t Bel kneeing him in the ball bag for the emphasis oncame?

‘Good for you,’ Connor said, eyes widening in awho cares you lunaticway. ‘Enjoy the rest of your evening.’

Connor led Bel through the door, feeling goatee man’s eyes boring on them like lasers throughout. Connor moved his hand to the small of her back and without discussion they went back up the steps and into the throng.

‘Who am I meeting?’ Bel said.

‘Oh, no one. Sorry, I thought you looked like you wanted assistance.’

Bel gave him a wonderstruck look. She slipped her hand back into Connor’s and squeezed, then let go.

‘Thank you for that. Seriously. Thank you, Connor.’

‘No problem,’ Connor said. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Sort of,’ Bel said, sounding as if she might cry.

‘Were you trying to leave?’

‘Mmm-hmm.’

‘But that prick stopped you?’

‘Yup.’

‘Want to leave now with me as escort, and I’ll punch him if he gets in the way?’

‘Yes,’ Bel exhaled, smiling. She still looked powerfully miserable, dependent on Connor’s direction: it was so unlike her, it was almost disorientating.

‘Follow me,’ Connor said, decisively. He was enjoying being heroic-protector, though he didn’t like to admit it. He felt like she might faint and if so, he would scoop her up and carry her out in his arms.

They did a small circuit of the room and then looped back to the exit, Connor cutting sharp left to avoid goatee guy if he was still hanging around outside, but he suspected that they’d shaken him off by him following them back in, and their walking in a circle.

In the muggy evening air, Connor said: ‘Taxi rank’s round here I think?’ and Bel nodded, still uncharacteristically meek.

Connor was going to hand her into the Hackney cab like some sort of Disney prince with a horse and carriage, and instead he found he couldn’t let her go, either.

‘Fancy a nightcap?’ he said, braced for her to make a ‘sorry, I’m tired’ excuse to be the fuck away from men in dinner suits angling for her attention.

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