Michael
Charlotte and I wait together in the reception.
“They’re still in the meeting,” says the secretary. “But do take a seat. Help yourselves to refreshments.” She waves us across to a waiting area, with coffee machine, biscuits and a heap of glossy magazines.
I pour two coffees, then taking a seat, I drink mine, flipping through a magazine. Charlotte wanders off, examining something at the other side of the room.
James and a stranger, Haswell I presume, are visible in the next office through a large internal window.
The stranger glances up at us, then double-takes back to Charlotte. His eyes widen before, seeing me watching, he looks away. James glances up and, seeing us, taps his watch then holds up five fingers.
Charlotte is paying rapt attention to some kind of model in a case. She circles the display, chewing on her lower lip, her expression strange, almost predatory.
“Is this the big project they’re working on?” she asks the receptionist.