‘Anything it would help to talk through? I’m not in a hurry.’

I clenched my hand into a fist under the desk. ‘No. I’m heading off in a moment.’ To my annoyance, I heard a wobble in my voice.

He clearly heard it too and pounced on the vulnerability. ‘Have you got time for a drink? You could talk windows and I could run some fibre cement façades past you.’ His expression was warm as he again held up the plastic wallet and I wondered exactly how hard I’d have to hit him with my bag to knock a couple of teeth out.

‘I’m going out tonight,’ I said, making no attempt to sound regretful.

‘Me too. I just meant for a quick—’

‘I don’t want to go out for a drink with you,’ I said firmly, this time with no hint of a wobble. ‘Not because I’m unavailable, but because I don’t want to go out for a drink with you. I should have been clearer about that, so that there was no misunderstanding.’

He looked at me, clearly and satisfyingly taken aback. ‘Right. Well, thanks for clarifying that,’ he said, with just a hint of the East End; his version, I thought, of a wobble. We were even.

I stared him out for just a moment longer and then picked up my pencil, pulled the pad towards me and began to draw again. I didn’t see him go and I didn’t look up until I heard the lift doors open and close and I was certain that he had left the building.

Chapter 11

After spending the thirty-minute bus ride home lost in miserable analysis of my conversation with Luke – and reaching the unavoidable conclusion that he was, at best, a pathetic appeaser and, at worst, a sexist, morally bankrupt co-conspirator – I didn’t at all feel in the mood for a chatty get-together with the neighbours. Giles, of course, was typically understanding; acknowledging my distress, handing me a large glass of wine and reassuring me that, in the circumstances, it would be perfectly acceptable for me to skip June’s party, if that’s what I wanted to do.