last time arms like that were wrapped around me.
‘Sorry, what?’
He’s gesturing towards the wine. ‘I said help yourselves.’
I take a glass of water while Cassie opts for wine.
‘So, Mr Whitely,’ I start.
‘Please, call me Nick.’
‘OK, Nick, you’re probably wondering why I got in touch with you again after throwing you out so unceremoniously yesterday.’
Nick turns his blue eyes from his wine glass to meet mine. His gaze drifts over the rest of me briefly then returns to hold my own. ‘What I’m wondering, Susan . . . if I may?’ I nod in response and he continues. ‘Is what you wanted from me so badly that you were suddenly willing to talk to a member of the press.’
‘Is that why you’re here?’ I ask. ‘Curiosity? You already had my new identity, address, probably a few photos. So what are you getting out of this?’
‘I admit I was curious. I’m a journalist, so shoot me.’ A grin passes quickly across his face, then he turns to Cassie. ‘Not you.’
Cassie pulls her lips into a sarcastic smirk. I’m not sure Nick Whitely is joking.
‘I’d better get on with it then.’ I take out the article from my brown leather handbag and pass it over to him. He scans the sheet of paper and hands it back.
‘I’ve already read it,’ he informs me, his voice tinged with amusement. ‘In fact I think you’ll find I wrote it.’
‘Exactly,’ I reply, tense with the knowledge that I’m holding my trump card quite close to my chest. ‘I’m wondering what you can tell me about Dr Riley’s disappearance. I’ve searched and searched; according to Google he was never found.’
Nick faces me with an open look. ‘Your Google-fu is strong. Matthew Riley was never found. A lot of people think he got in with the wrong kind of people and had to disappear. Others say he committed suicide over bad debts, but the police never found any evidence of that or foul play. Everything we turned up suggested he was happily married, beautiful wife and two young girls. No note.’
‘What do you think?’
He shakes his head and is about to speak when an eager-looking waiter appears at the table with a pad and pen poised to scribble down our order. ‘Can I get you something to eat?’
I look at the others.
‘I’ll have a chicken salad,’ Cassie orders, ‘no dressing.’
Nick looks over at me.
‘Erm, I’ll take the penne al pollo with a side of chips and some garlic dough balls.’ What? I’m hungry.
Nick smiles. ‘Sounds good. I’ll have the same. I like a woman who knows how to eat. So what did you want to know about Matthew Riley?’ His silky smooth voice forces me back to the matter in hand.
‘What do you think happened? Why would someone with a good job and a loving family just disappear?’
‘People do things out of character all the time,’ he replies, taking a sip of his wine. Is he talking about me?
‘I suppose they do,’ I say carefully.
‘So I guess my question is why do you want to know about it?’
Cassie is nodding furiously at my bag and I guess this is the moment she wants me to show him what’s in there.
Reaching down, I pull out the photo and silently hand it to him. He takes it.
‘I received this, two days ago. It was posted through my front door while I was in my kitchen. There was no postmark on the envelope. And then you turn up.’
Nick looks at the photo, studying it for any sign of what conclusion he should draw from the little boy with the beautiful smile. I watch the expression on his face change from a slightly bemused frown to one of surprise, then comprehension as he turns the photograph over and reads the words scrawled on the back.
‘Do you see now what I’m getting at?’ I lean forward in my chair, unable to mask my excitement. I can’t explain why it is so important to me that this man believes my story. I hadn’t realised until this moment how much I want someone to say they think it means the same as I secretly do. That my son
‘Sorry, what?’
He’s gesturing towards the wine. ‘I said help yourselves.’
I take a glass of water while Cassie opts for wine.
‘So, Mr Whitely,’ I start.
‘Please, call me Nick.’
‘OK, Nick, you’re probably wondering why I got in touch with you again after throwing you out so unceremoniously yesterday.’
Nick turns his blue eyes from his wine glass to meet mine. His gaze drifts over the rest of me briefly then returns to hold my own. ‘What I’m wondering, Susan . . . if I may?’ I nod in response and he continues. ‘Is what you wanted from me so badly that you were suddenly willing to talk to a member of the press.’
‘Is that why you’re here?’ I ask. ‘Curiosity? You already had my new identity, address, probably a few photos. So what are you getting out of this?’
‘I admit I was curious. I’m a journalist, so shoot me.’ A grin passes quickly across his face, then he turns to Cassie. ‘Not you.’
Cassie pulls her lips into a sarcastic smirk. I’m not sure Nick Whitely is joking.
‘I’d better get on with it then.’ I take out the article from my brown leather handbag and pass it over to him. He scans the sheet of paper and hands it back.
‘I’ve already read it,’ he informs me, his voice tinged with amusement. ‘In fact I think you’ll find I wrote it.’
‘Exactly,’ I reply, tense with the knowledge that I’m holding my trump card quite close to my chest. ‘I’m wondering what you can tell me about Dr Riley’s disappearance. I’ve searched and searched; according to Google he was never found.’
Nick faces me with an open look. ‘Your Google-fu is strong. Matthew Riley was never found. A lot of people think he got in with the wrong kind of people and had to disappear. Others say he committed suicide over bad debts, but the police never found any evidence of that or foul play. Everything we turned up suggested he was happily married, beautiful wife and two young girls. No note.’
‘What do you think?’
He shakes his head and is about to speak when an eager-looking waiter appears at the table with a pad and pen poised to scribble down our order. ‘Can I get you something to eat?’
I look at the others.
‘I’ll have a chicken salad,’ Cassie orders, ‘no dressing.’
Nick looks over at me.
‘Erm, I’ll take the penne al pollo with a side of chips and some garlic dough balls.’ What? I’m hungry.
Nick smiles. ‘Sounds good. I’ll have the same. I like a woman who knows how to eat. So what did you want to know about Matthew Riley?’ His silky smooth voice forces me back to the matter in hand.
‘What do you think happened? Why would someone with a good job and a loving family just disappear?’
‘People do things out of character all the time,’ he replies, taking a sip of his wine. Is he talking about me?
‘I suppose they do,’ I say carefully.
‘So I guess my question is why do you want to know about it?’
Cassie is nodding furiously at my bag and I guess this is the moment she wants me to show him what’s in there.
Reaching down, I pull out the photo and silently hand it to him. He takes it.
‘I received this, two days ago. It was posted through my front door while I was in my kitchen. There was no postmark on the envelope. And then you turn up.’
Nick looks at the photo, studying it for any sign of what conclusion he should draw from the little boy with the beautiful smile. I watch the expression on his face change from a slightly bemused frown to one of surprise, then comprehension as he turns the photograph over and reads the words scrawled on the back.
‘Do you see now what I’m getting at?’ I lean forward in my chair, unable to mask my excitement. I can’t explain why it is so important to me that this man believes my story. I hadn’t realised until this moment how much I want someone to say they think it means the same as I secretly do. That my son
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