Zak took her arm. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I won’t take no for an answer.’ He flicked a look towards the boardroom. ‘I don’t know what’s been going on in there . . .’

But Lauren thought that he could more than likely give it a good guess.

‘Whatever it was,’ Zak continued unabashed, ‘it’s left you looking like you need a glass of wine.’

That was true. Despite trying to put on a brave face, for some reason, Lauren felt decidedly more shaken than she should.

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The restaurant in West Hampstead was calm and unusually quiet. The relaxing atmosphere and gentle hum of the chatter helped Lauren to stop thinking. Well, almost. This was a place that she and Jude often came to, but she decided not to share that information with her current companion. It was small, discreet and just down the road from his house and her flat. They always sat away from the window, in the far corner if possible and, if they were lucky enough to bag their favourite secluded spot, they held hands over the table.

This time they were seated front of house and Lauren could watch the people passing by on Broadhurst Gardens. As Jude wasn’t her entire focus, she could even take in the elegant white décor, the sparkling chandelier that hung in the centre of the room, the silvery flocked wallpaper, the artfully arranged vases and soothing paintings – all the things she hadn’t noticed before even though they’d been here dozens of times.

Zak ordered a bowl of pasta carbonara and a bottle of house red. She ordered a wild mushroom risotto and was now pushing it round her plate.

‘Don’t you ever eat, woman?’ Zak licked cream from his lips.

He had a good mouth, she thought. Strong. Honest. The thought brought tears to her eyes and she blinked them away. An honest mouth. Is that what Jude had? Or did her lover have a lying mouth?

‘You’re all skin and bone.’

‘I haven’t got much of an appetite, to be truthful.’ She picked up her glass and slugged back her wine. That was what was hitting the spot. Most of the time her stomach was so knotted with anxiety that it was impossible to eat, no matter how much she wanted the food.

‘You could do with more of this,’ Zak pointed at her food, ‘and less of that.’ The glass of wine.

‘Since when did you turn into my mother?’

‘Someone needs to look out for you,’ he said.

‘You said a glass of wine would do me good.’

‘A glass,’ he reiterated. ‘You’ve polished off a whole bottle.’

‘I’ll pay extra if that’s what you’re worried about.’

‘Of course it’s not.’ Zak sounded irritated.

Just to be awkward, she topped her glass up again.