‘Don’t know.’ Daniel started to dry himself with one of the plush towels that Mrs Moore changed three times a week regardless of whether or not anyone had used them.
‘But didn’t you see them yesterday?’
‘They work,’ he said flippantly, disappearing round the side of a carved wooden screen. ‘Already out there changing the world.’
‘In insurance? And I’m aware they work. I was talking about the evenings. Where have you been then, the last couple of nights, if not with the boys?’
There was a silence from behind the screen, and Laura didn’t see that Daniel was smiling, a secret smile of reflection. He’d meant to keep it to himself for a bit longer, but suddenly felt the urge to tell someone. Little by little he would let out some, not all, of the details, enjoying reliving them as he did so.
‘Hey!’ he said, as Laura poked her head round.
She stood, arms crossed, waiting for him to answer her question. ‘You’re perfectly decent.’ She watched fondly as he pulled on shorts and a T-shirt, proud that her genes had produced such a good-looking young man. Of course, Howard had had a part in it, but their son took after his mother in looks. Same height, same thick wavy blond hair and strong bone structure. Instead of giving her the answer he knew she wanted, he smiled cheekily as he made his way to the lift.
She took a sharp intake of breath. ‘Don’t you push that button.’
‘Are you coming?’
Laura followed him into the lift and pretend-pinched his earlobe. ‘I’m going to get it out of you.’
The lift started to rise. ‘Ow! Can I take you for brunch?’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘It requires an announcement?’
The doors opened and he took her hand and led her out and through the hall into the expansive oak and granite kitchen diner. ‘Just want to treat my mum.’
‘You old charmer. But before we go, give me a clue. I can’t stand the anticipation.’ She stood firm.
He poured himself a voluminous glass of juice from the larder fridge. ‘I’ve been looking for an apartment. You know, for when I start the Foundation Programme.’
She sighed. ‘You’re sure I can’t persuade you to move back home?’
‘Ah, Mum . . . Apart from the holidays, and not all of those, I haven’t lived at home for five years.’ It wasn’t that Daniel led a louche social life; he just enjoyed his privacy as any twenty-three-year-old male would and didn’t want to spend the next two years living under his childhood roof, basement pool or not.
‘OK, OK. So, apartment-hunting. At night?’
He grinned. ‘Just keeping the agent on side.’
It took a moment and then it clicked. ‘A girl?’
‘She’s very thorough. Knows exactly what I like.’
‘A girl!’
‘You say it like I’ve never dated before.’
‘But this one’s special,’ she said decisively.
‘How do you know?’
‘Well, you’ve seen her the last two nights, haven’t you?’
‘Yes . . .’
‘And only just met! Come on, spill. What’s her name?’
He was amused by her enthusiasm. ‘Cherry.’
‘A fruit! Short season, select.’
‘What?’
‘Exotic?’
‘She’s got dark hair . . .’ He held up a palm, shook his head. ‘I can’t believe I’m saying this.’
Laura clutched his hand. ‘No, don’t stop, really. I want to hear all about her. Where’s she from?’
‘Tooting.’
‘She is exotic! Sorry! I was joking. I’ll be serious now.’ Laura kissed his hand contritely. ‘How old is she?’
‘Twenty-four.’
‘And she’s an estate agent?’
‘Yes. Well, she’s training at the moment. She’s only recently started.’
‘And she works here in Kensington?’
‘She wanted to sell nice houses.’ He heaved himself up onto the work surface. ‘She learned about the area by pretending to be moving here. Went to see twenty-seven flats with other agencies before going for the job. Found she could talk about the properties and the likely clientele with aplomb.’ He laughed. ‘That’s what I call enterprise. And then . . . quite audaciously, made up a CV. Or at least embellished it. Made herself sound like the “right kind of girl”.’
Laura smiled, although she was a little taken aback by Cherry’s behaviour. Which was silly, as she had nothing to do with her work and wasn’t her employer. She tapped Daniel’s knee with the back of her hand. ‘Come on, I thought you were taking me out.’
He jumped down and held out a crooked elbow. ‘It will be my pleasure.’ He wanted to treat his mum, look after her, be the son that he knew she, somewhat embarrassingly, liked to show off. They’d sit in the brasserie and she’d bask in their mutual good humour, and he knew he’d enjoy himself too. He always made time for them to be together, especially as ever since he could remember, he’d been aware that the relationship between his parents had little warmth. There wasn’t even much in the way of companionship: his father was rarely around, as his job, as partner at a large accountancy firm, kept him fully occupied, and Daniel wanted to make up for some of the loneliness that he knew his mum felt. It had been a while since he’d seen her, which added to the guilt, the prickly discomfort of another secret. He hadn’t yet told her he was cutting their day short. He was seeing Cherry again tonight.
TWO
Two days earlier – Thursday 5 June
Maybe having the best of everything when he was a child meant that he never yearned for anything. At least, nothing that money could buy. Daniel had been bought a superb education and was clever, a fortunate combination that meant he liked school and school liked him. He’d shown a particular aptitude for science, which had delighted his parents and tutors, particularly when he’d been invited to study medicine at Cambridge. To complement his academic cultivation, he’d had the holidays that were considered necessary; he’d learned to ski, dive and appraise the world. He’d done all of this with an enjoyment and interest that had reassured and pleased his parents, and despite being lavished with everything a boy could want, he had somehow managed to remain unspoilt. His response to the Great Wall of China was one of genuine wonder, and he was grateful for the comfort of the first-class flight home, but when he’d arrived at Heathrow, he’d jumped on the Tube rather than call his father’s driver to come and pick him up. His laid-back attitude extended to clothes and he grew perversely attached to items that had long since passed their best. Once, he’d retrieved a pair of pants from the bin that Mrs Moore had thrown out on one of his trips home from university. He’d then hidden them, holes and all, in the side pocket of his holdall. Those pants were old friends and he would not be parted from them.
And so it was that he set foot in an estate agency on one of the most expensive roads in London, and that represented some of the most exclusive properties, dressed in a faded T-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts with holes where the seams met at the pockets.
‘I need a flat,’ he said, smiling at the hesitant girl who politely approached him as he came in the door.