Page 17 of Out of the Shadows
DANIEL
“Darling.”
Geraldine sweeps down and plants a light kiss on my cheek, enveloping me in a cloud of delicate floral perfume. The back of my nose twitches but I fight back the sneeze.
“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting for too long? I’ve been on a video call that went on for so long I’m sure it broke every human rights and health and safety law in the book.”
She settles down into the seat opposite me. Her navy trousers and long white linen blouse are only marginally less severe than her structured work suits yet somehow they seem to enhance her classic beauty.
“No, I’ve only just got here. Working on a Sunday?” We share a smile. Of course she works on a Sunday, and it’s what I’ve spent the day doing myself.
“You changed your hair. I like it.”
Geraldine smiles. “Thank you, you always did notice these things.” She flicks her head as though she’s in a shampoo commercial, but it’s short and choppy so there’s nothing to flick, and we both laugh.
I pour her a glass of white wine from the bottle that’s been sitting in the ice bucket. She takes a sip and closes her eyes and sighs with satisfaction. It’s been two or three weeks since I last saw her and I’ve missed her company. Geraldine may no longer be my wife-to-be, but first and foremost she has always been my closest friend. Our decision to part has not affected that and as she opens her eyes and meets mine, and her lips lift in a warm smile, I’m so very glad about that. We chat for a while mainly about her work in general terms — she’s too much the professional to talk about the latest court case she’s taken on — before she asks me about mine.
“So are you knocking them all into shape? I would expect nothing less of you.”
“They’re a pretty sound bunch and most of them will be an asset to the business going forward. There are one or two who will have to seriously up their game, otherwise we’ll be having difficult conversations. Or difficult for them.”
“Never easy. But didn’t you mention, when we spoke on the phone, there’s somebody there who used to work for you? Somebody who made some kind of blunder? Will they be in receipt of a difficult conversation?”
I take a sip of my wine before answering. For some reason I feel slightly self-conscious talking to Geraldine about Cosmo Stern.
“Yes and no. The young grad who worked for me briefly, when I had my own business. Yes, he of the massive blunder. I was taken aback to see him again.” I frown at the understatement. “He’s got attitude, too much of the stuff, but he’s also got promise. He’s not one of those who’s got a question mark over his head. At least not yet.”
“I’m sure you’ll do the right thing.”
I shrug but don’t answer, because I’m really unsure as to what the right thing is when it comes to Cosmo. Taking another sip of my drink, I look around, and my gaze settles on a guy at the bar. He’s on the shorter side, and with his thick dark hair, there’s a fleeting resemblance to Cosmo. And it rushes in, unstoppable as a wave. My arm circling his waist, pulling him back and plastering him to me.
“Daniel?”
Geraldine’s voice calls me back.
“Sorry, I was just thinking about something.”
“Nice thoughts, I hope, because you were miles away. I said, let’s eat. I’m famished.”
Geraldine and I have very different views about what it is to be famished and what it is to eat. She waves a hand and a young barman seems to appear out of nowhere. She orders exactly what I know she will: a bowl of olives and some fancy bread. For a moment I’d imagined her suggesting we go off for a curry. I’ll just have to get myself something proper to eat when I get home.
“So,” Geraldine says, a few minutes later, in between picking delicately at the olives and bread, “are you seeing anybody?”
It’s the question I knew would come, and the question I’ve been dreading. I take too long to answer.
“Your silence says it all. If I know you, you’re mouldering away in that house of yours with nobody to talk to other than your rag tag cat, or you’re working all the hours god sends.”
“You’re a fine one to talk, If there’s twenty-four hours in the day, you manage to work twenty-six. And Wallace isn’t a rag tag cat.”
It’s my stock answer to her comment about Wallace, but she’s not too far from the truth. Blind in one eye, ears that are little more than mangled stumps, and more than one bald patch, he turns heads but not in a good way. I can’t be cross with Geraldine, because as much as she always seemed to disapprove of Wallace, there was always a treat for him in the bottom of one of her many suitcase sized handbags she’s never without.
A small frown wrinkles her otherwise smooth forehead. We’re perilously close to drifting into the choppy waters of our failed relationship, and neither of us wants to do that. We’ve moved on, something we’ve both agreed. Our gruelling work schedules were instrumental in pushing us apart, but that wasn’t the only reason. There was more, some of it acknowledged, but most of it not, and neither of us had the courage to face up to what it may have been.
“I’m sorry, darling. I was always hectoring you about something or another and it seems I’m doing it still.”
I take one of her small, fine-boned hands in mine, and give it a gentle squeeze.
“You never did those things.”
