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It’ll make you feel better.”
    She took the bag and did as he said. Gradually, her head stopped spinning.
    “Would I be right in thinking,” he said, “that you’re not particularly keen on elevators?”
    She took the bag off her face. “I got stuck in one when I was a kid. I was there for over an hour in the pitch black. To me it seemed like a week. Ever since, I’ve been phobic about elevators and being in confined spaces. This is the first time I’ve been in an elevator for twenty-odd years. I only took it because I was running late.” She paused. “Do you think we should try calling for help? Maybe nobody knows we’re here.”
    With that, the elevator started to move up again, but only for a few feet. After a couple of seconds it came to another juddering halt. “Bloody hell! What on earth’s going on?” She was aware that she was clutching his hand. Embarrassed, she withdrew it.
    He got up, went over to the doors and administered a purposeful thump with his fist. “Hello!” he called out. “Anybody up there?”
    Nothing. He hit the doors again. “Can anybody hear me?”
    Judging by the silence, nobody could. “We must be too far down for anybody to hear,” he said. He turned to face Abby. “Look, try not to panic. The station staff are bound to know the elevator’s stuck. I’m sure they’ll have us out pretty soon. We just have to be patient.”
    Abby rubbed her hand across her forehead. She wasn’t sure how long she could hold on before she would throw up or pass out. To add to her panic, she suddenly remembered Toby and Lady Penelope. She imagined Toby drumminghis fingers on the table, getting more and more wound up the later it got. She took her mobile out of her bag, but there was no signal. “Great. Just great.”
    “You’re meeting people?” he said, sitting down beside her.
    “My fiancé and his mother. I’ve never met her before.”
    “And you wanted to make a good impression.”
    She nodded. “Not much chance of that now. What about you? Where are you off to?”
    He drew up his legs and rested his hands on his knees. “Friend’s birthday party. He’s got a flat round the corner. There are loads of people going. He won’t notice if I’m late.” He paused. “I’m Dan, by the way.”
    “Abby.”
    He held out a hand toward her. “Pleased to meet you, Abby.”
    “You, too,” she said, taking his hand and managing a brief smile. Just then the lights began to flicker. Abby tensed and let out a tiny shriek. “Oh, no,” she said, her head tilted toward the ceiling lights. “Please don’t let the lights go out.” Finally the flickering stopped. Abby slapped her chest with relief.
    “So, Abby, where do you live?”
    “Islington.”
    “And what do you do?”
    “I own a flower shop.”
    She was pretty sure that Dan was showing an interest only to calm her down and take her mind off her panic. Nevertheless, she was immensely grateful.
    He asked her how she had gotten into floristry, and she found herself telling him about her grandfather’s garden. “He and my nan owned a bungalow in Brighton. It had overan acre of garden. Granddad seemed to spend his entire life working out there. Every summer when I was a kid, I’d go and stay with them for a week or so. The garden would be bursting with roses, honeysuckle, sweet peas, lilies of the valley. I just fell in love with the scents, the shapes and the colors. Nan used to arrange the flowers for her church. She was really talented and produced these huge, wonderfully dramatic arrangements, which to me seemed just magical. I remember being about three or four and her giving me a chunk of Oasis foam soaked in water. I must have spent hours decorating it with daisies and forget-me-nots I’d found in the garden.” She stopped. “Sorry, I’m wittering on.”
    “You’re not. Honestly.” His face seemed to display a genuine interest, urging her to continue.
    She smiled as she remembered running into her grandmother’s