Page 9 of Knotting Hill
When I reach Rivers & Rivers Private Practice, I gulp and shove the door open, propelling myself forward to basically stop myself from turning and running away.
I smile at Miriam, my parents long-serving receptionist and give her a wave.
“Go right through, dear,” she calls back, indicating the door to the right.
I nod and punch in the code for the door, waiting for it to click open before I turn the handle and with sweaty palms, feeling like I’m marching to the gallows, I head into Gloria Rivers’ office.
It is much like the waiting room, with all pastels and watercolour paintings. No less luxurious than Robb & Robb, but a more Zen feeling with trickling water features and soft meditative music.
Mum looks up as I knock on the open door. “Storm!” She rises to give me a tight hug. “We’ve missed you.”
“Is Daddy here?”
She shakes her head. “He had an op early this morning.”
“Okay. Can I sit?” I am so nervous; this is bordering on ridiculous.
She frowns. “Of course. Storm, you’re worrying me.”
“Sorry, it’s nothing to do with me, rather a ninety-year-old Mrs Johnson.” I park my rear on one of the white leather visitor's chairs as Mum sits down again, taking her glasses off and giving me a searching stare.
She blinks. “Who?”
Either she is good, or she has no idea who I’m talking about. I don’t know how to play this. She has a super poker face. Pity the same can’t be said for me. I know I’m hot, sweaty, and probably red in the face, about to splutter and choke on my words. Espionage is not for me. I’m just no good under pressure.
“Mrs Johnson,” I croak. “Fabulous lady, you’d know her if you had any idea who I was talking about.”
Mum purses her lips. “Start at the beginning, Storm. You’ve lost me.”
I cringe. I’d much rather she had some clue or spared me this agony. I scrunch my eyes up and blurt it out. “She left Robb & Robb, and Angela wants me to ask you if she came here.”
I’m greeted with a stony silence, which does nothing to reassure me that it’s safe to open my eyes.
Eight
Storm
I hearthe water feature bubbling away in the corner of the room—the soft music lulling me into a false sense of security.
“That hideous viper!”
My eyes fly open at my mum’s insult, reacting just in time to slap my hand over hers as she reaches for the telephone.
“Don’t ring her,” I beg.
“Oh, I’m going to do more than that,” she says, getting up and snatching up her bag.
“No! Mum, wait, she doesn’t know I’m here asking!” My panic spikes my blood, making it hot and painful in my veins.
She freezes, turning that hard gaze to me. “Meaning? You are here of your own free will?”
Wow. Okay, she isincensed.I’ve never seen her so angry before in my life. Not even when Daisy Marks tipped her juice bottle all over my head at lunch in Year 7. I’m terrified. My hands are shaking.
I quickly shake my head. “Sit, please.”
She is edging closer to the door, and I’m not comfortable with this level of anger, even if it’s not all directed at me.
She presses her lips together and sits, blinking at me to explain. “Yes, she wants to know, and she asked me to find out. She didn’t ask me to ask you outright. I did that on my own because I’mnotspying for her with you or anyone else. But especially you. She will make my life very difficult if I don’t do something.”
