Page 38 of Stuck

And in what way, exactly, did he need her?

I forced myself to finish my sandwich, pulling out my own phone and reading an email in an attempt not to dwell on it. Bingley was coming home that evening—it was his business, not mine. Except he wasn’t getting on a plane for hours, and Elizabeth hadn’t looked like a woman rushing off to a romantic tryst. She’d looked distracted, worried, frightened even. I gathered up my things and returned to the office to check on her. To zero avail.

“What do you mean, she’s not here? I saw her in the café five minutes ago.”

Polanski shrugged. “She said she wasn’t feeling well—and to be fair, she didn’t look great. I let her go home.”

I clenched my teeth. Whoever Kev was, he had enough pull over Elizabeth that she’d ducked out of her job to answer his summons for the second time in as many weeks.

I strode back to my office and slammed the door, uncertain whether to be angry or worried, and feeling too much of both. Without thinking, I pulled out my phone and rang Bingley. It went straight to voicemail, and a quick glance at my watch told me why—he was still in the Kline meeting. And what would I have said to him if he’d answered? That I thought his girlfriend might be on her way to hook up with another man? Or that she might be in some sort of trouble? He couldn’t do anything about either until he got home anyway.

What the hell was Elizabeth playing at? With marginally more forethought than I gave my last call, I dialled a different number: hers. It also went straight to voicemail, and I supposed it would, if she really was going home, because she’d be on the underground. I typed out a text instead.

Elizabeth, what’s going on? Polanski tells me you’ve gone home sick, but we both know you’re not. Bingley won’t be home for hours, so if you need help, please call me.

My fingers itched to add, “And if you’re up to something, don’t think I won’t find out,” but I left it at the one message. It sat unread for upwards of five minutes as I stared at it, willing a reply to appear. Perhaps she truly was on her way home. Perhaps she truly was ill. Perhaps she truly was in trouble.

Really need you.

“Sod it.” I grabbed my phone and placed a third call. “Trent, can you bring the car round? I need to go to the flat we dropped Miss Bennet off at on Saturday. Can you remember the address?”

He confirmed that it would be in his SatNav history and that he’d be with me in ten minutes. It felt like a lot longer, as did the drive across town, but it still didn’t occur to me until we got to Battersea that I didn’t know which flat in the block was Elizabeth’s and that, unless I meant to knock on every door, it had been a wasted journey.

I was tempted to do it. I’d come this far—how much more of a fool could I make of myself? I looked up at the apartment block, trying to guess how many flats it was divided into. It was a refurbished historic building and huge; there could be hundreds of units, and Elizabeth might not be in any of them if she’d met Kev somewhere else.

With a growl of frustration, I climbed out of the car and sucked in a few deep breaths of the crisp autumn air as I tried to talk some sense into myself. Not much sense had been imparted before the car window rolled down behind me and Trent leant over the passenger seat to say, “I think that’s her.”

I looked in the direction he was pointing, and sure enough, Elizabeth was hastening down the street in my direction from around the corner. She wasn’t quite running, but she was clearly rushing, her face flushed from exertion as she struggled to keep her laptop bag and handbag on her shoulders. I hated myself for thinking how beautiful she looked because now was absolutely not the time. There was never a time I was allowed to think that.

“Find somewhere to park. I’ll call when I need you,” I told Trent, then I straightened and waited until Elizabeth was close enough to hear me before saying her name.

She squawked, spinning around to face me, one of her bags slipping with a jolt into the crook of her elbow. “Darcy! What are you doing here?”

Good question. I wasn’t sure I had a good answer. “You didn’t reply to my text.”

She stared at me, her face a picture of confusion. “You texted me?”

“You told Polanski you were ill.”

“Yes.”

“That came on very suddenly.”

Her eyes flicked impatiently to the entrance of her building then back to me. “Is it normal for you to follow employees home when they take time off sick?”

“I was worried.”

“There’s no need to be. I’m fine.”

“Fine? I thought you were ill?”

Frustration flitted across her face. She began to walk towards the door, tutting when I fell into step beside her. “I mean you don’t need to worry. It’s women’s problems.”

Bullshit! Knowing Elizabeth, if that was true, she’d have admitted it openly and honestly to Polanski in the first place. “It’s got nothing to do with Kev, then?”

She was almost at the main door now, but she whipped her gaze to mine, her cheeks suddenly aflame. “What?”

“This is the second time you’ve left work after getting a call or text from him.”