‘I need to get back but wanted to say thanks for all the hard work. The last six months have been among the best we’ve ever had at the gallery.’

Roger extended his hand and we said our goodbyes, a respectable distance between boss and employees safely re-established.

We watched as he left the restaurant, collar turned up high against the cold air that would hit him out on the street. We didn’t realise then that this was the last time we would see Roger Pennington alive.

5

Rebecca

Back at the gallery, Oliver uncorked another bottle of wine which he’d brought back from the restaurant and set it on the side to breathe while we completed the stocktaking.

It wasn’t long before we leant back in our chairs, Oliver with his feet up on the desk, and talked about the lunchtime revelations. Although we’d been uncomfortable listeners, Roger’s story fed our imaginations.

‘How are you and Mitch getting on?’ Oliver sprang the question out of the blue. Talking about Roger had been a welcome diversion but I tensed as my colleague changed the subject.

‘He doesn’t do commitment. You do know that?’ Oliver continued. ‘He doesn’t like to be tied down. Believe me, he gets bored very easily.’

I’d always found it easier to share confidences with men than take part in girly chats and Oliver was offering me the chance to open the floodgates. Foolishly, I let him draw me in. He’d done it before, watched intently, willed me to respond, and I was a sucker for falling into the same trap. I desperately needed someone to talk to.

‘We’re fine,’ I said. ‘We’re just not ready to settle down.’

‘What, he’s not or you’re not?’

Oliver knew the answer but I needed him to understand. This seemed important.

‘He wrote me a poem. Look.’ I ferreted around in my purse for the well-worn scrap of paper. I’d show Oliver. The simplistic rhyming couplets (love, dove; ever, clever; face, trace) were Mitch’s way of telling me he’d love me forever. I wanted to prove to Oliver, and remind myself, that we had something special.

‘Oh, he gave one like that to Lisa Berger when we were students. It’s his trademark.’

Oliver tried to pull our relationship apart. He stretched his muscly legs further out along the desk, hands behind his head and waited.

‘Whatever. Listen, I need to get off. The weather’s getting worse,’ I said, making a cursory glance out of the window. ‘It’s snowing again.’

‘So soon? We haven’t finished the bottle yet.’

I went to take my glass back to the kitchen while Oliver rewound his legs and stood up.