Page 84 of The Dead Ex
I click. This is exactly the expression I’ve been looking for.
‘Let me see that,’ he demands.
‘My tutor says it’s not always a good idea –’
‘To hell with your tutor.’
He holds out his hand formy camera. I have a distinct feeling that if I don’t give it to him, he will snatch it from me.
‘You need to press this button,’ I explain. ‘Then you can go through the frames.’
We are standing so close that I can smell him. It’s a combination of lemon and something stronger. An intriguing mixture, rather like the tweed jacket and the jeans he’s wearing along with the formal shiny brogues.
His hands brush mine. It feels deliberate on his part.
‘You’re good for someone so young,’ he says slowly. ‘We might actually consider using these for our next brochure.’
‘You’d be welcome to buy them from me. They’d look good on your blank office walls.’
He shoots me another look. I am about to apologize and say that of course I will allow him to use them free of charge. But he gets in first.
‘Ambitious, aren’t you?’
‘What’s wrong with that?’
Something happens then. It’s hard to describe. But there is a definite reaction there. Nothing visible. Nothing audible. The kind that only someone like me, who has had to learn to read others, might notice.
‘Actually,’ he says, rubbing his chin. It’s as if he has an itch and is massaging it into submission. ‘I’d like to know more about you,Helen. May I take you out for dinner tonight?’
‘No thanks.’
But inside I am jumping up and down with excitement. Isn’t this just what I wanted?
‘Is that it?’ He puts his head to one side, as if flirting. ‘Aren’t you even going to give me an excuse, like a previous engagement or washing your hair?’
‘No.’ I pick up my camera.
‘You don’t care for my company.’
‘That’s not true either.’ I glanceat the picture of the daughter. ‘I … it just doesn’t feel very professional.’
‘Then take it as part of your induction, if you like. I’ll meet you here in the foyer at, say, seven. OK?’
‘We’ll see.’
I am twenty minutes late on purpose.Treat them mean. Keep them keen. It’s a piece of advice I was given years ago.
And it’s worth it. David looks relieved to see me even though there is a touchof annoyance there too.
‘Sorry,’ I say smoothly. ‘I decided I’d go home to change.’
David takes in my short black skirt and boxy denim jacket. I sense his approval.
‘Where do you live?’
‘Deptford.’
He does one of those sideways nods as if recognizing it’s what politicians might call ‘an area of diversification’ but doesn’t say anything.
