Free Hush Hush by Gabrielle Mullarkey Page B

the freesias towards her nose.
    Angela fought back tickly petals
and took a deep breath. ‘ How
did you know I worked here?’
    He shrugged. ‘ Rang
a few magazine publishing outfits and asked to speak to you. Came up
trumps fourth time lucky.’
    Angela blushed with wild joy at
his persistence.
    ‘Angela?’ Marla bore
down. ‘ Perhaps your
friend could wait down in the lobby for you? It’s not policy to
let civilians roam at large in the corridors of power.’ She
beamed at Conor, a smile infused with authoritarian good humour.
    Conor grunted. ‘ Can
you come to lunch now then, Angela? I’m parked on double
yellow.’
    Angela looked quickly at Marla.
    ‘Yes, yes!’ shooed
Marla. ‘ Off you go,
the pair of you.’
    Watchful eyes followed them to
the lift. Angela studied the carpet, the freesias carried upright in
one sweaty hand, like a talisman. He said nothing to her. She felt
perturbed that he’d spilt her life so publicly all over the
workplace. She was also thrilled that he’d bothered.
    In the lift, she realised they
were about the same height. Well, she was tall for a woman, and he
was stocky.
    ‘I like your shoulder bag,’
he said. ‘ It’s
very ‒ you.’
    Angela clutched her bag
protectively. A twenty-first birthday present from Rachel, its faded
orange cotton was decorated with tap-dancing frogs. Hardly a byword
for sophistication. ‘ Thanks
for the flowers. I should’ve left them on my desk. They’ll
get droopy now.’
    ‘We’ll stick them in
the back of the car.’ His voice sounded thick, and he sprang
out of the lift the minute the doors opened. If she hadn’t seen
at first hand how growly and forceful he was, Angela would almost
have thought him shy.
    His four-wheel drive was in the
process of being ticketed. ‘ Errand
of mercy,’ he told the grizzled traffic warden, and smiled a
smile that would’ve stopped invading Barbarians in their
tracks. Angela was trapped by chance in its ray of blazing
tenderness. How could such a macho face smile like that ‒ like a mother looking into a crib?
    ‘Not my problem, mate,’
snapped the unappeased male traffic warden, tearing the ticket off
his pad. ‘ I don’t
care if your girlfriend was having triplets under the dashboard.’
    Using some internal re-set
button, Conor’s face reverted to pre-growl mode. As he drove
away, he balled the ticket and shoved it in the ashtray.
    ‘Where are we going?’
ventured Angela. ‘ I’ve
only got an hour for lunch.’
    ‘I’m in a rush, too.
Thought we’d picnic al fresco in a little park I know not far
from Oxford Street. An oasis of calm amid the madding crowds.’
    ‘Won’t traffic be a
killer?’
    ‘Not with a madman at the
wheel.’ He grinned sardonically, crumpling his brown face into
all sorts of interesting planes. ‘ Not
to worry. I intend to show that I’m a perfectly safe driver.
The sort who escorts hedgehogs across the road.’
    He reached his destination
quickly, and without incident. He even managed to park legally.
    ‘Told you there’d be
no problem,’ he smiled triumphantly. It was yet another smile
from his wide repertoire. ‘ I’ve
got some sarnies and a rug to spread on a bench. I made cheese and
ham separately, in case you’re a veggie.’
    ‘You’ve gone to a lot
of trouble,’ said Angela, surprised and touched.
    But then she realised that was
the wrong thing to say. The back of his neck flared red as he stomped
away towards a pair of wrought-iron gates, swinging a carrier bag,
the car rug slung over one shoulder like a clan tartan.
    ‘Sorry!’ she panted,
scampering after him. ‘ I
wasn’t accusing you of ‒ going to a lot of trouble. I mean, not in a chasing me up sort of
way. You know what I mean?’
    She looked around, stopped in her
tracks by the miniature prettiness of the park. On all four sides,
ugly buildings glowered over plane trees shrivelled by noxious fumes.
But within the magic circle of drooping branches lay springy grass
and tangle-free