“Dr. King? Emma?”

Emma turned to see who had called her and saw Barney Fraser, Toby Weston’s friend.

“I thought it was you. How are you?”

He was looking different. She couldn’t think why, then realised he was in his city togs: sharp suit (although the jacket was slung over his shoulder), formal shirt (pink check, really suited him), tie even (although hanging loose round his neck).

“Good.”

“I’m on my way to the café, get a shot of caffeine before I go back to town. You?”

“I’m in search of caffeine, too.”

“OK… we could go together.”

He smiled at her. God, he had a wonderful smile. God, he was so gorgeous… Stop it, Emma. He’s taken. And so are you… now.

“OK. Mustn’t be long, though.”

They went into the café; she grabbed a Diet Coke, and then joined him at the coffee counter, ordered an Americano.

“Snap. Same as me. I actually wanted a double espresso, but they’re not great at coffee-speak here. Can you sit down for five minutes? Or do you have to rush back?”

“Well, five minutes.”

“Cool.”

“So, have you been visiting Toby?”

“Yes, I have.”

“Driven all the way down from London?”

“No, I came on the train. I’m about to call a cab; there’s a notice about them in the main reception. How’s the service this time of night?”

“Not bad. Not great. How… how is Toby?”

She knew he wasn’t very well; she’d talked to Mark Collins about him the day before. He had been running recurrent fevers from Sunday night, and complaining of feeling generally unwell. Today he even seemed confused.

“It points to infection, I’m afraid,” Mark had said. “We’ve upped the antibiotics and we’re going to take him to the theatre tomorrow and do a washout. And the end of this road-the bad end, anyway-well, you know what it is as well as I do.”

Amputation, Emma thought, wincing: what a terrifying prospect for a bloke of thirty. She hoped Barney didn’t realise that, at least.

“How is he?” she said again. As if she didn’t know.

“Not great. They did some washout thing today.”

“Well,” she said carefully, “that should do some good…”

“And if it doesn’t, he’ll lose the leg, right?”

She was shocked.

“Nobody here told you that, did they?”

“No, no, I rang a mate who’s a medic.”

“Oh. Oh, I see. Well, without knowing Toby’s case-”

“Emma, it’s OK. I’ve taken it on board. It’s hideous, but-”

“But it really would be a last resort. And I’m sure-well, I hope-he’s miles from that. I… I hope you haven’t told his parents this.”

“No, of course I haven’t. I’m not a total retard.”

“Sorry. It’s just… well, we have to be so careful about that sort of thing.”

“I’m sure. No, it’s fine; I haven’t told anyone. Except Amanda, that is.”

Amanda. The preppy, perfect girlfriend. Correction, the preppy, perfect fiancée.

“How did Toby seem in himself?”

“Oh, bit out of it, actually. When… when will they know if it’s worked?”

“Oh, not for several more days. Um… what about his fiancée; has she been down much?”

“I’m not sure. She’s still at home with her parents, getting over her cancelled wedding.”

His voice sounded bitter; Emma looked at him sharply. He interpreted the look, said, “Sorry, shouldn’t have said that.”

“You can say what you like to me, Barney. But… well, it must be pretty awful for her, worrying about Toby, and she wouldn’t be human if she wasn’t upset about the wedding…”

“Of course.”

“What do you all do?” she said with a glance at her watch.

“Oh, Tobes and I are those wicked banker people. You know, earn as much as the budget of a small country. If you believe the press, that is.”

“And Amanda, what does she do?”

“She’s in HR. In the same bank as Tobes. And Tamara, she’s on the French desk at my firm. Yeah, so it’s all a bit incestuous, really. Tamara is seriously cool. You should see their apartment-talk about retro.”

“I probably wouldn’t appreciate it,” said Emma, laughing. “I’m still at the furnished-flat stage myself.”

“Yeah? How long will you be here, do you think? Moving on, up to London or whatever?”

“I have no idea where I’ll be. But I want, eventually, to go into obstetrics. At the moment I’m just a general surgeon. Doing my four months’ stint down here, in A and E, which I do love.”

“You’re a surgeon? You mean you actually… well-”

“Cut people up? Yes, I do.” She laughed. “Don’t look so horrified.”

“Not horrified. Just seriously impressed. I mean, you don’t look old enough-well, hardly-to be a doctor at all, and-”

“Oh, don’t,” she said. “If I had a pound for every time I’m told that… I think I’ll put it on my tombstone: ‘She didn’t look old enough…’ Barney, I really must go. It’s been lovely talking to you, but God knows what’s happening down there.” She nodded in the direction of A &E. “Look, I’ll pop up and see Toby tomorrow. If you think he’d like that.”

“Emma, anyone out of short trousers would like being visited by you. Actually, even if they were in short trousers. Thank you so much. And for your time. Really cheered me up.”

“It was a pleasure. Honestly.”

She held out her hand; he took it, then rather hesitantly bent down and kissed her cheek.

“Pleasure for me too. Honestly. Thank you again. For all your help, not just this evening.”

And then he was gone, hurrying out of the café, pulling on his jacket.

Emma walked rather slowly back to A &E, then sat down at the doctor’s station and said, “Shit.”

And Barney, settling into the corner of a cab, on his way to the station, said, “Fuck.”

For much the same reason.

CHAPTER 22

It had gone pretty well, Abi thought. They’d questioned her closely, but she hadn’t let them rattle her.

She’d been pretty stressed by a panicky phone call from Jonathan very early that morning, telling her more things that she must and must not say. Like the time they left the conference in Birmingham-that she must be vague, say between eleven thirty and twelve, that they’d been held up at the service station, and-change of information-he had now told them Laura had called his mobile at four. “Well, she told them, actually. But she said she only heard me saying hello and then it all went blank. Just say it rang and I answered it and hurled it on the floor when the lorry started to swerve. It might not even come up. Did you switch the phone off, incidentally? I didn’t, and-”

“Yes, I did.”

“Fine. Well, I think that’s everything. Bye, then.”

She didn’t answer. She felt very bleak suddenly, bleak and alone. He hadn’t even said “good luck.” Bastard. God, how she hated him.

Anyway, she’d said what he’d told her: about their relationship, about her car not starting so she’d gone by train to the conference, and then all the stuff about the accident-a relief to be able to relax and just speak the truth for a bit-and then she’d told them how marvellous Jonathan had been afterwards. Which had been true as well.

She said they’d hardly spoken since then, just that she’d reassured him that she was safely home…

She was actually quite pleased with herself, felt high with relief. And at least it was over. The very worst was over…

And now she had her evening with William to look forward to…

“Well, what did you think of that, then?” Freeman closed his notebook, filed Abi’s statement carefully, and turned to Constable Rowe.

“Oh, she seemed rather nice,” said Rowe. “Very, very sexy.”

“Indeed. Any man would be tempted by her. Even a man with a beautiful wife… You didn’t think her story was in any way suspicious?”

“No. It tallied exactly with Dr. Gilliatt’s.”