Chapter 40

Based on the state of their relationship, Adam expected his visit to see Chloë in London would be nothing more than an extended booty call. He knew Chloë would be climbing the walls desperate for sex.

Unless she’d got it somewhere else.

He decided to take the train rather than have Josh fetch him or drive up to London himself. He had an essay that was due to be handed in after the Easter break he wanted to work on.

The train had left Westmouth late. It should have been an easy hour’s ride into the heart of London, but travel on the British railways was never straightforward. It was now almost nine. The late hour meant the train was almost empty and Adam had managed to get a seat at a table where he could set up his laptop and spread out some of his papers. The train had been stationary on the outskirts of London for half an hour. At this rate, he wouldn’t get to Chloë’s until ten o’clock or even later. He gazed out of the window at the dark field beyond when the train suddenly lurched back into life with a sharp sideways jolt that shook him from his daydream.

He read what he’d written so far. Not much. It was a study into how the plot of a novel had been altered for both a television adaptation and for a Hollywood movie. It was the sort of project that Chloë should have excelled at, but Adam doubted she’d even started it. He started typing.

More scenes were cut from the novel for the movie version than the BBC adaptation.

He looked at the sentence and thought, What a stupid thing to write. It’s obvious given that the film was two hours long and the BBC version was four times longer.

He saved the document, switched off the computer and packed everything away in his bag. The essay would have to wait. Try as he might, he couldn’t concentrate. He was worried about seeing Chloë. He didn’t know why—he just was.

The train pulled into the station at half nine. Adam heaved his bag onto his shoulder and headed for the taxi rank. Chloë’s apartment was in fashionable and expensive Docklands, which was easy to get to by tube but Adam didn’t fancy it at this hour. The taxi would be expensive, but Chloë had given him two hundred pounds before she left Westmouth and he still had most of it left.

The taxi deposited him outside an impressive modern apartment block on the bank of the Thames. A well-dressed concierge was standing by the door. He didn’t look impressed by Adam’s appearance. No doubt most visitors were more expensively attired.

“Yes, sir. Can I help you?”

“I’m here to see Chloë Goodman.”

“Are you now? What makes you think she lives here?”

“She told me. I’m her boyfriend.”

“Of course you are, son. I’m afraid Ms Goodman doesn’t play host to fans who walk in off the street.”

“Call her. I’m Adam. She’ll tell you she’s expecting me.”

“Adam? Adam Smith?”

“Yes!”

“Can you prove it?”

Adam took his driving licence from his pocket. For good measure, he showed him a picture of him and Chloë at the Royal Première of Reunion that he kept in his wallet.

“I’m so sorry, sir. You’re very late. I’d assumed you weren’t coming.”

“I was on the train.”

“Say no more, sir. Say no more. I use the trains myself, you know. I live over in Peckham. I know how bad they are. Still, you’ll forgive my stance, I’m sure. You can’t be too careful. You get all sorts of loonies trying to get into this building.”

“S’okay. You’re just doing your job. I don’t think I’d have left me in either, to be honest.”

“Go on in, sir. I believe Ms Goodman’s waiting for you. She’s on the twenty-fifth floor. Apartment A.”

“Thanks.”

The lobby looked more like a corporate headquarters than an apartment building. An odd sculpture, which put Adam in mind of a malnourished elephant, sat in the centre of an ornate fountain that wouldn’t have been out of place in front of a French château. The trickle and splash of the water didn’t aid Adam’s full bladder—too much Coke on the train.

The reception was manned by an elderly gentleman in the same uniform as the concierge outside—his short grey hair was a stark contrast to his leathery black skin.

I wonder who else lives here, Adam thought. Rich bankers and celebrities, I’d guess.

Just then, one of the four elevator doors at the rear of the lobby opened and Billy Thomas tumbled out with a woman on each arm. Evidently, he recognised Adam even though they’d only met once.

“It’s Adam, right? Chloë’s bit of rough. Man, you’re in for a treat tonight.” He grinned and looked from one of his groupies to the other, then back at Adam. “Mind you, so am I!”

“Yeah. I’ll bet.”

“See you around,” said the rock star.

Adam heard one of the women ask who he was. He couldn’t make out Billy’s reply, but all three of them laughed as they left the building. He got into the lift they had vacated, pushed the button for the twenty-fifth floor and waited patiently for the elevator to ascend.

The doors opened onto a long corridor. Adam stepped out and they silently slid shut behind him. There were three doors—one straight in front of him in the far wall which was marked with a green sign of a stick-man walking down some stairs. The other two faced each other about halfway along the corridor. He walked up to them, hoping it would be obvious through which one Chloë’s apartment was. But the door to the left was marked 25b, to the right 25a. It looked as if there were only two apartments on this whole floor.