Read Online Before We Met: A Novel by Lucie Whitehouse - Free Book Online
Authors: Lucie Whitehouse
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skirted the end of the car-barrier and followed the pavement until she reached the lawn that stretched away from the foot of DataPro’s building to the Thames footpath running directly along the river’s edge. Someone had raked the lawn already today, she saw: though the wind last night had left the silver birch trees almost naked, there was scarcely a stray leaf in sight.
Cold sunlight reflected off the building’s fourteen mirrored glass floors and from the pools of the fountains set either side of the main entrance. Just get it over with, she told herself. Go up there, look, then go home and forget all about it. She took a final galvanising glance at the river then spun in through the revolving doors.
The atrium was a vast marble-floored room from whose distant ceiling hung a sculpture of tangled steel that made her think of space junk, one of those defunct satellites doomed to orbit the earth for ever. The bank of lifts was on the back wall but before them came a line of turnstiles. Without a security pass, there was no way through. Tony, one of the regular doormen, was at the desk, however, his neat grey head bent over the sports pages of the Mirror that he’d smoothed out tidily in front of him. She’d met him several times, first when she was visiting from New York and Mark had brought her in to meet DataPro’s staff, and then pretty regularly since she’d moved back. Tony was employed by the building, not DataPro, but Mark had introduced them that first time and the doorman always recognised her.
‘Mrs Reilly?’ He looked up from the paper and smiled at her. There was a chill in the air in the lobby and he was in his cold-weather uniform, a ribbed oiled-wool sweater with the name of the management company embroidered over his heart. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure.’
‘How are you, Tony?’
‘I’m doing all right, thank you, yes, not too bad. Wild weather last night, wasn’t it? I walked through Bishops Park on my way in this morning and there were branches down all over the place.’
Hannah made a face. ‘Yes, I’ve just been tidying up at home.’
‘Well, we’re under control here. The gardeners have been this morning, got the grounds looking spick and span again.’ He looked at her as if she should be relieved, as if untidiness outside might pose some sort of threat to Mark’s business.
‘That’s good. Tony, I wondered, could I zip upstairs for a couple of minutes? Mark’s away for the weekend but we’ve got a meeting with the bank manager first thing on Monday and Mark’s just told me he’s left all the paperwork in his office. Would you mind?’
‘Well, it’s totally against the rules,’ he said. ‘Without a pass, no one’s allowed past the—’
‘I can imagine, and I’m sorry to have to ask – it’s just . . .’
‘Oh, I’m only pulling your leg.’ He gave her a little wink. ‘Of course you can go up. Mr Harris is around but he’s just popped out to get a bite of lunch. I’ll let him know you’re here if he gets back before you go.’ Tony stood up from behind the desk and walked over to the smoked-glass security gate, which he opened with a card attached to the extending lead on his belt. ‘There you go.’
The lift carried Hannah soundlessly to the seventh floor where she stepped out into the lobby. The receptionist’s desk was unmanned, of course, and there were no lights on in the row of offices behind the plate-glass wall in front of her. Upstairs, no doubt, at least some of the programmers would be in. Mark paid big bonuses for projects completed early, which meant that they worked round the clock, weeks and weekends. Their floor was a lot more relaxed-looking than this one. It wasn’t Silicon Valley but there was a large room with sofas and beanbags, table football and snooker, and a cupboard full of caffeinated, sugar-heavy drinks and lethal snacks. A lot of the programmers were in their twenties and there was a definite university computer-club
Cold sunlight reflected off the building’s fourteen mirrored glass floors and from the pools of the fountains set either side of the main entrance. Just get it over with, she told herself. Go up there, look, then go home and forget all about it. She took a final galvanising glance at the river then spun in through the revolving doors.
The atrium was a vast marble-floored room from whose distant ceiling hung a sculpture of tangled steel that made her think of space junk, one of those defunct satellites doomed to orbit the earth for ever. The bank of lifts was on the back wall but before them came a line of turnstiles. Without a security pass, there was no way through. Tony, one of the regular doormen, was at the desk, however, his neat grey head bent over the sports pages of the Mirror that he’d smoothed out tidily in front of him. She’d met him several times, first when she was visiting from New York and Mark had brought her in to meet DataPro’s staff, and then pretty regularly since she’d moved back. Tony was employed by the building, not DataPro, but Mark had introduced them that first time and the doorman always recognised her.
‘Mrs Reilly?’ He looked up from the paper and smiled at her. There was a chill in the air in the lobby and he was in his cold-weather uniform, a ribbed oiled-wool sweater with the name of the management company embroidered over his heart. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure.’
‘How are you, Tony?’
‘I’m doing all right, thank you, yes, not too bad. Wild weather last night, wasn’t it? I walked through Bishops Park on my way in this morning and there were branches down all over the place.’
Hannah made a face. ‘Yes, I’ve just been tidying up at home.’
‘Well, we’re under control here. The gardeners have been this morning, got the grounds looking spick and span again.’ He looked at her as if she should be relieved, as if untidiness outside might pose some sort of threat to Mark’s business.
‘That’s good. Tony, I wondered, could I zip upstairs for a couple of minutes? Mark’s away for the weekend but we’ve got a meeting with the bank manager first thing on Monday and Mark’s just told me he’s left all the paperwork in his office. Would you mind?’
‘Well, it’s totally against the rules,’ he said. ‘Without a pass, no one’s allowed past the—’
‘I can imagine, and I’m sorry to have to ask – it’s just . . .’
‘Oh, I’m only pulling your leg.’ He gave her a little wink. ‘Of course you can go up. Mr Harris is around but he’s just popped out to get a bite of lunch. I’ll let him know you’re here if he gets back before you go.’ Tony stood up from behind the desk and walked over to the smoked-glass security gate, which he opened with a card attached to the extending lead on his belt. ‘There you go.’
The lift carried Hannah soundlessly to the seventh floor where she stepped out into the lobby. The receptionist’s desk was unmanned, of course, and there were no lights on in the row of offices behind the plate-glass wall in front of her. Upstairs, no doubt, at least some of the programmers would be in. Mark paid big bonuses for projects completed early, which meant that they worked round the clock, weeks and weekends. Their floor was a lot more relaxed-looking than this one. It wasn’t Silicon Valley but there was a large room with sofas and beanbags, table football and snooker, and a cupboard full of caffeinated, sugar-heavy drinks and lethal snacks. A lot of the programmers were in their twenties and there was a definite university computer-club
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