Keen to put as much distance as possible between them, Bloom walked swiftly down the escalator, glancing briefly back at the man behind her, who was sharing a smile and a few polite words with the ticket inspector. The inspector was standing straighter. He probably wasn’t even aware of it. Most people unconsciously adjusted their behaviour in the presence of people they perceived as being more successful or powerful. And functional psychopaths had the uncanny ability to be both charming and intimidating at the same time, a combination that provided fertile ground for manipulation.

At the bottom of the escalator, Bloom walked to the Granary Wharf exit. She could see the entrance to the Hilton Hotel straight ahead and, housed in its ground floor, The Lock, where Jameson and Sarah were waiting. She broke into a jog. The elderly gentleman didn’t look like the running type. As she ran out of the building and into the pedestrian area surrounding the fenced canal dock, a familiar face stepped into her path. She came to a swift halt. She heard footsteps behind her. ‘Dr Bloom,’ said Stuart Rose-Butler as he reached for her left bicep, ‘perhaps you’d be kind enough to come with us.’ The elderly gentleman took her right bicep, and she knew she had no choice but to do what they asked.

64

Jameson drained his pint and checked his watch. Augusta should be here by now. He scanned the large windows at the front and left side of the bar. There was only a handful of people heading home from work. Dusk had settled and they were all hunched over to keep out the chill.

‘She’ll be here,’ said Sarah, folding slender fingers around the stem of her wine glass.

He’d told her the whole story – from Lana receiving the invitation, to his and Bloom’s challenges.

‘I feel rude for not having thanked you for coming to my rescue,’ said Sarah.

‘Of course I was going to come to your rescue,’ he said.

‘You’ve only known me a couple of weeks.’

‘Sixteen days, but who’s counting?’

Sarah sipped her drink, but he could see her smile behind the glass. ‘You really think that’s long enough to fall in love?’

Jameson smirked. He knew it was, but he was still a long way from being able to admit it. ‘I wouldn’t say fall in love, exactly.’

‘They call it limerence, you know. The inability to concentrate, the increased heart rate, the acute longing for another person.’

‘Limerence?’ he repeated.

Sarah held his gaze. ‘It’s not love, but people mistake it for love. I’m not saying that’s what you are doing …’ She reached for his hand.

‘I’m glad to hear it.’ He rose from his seat, feeling more than a little awkward. ‘Time for another drink.’