‘No, it’s clear that you’re very good at that. I want to know why you’re so committed to what’s essentially a free piece of software. Why you’re devoting so much time to something that’s not going to bring you any financial rewards.’
She had a well-rehearsed answer for that. ‘As you’ll have seen from my personal CV, I was the director and co-owner of a very successful software company. Two years ago, when I sold up, I had the choice of going somewhere sunny and sipping cocktails or doing something that I love and giving a little back at the same time.’
‘You don’t like cocktails? Or sunshine?’ He looked almost affronted at the thought.
‘I like them both, actually. When I’m on holiday.’
His heavy-lidded eyes were probing, looking for the real answer. There was no judgement there, no expectation. He gave you the feeling that he could accept and understand pretty much anything, as long as it was the truth.
‘I...’ She took a breath. ‘I’m doing what I do best in an effort to help a cause that I feel very strongly about. I have...personal reasons.’
His gaze held hers for a moment and then released her. A strange, almost dizzy feeling that she was about to slide from her chair onto the floor, and then he nodded. ‘Yeah. I can understand that.’
* * *
David had seen her off the premises with a promise to call with their decision. When he walked back into his office he was shaking his head, smiling.
‘Well, that was a turn-up for the books.’
‘I thought you said that Sam Lockyear was a man.’ She was all woman. From the crown of her immaculately coiffed head to... Euan decided he’d already given far too much head room to the thought of her perfectly manicured toes.
‘I thought she was. Easy enough mistake to make, I suppose, with the name, but you’ve seen her emails. None of the women I know write emails like that.’
Euan saw David’s point. Concise, almost to the point of being brusque, and devoid of anything that might be construed as a pleasantry, Sam’s emails had given no hint of the delights that meeting her in person had brought. ‘So what do you think?’
David snorted with laughter, flopping down into his chair. ‘Don’t pass the buck. What do you think? It’s you she’s going to be shadowing for two weeks, not me.’
‘I don’t think she’s given us much choice. The program’s great, and the offer she’s made is too good to pass up. I’m not sure how she’s going to fit in at the clinic, but we can deal with that one when we come to it.’
David nodded thoughtfully. ‘What do you suppose the “personal reasons” are?’
‘Does it matter?’ Euan had been wondering about that too.
‘You tell me.’
Euan’s own personal reasons were a matter of record. In any other line of work his ex-wife’s addiction, and the marriage that had been smashed by drugs, would have been no one’s business but his own. But he demanded honesty from those around him, and could give no less himself.
‘She’s not directly involved with our work, she’s just going to be observing. All we need to know is that the software’s going to work for us.’
‘You’re beginning to sound convinced about this.’
‘I’m open to changing my view. As always.’ Euan rose from his chair, checked his wallet and found it empty. ‘Will you call her? I’ve got to go to the bank and get some cash. And pick up something else to eat.’
‘So your best advice is to go with the flow, eh? Feel our way...’
Perhaps not anything as tactile as that. ‘If she’s willing to spend two weeks with us to find out more about what we do, I’ll do my best to...accommodate her.’
Euan batted at the ball of crumpled paper David had tossed at his head, smirking as it dropped neatly into the bin. He’d deal with the mysteries of jemmying the more intangible aspects of his work into computerised classifications when he came to it. Two small sandwiches for lunch wasn’t enough and he was still hungry.
* * *
It appeared that Sam Lockyear wasn’t going to be relegated to the bottom of his list of priorities without a struggle. Although the bank was in the other direction, a brisk walk along the promenade wasn’t much of a detour, and it was Euan’s preferred route, particularly when his head was still full of the dim echoes of last night.
If he hadn’t stopped to lean against the thick stone wall between pavement and beach for a few moments and stare out to sea, he wouldn’t have seen her. A hundred yards further along the seafront she would have been lost in the crowd if it hadn’t been for the bright flash of her red jacket, draped over the back of her chair. She sat at a table at one of the open-air cafés that sprang up at the edge of the beach in summer, bare legs stretched out in the sun, her silky blouse open at the neck and shivering against her shoulders in the breeze.
Euan wondered whether she wanted some company, and decided that he didn’t. Which didn’t mean he couldn’t watch her for a few more moments. Her head jerked suddenly and she reached for her bag, checking the display on her phone before answering it.
It was probably David. Euan wondered what his partner’s reaction would have been if he could have seen the way she absently pulled the clips from her hair as she talked, shaking her head slightly to let the breeze style it around her shoulders in a mass of shining, dark strands.
She was looking at her phone now, as if she was checking back on the conversation she’d just had. Then, laying it on the table beside her, she punched the air in a motion that shouted of both joy and accomplishment.
Euan found himself smiling as he watched her jump to her feet, clearly apologising to a waiter, who she’d almost caught with her flailing arm. A laughing exchange and she accepted a coffee cup from him then pointed to the menu.
It was impossible not to wait and watch her sit down, hug herself and take a few sips from her cup. When the waiter returned, Euan smiled. An ice-cream sundae, which looked as if she’d ordered all the trimmings with it, and which she received with obvious joy and tucked into straight away.
Maybe she’d fit in at the clinic a little better than he’d thought. He turned away from the sea, heading for the bank by the more direct route, turning that thought over gently in his mind.
HIS SECOND IMPRESSION of Sam was just as baffling as the first. Euan had hardly recognised her when she banged on the door of the Driftwood Initiative’s offices at eight-thirty the following Saturday morning. The weak sunshine was diluted by clouds, but in what looked like overkill her eyes were shaded by both sunglasses and the peak of a cap. If she’d turned up at the clinic looking like that, he might have wondered what they concealed.
She nodded a hello, took the hat off and stuffed it into the pocket of her cargo pants. Without high heels, her face clean of make-up and her hair caught in a plait that snaked over her shoulder and tangled with the strap of her courier bag, she seemed younger, more fragile. Her green leather jacket wasn’t too battered, but it wasn’t too new either, and scuffed on one shoulder, as if she’d been in the habit of leaning in doorways.
‘I hope I’m not too early.’
The remark might have been construed as condescending, given that she’d travelled down from London this morning and Euan lived ten minutes’ walk away. There was nothing in her face that betrayed anything other than a straightforward question, but Euan still couldn’t see her eyes.
‘No.’