James

“Morning, Kirstie.”

The concierge smiles from her desk as we enter and cross the lobby. “Good morning, Mr Alexanders. Morning Charlotte.” Then she riffles through a stack on her in-tray. “Oh, Charlotte. Some mail for you. I had to sign for this one.” She offers a small padded envelope, then, clearing her throat, “Um, James…”

“I’ve not forgotten my promise, Kirstie. I’m seeing Ryan later this week on-site. I’ll make a point of allowing extra time for a chat with him.”

“Thank you.” She bobs her head, the pearl on her velvet choker bobbing with her.

Charlotte looks curiously but briefly, her attention taken by the packet. She receives very little mail.

And there’s only so many people who might send her a package…

My antennae twitching, “Why don’t we go up to my office,” I say. “Have a coffee together before we start the working day. You can open it there…”

… In privacy…

She nods, going into silent running. As we ride the elevator, she crosses her arms, then uncrosses them, then recrosses them, all the while clutching the packet.

As the doors swish open, Francis looks up from her desk. “Coffee for two, please, Francis.” And as I wave Charlotte into my office I turn back to the receptionist and hold an invisible telephone receiver to my ear, then draw a finger across my neck in a cut-your-own-throat gesture, mouthing at her silently: “Michael.”

She nods understanding and heads for her phone.

Inside the office I prise the envelope from Charlotte’s fingers, placing to one side. Then taking her by the shoulders, I turn her to face me. “I’m tempted to take it from you, open it for you and only tell you what is inside after I’ve checked it for myself. But I don’t think that would be right. However…” I lay a fingertip on her lips… “I will ask that, whatever is in there, you remember our conversation of a few days ago. Alright?”

She’s blinking too quickly. Her movements are jerky, but, “Yes, Master.”

her the envelope again. She starts to open it but pauses as we are interrupted by Francis tapping at the door, bringing in the coffee. Her eyes

behind her, Charlotte tugs at the flap, trying to peel it open, fighting heavy-weight gum which refuses to yield. Parking a hip on the

time the envelope rips, plastic bubbles bursting

it over onto my desk. A small plastic zip-bag slides

bearing a butterfly in silver filigree. She slides it out, holding it up to the light where it spins, glimmering. It’s only perhaps an inch wide, but it’s beautifully made and, protected by the plastic, the metal shines

But I wait.

in

sorry. Please come to see

able to write it himself, of course,” she comments, “if he had to get

What do you want to

fumbles with the clasp of

her hair to one side, I fasten the chain behind her neck, the butterfly sitting beside the small ammonite she’s

Michael. His head swivels between Charlotte’s face, the letter in her hand and my face, then, as I eye-point him down, to the butterfly resting below the

is seeing and silently I pass him the note. He reads it, then warily, “Do you

butterfly, sucks in her lips.

*****

have a promise to keep. And I’m not looking forward

Kirstie, and not simply because of how we met, in a three-way scene with Michael at the club years ago. She’s a lovely

Dom, however well-meaning, is a formula

blueprints provided by Ryan. “That’s all fine. I’m very happy with the schematics from the technical side.

a folder. “I just wanted to be

Efficient as ever…

give me

waiting calmly as I scan

Well within budget…

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