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СКАЧАТЬ yes, that’s me – well, I’m afraid I’m going to be a little late,’ she said, her mobile pressed against one ear and a finger in the other. It could have been worse, at least there was a signal. ‘The train’s been delayed. No, nothing serious, fortunately. I am sorry about this, but I’ll be there as soon as I can. Yes, thank you, see you later.’

      As she hung up, Cass grimaced. ‘Doesn’t look very good if you’re late for an interview, does it? They sounded OK about it, but it’s not a great start. Maybe I should have driven.’ It struck her that she was thinking aloud and she quickly shut up.

      Not that the man seemed to mind. ‘People understand. I’m sure it’ll be fine.’ He glanced out of the window; across a stretch of open farmland, two burly men had caught a Collie and were busy bundling it into the back of a Land Rover. ‘At least you can ring in. I can’t ask them to hold the plane for me.’ He looked down at his watch. ‘It’s going to be cutting it fine if I’m going catch my connection.’

      Cass groaned, feeling anxious on his behalf. ‘I’m sorry. What time does it leave?’

      ‘There’s a ten-minute window. The trouble is I’m not sure what time the next train goes if I miss this one. Damn, damn –’

      Cass took a long hard look at her watch; not that it helped. She had no idea what time they would get there, or what time his train would leave.

      ‘We’re moving now. Maybe it’ll be OK. You never know, if your luck’s in, the Stansted train will be running late as well.’

      He laughed and offered her a mint humbug. ‘So tell me where else I should go.’

      At Cambridge he was up on his feet a long time before the train got into the station. ‘Wish me luck,’ he said, picking up his suitcase. And then, as an afterthought, added, ‘I could send you a postcard, if you like.’

      Cass laughed. ‘What?’

      ‘A postcard. As a thank you. You know, small square of cardboard, arrives back about a month after you do, badly tinted picture of the Coliseum on the front, Weather lousy, wish you were here on the back.’

      ‘Are you serious?’

      ‘Never more so,’ he said with a grin. ‘So how about it?’

      ‘How about what?’

      ‘Giving me your address. For the postcard – so I can let you know if I enjoyed your whistle-stop tour of Rome.’ Cass hesitated long enough for the man to add, ‘I promise you I’m not a stalker or an axe-wielding psychopath.’

      ‘And if you were you’d tell me, obviously.’

      He held up his hands in surrender. ‘Obviously. Goes without saying.’

      Cass considered for a second or two more, and then pulled the envelope containing the interview details out of her briefcase, emptied the contents and handed it to him.

      He slipped it into his pocket and smiled. ‘Grazie.’

      She giggled. It struck her as he hurried off down the train that she didn’t even know his name.

      ‘Have a great time in Rome,’ she called after him.

      He turned. ‘I’m sure I will, and best of luck with the interview. I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you. Ciao,’ he said, lifting a hand in salute, and then hurried down the aisle so that he was first at the doors. He was gone almost as soon as the open light flashed on.

      Cass was far slower, gathering her thoughts and her things together. Notes, mints…

      James Devlin, hurrying out towards the car park, felt pleased with himself. He’d set up a false trail, now he just needed to get into the city and pick up his car.

      ‘Excuse me?’ said a voice from behind Cass as she headed, embedded in the queue of travellers, down the aisle towards the doors.

      ‘Excuse me?’ said the voice again, more forcefully this time, followed by a hand tapping her sharply on the shoulder. Cass looked round in surprise.

      ‘Is this your phone?’ said a small plump woman. She held out a mobile towards her, so close it was almost in her face.

      Cass squinted, trying to focus. ‘No, I’m afraid not – I –’

      The woman waved it in the direction of the seat Cass had so recently left. ‘Only it was on the floor where you and your husband were sitting,’ the woman said.

      ‘My husband?

      The woman nodded. ‘Yes. It was under the seat. It must’ve fallen out of his bag or his pocket.’

      ‘Oh – oh thank you.’ Cass looked out on to the platform, trying to spot her travelling companion, but there was no sign of him. Nothing, zilch. He appeared to have vanished into thin air. Maybe he had managed to catch the Stansted train after all.

      The woman was still holding the phone out towards her and, without really thinking, Cass took it, thanked her again and dropped it into her handbag. She would ring him later, tell him that he’d lost it but that it was safe. Maybe it was fate; he was very cute. Cass reddened as the thought took hold and caught light. It felt so much better than the dull David-shaped hurt she’d had in her heart.

      Outside the station, with one eye on the time, Cass grabbed a taxi and headed out towards the science park instead of taking a bus as planned. In the back of the cab she ran through the menu on the man’s phone.

      She moseyed on down through names, numbers and text. In the phone book section she scrolled down until she found ‘HOME’ and pressed call. After three rings a BT callminder answering service cut in.

      ‘Hi,’ said Cass. ‘I just wanted to let you know that you left your phone on the train this morning. It must have dropped out of your bag or something. But don’t worry, I’ve got it and it’s safe, and –’ she laughed nervously – ‘it was nice to have your company. I hope your trip goes well…’ Cass hesitated. ‘I’m not normally so snappy. Things are a bit rough for me at the moment.’

      What the hell was she saying?

      ‘So, anyway, I hope you managed to catch your connection, and have a great time…’ Cass paused. He was nice; he had been kind and funny and – OK, so maybe she had fancied him just a little even if it wasn’t the right time and didn’t make any sense at all. ‘If you’d like to give me a ring when you get back, we can arrange for you to pick your phone up.’ Cass laughed again. ‘Who knows, maybe I can return the compliment and we can have an impromptu picnic on the train or something. Anyway, you know your phone number, although I’m a bit worried that the batteries on your mobile might go, so I’ll give you my home number and my mobile…’

      When she was done, Cass dropped the phone into her bag, paid the taxi driver and headed up the very impressive canopied shiny steel walkway into the huge glazed atrium of Caraway Industries, which appeared to be planted with a miniature rain forest.

      ‘Hi, and welcome to Caraway. So glad that you could make it,’ said an American guy coming out from behind the front desk to greet her. ‘You must be Cas-san-dra,’ he said, lingering lovingly over every syllable.

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