“Sure. Fine.”
As Spencer sat there, watching Marshall turn away to make his calls, he felt an almost voyeuristic discomfort, seeing Marshall cradling his ex in his arms. Suddenly ashamed at his behaviour, he began to look away. Until he noticed the two of them start moving out of the door. Once again, he peered up just in time to see Joe lift his head from Marshall’s shoulder, and aim his gaze directly at Spencer.
And smile.
Chapter Thirteen
Over the following weekend, Spencer received a couple of apologetic texts from Marshall and a heads-up that he would be busy with work the whole week, but nothing more substantial. The notion that Marshall’s ex—he couldn’t bring himself to say his name now—had been using him would not go away. Every time he thought back to that night, he remembered the calculated smile the ex had thrown Spencer’s way, the gloating expression that meant ‘I win and you lose’.
The kind of smug smile a person gives you when they manage to snag the last seat on the train home when you feel ready to drop from an exhausting day at work. Or when the person in front of you in the coffee queue, one you’ve been waiting in for ages, invites their friends to join them, then turns to smile at you without offering a word of apology. That horrible quirk of human nature that some relish, of getting one over on someone else.
Maybe he should have been angrier, but he felt for Marshall and understood why he would desire to deal with things on his own. Not only did they have history, but Marshall knew the family and would want them involved if his ex had, as Spencer suspected, been high on drugs that night.
Even understanding all of that, he still moped around the flat all weekend, trying to take his mind off things by immersing himself in mundane housework, rattling around the place like a melancholy ghost haunting the four walls. Even getting a hard copy of theSundayChronicleand reading the excellent articleby Littlejohn three times about the life and times of Marshall Highlander, the real man, had only succeeded in making him feel lonelier. Above all else, he wanted to have the man there to talk with, to kiss and cuddle and soothe.
With very few people coming to the office all the next week, and still no phone call from Marshall, Spencer buried himself in his work. He tried to call Marshall a couple of times, but on each occasion the call had gone to voicemail. Finally, his injured pride and insecurities had taken over, telling him that he had every right to be angry, telling him they were over before they had begun. Marshall had decided to get back with his ex, however much Spencer hated the thought.
Friday morning, when Spencer stepped out of the lift into the overheated office foyer trying to cheer himself up dressed in a frivolous Friday combination of a hot-pink shirt, floral bow tie, and cobalt blue suit, finished off by a black mask and belt, young Kimberley’s eyes smiled with approval from above her pale yellow mask. Instead of nodding and heading straight into the office, he had made a conscious habit during the week of making conversation. She was a sweet girl, harmless and a little naïve, and each day that week he had learnt a little more about her life. On Thursday she had insisted on him calling her Kim, not Kimberley. Twenty-four, engaged, and living in a small flat with a guy called Grant who swore too much and played football on Sundays but otherwise adored her.
“Morning, Kim. Anything special happening this weekend?”
“Nothing planned. Probably stuck indoors, binge-watching cable television series. The odd thing is that last year we’d have probably done the same thing, what with this awful weather. But it’s the fact we’re told to stay in that makes me want to rip off my mask and run out into the streets naked.”
Spencer stopped, shocked, letting out a guffaw.
“I’d probably clear that with Grant before you do. And please, no streaking in the office, at least not during office hours.”
Kim placed an unnecessary hand over her mask and giggled.
“Nobody would notice, anyway,” she said. “There’s barely anyone in today.”
“Is Muriel coming in?”
Muriel had been locked in her office all week but had flitted in and out from time to time without talking to anyone. Even though she’d agreed to go ahead with the idea, she’d mentioned nothing about the interview with Marshall at the Monday meeting and he wondered if she was having second thoughts. For the first time, the Monday morning War Council had been conducted virtually, with even Spencer dialling in from his office desktop computer. Beverley had been nowhere to be seen all week, and he had missed catching up with her, but they still kept in touch by text messaging. He had yet to tell her about his disastrous night out with Marshall.
“Muriel’s not going to be in today or all next week. She phoned and said she’s going to be working out of her place on the Embankment.”
“Thank heavens. In which case, if you do decide to strip off today, let me know and I might join you.”
Once again, Kim snickered.
“Beverley’s here, though.”
“She is? Excellent. Haven’t seen her all week.”
Spencer’s mood instantly brightened. Texts were fine, but he could do with a dose of Bev in the flesh. As he was about to go, Kimberley lifted a pink Post-It note and read the message.
“Oh, and Blake phoned to say he’ll be here mid-morning. Said he needs to talk to you.”
And just like that, Spencer’s mood deflated.
“Did he say what about?”
“No.”
“Okay, well. He knows where to find me.”
Spencer got straight down to work. Every evening before he headed home, he left himself a list of prioritised tasks for the next day, usually putting the one he knew he’d have to spend most time completing on the top. One of the things he had always found satisfying was in breaking down huge tasks into smaller ones, listing them down, then crossing items out as he completed them. Doing so, he felt a sense of accomplishment at the day’s end, even if some essential tasks had not been fully completed. Prince had tried to get him to use an electronic to-do list—to save paper—but his manual system had always worked fine.
