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blue eyes bored into her own, Lizzie
felt as though she was being quizzed by a highly skilled lawyer. Or, come to
think of it, an investigative reporter. The problem was that she could talk
about the weather till the cows came home but she hated being put on the spot
like this.
    ‘Er, about three years,’ she said.
    ‘And before that?’
    ‘I did physics at Cambridge and then trained at the Met
Office.’
    Dan’s eyes widened with admiration.
    ‘That’s an impressive track record,’ he said.
    ‘Maybe, but can I ask you something?’ said Lizzie, keen to
change the subject.
    ‘Of course,’ replied Dan. ‘Go ahead.’
    ‘I wondered if you could thank your daughter for me? For
being so sweet the other day. I was, well I was feeling a bit down, and talking
to her cheered me up no end. She was so sweet.’
    The heartfelt request took Dan completely by surprise. He
was more used to employees falling over themselves to ask about their career
prospects, or request a pay rise.
    ‘Yes, of course I can. She was very taken with you by the
way. She kept saying how nice you were and how she hoped we’d see you again…’
    Lizzie blushed. She wanted her new boss to regard her as an
invaluable employee that he couldn’t afford to lose. Not some lily-livered fool
who burst into tears when she heard a Christmas carol.
    ‘Let’s fix it,’ he said forcefully. ‘India would love it. I
know, we’ll do tea at Fortnum & Mason. Tomorrow afternoon, I’ll get my PA
to book a table.’
    Talk about awkward, thought Lizzie. The newsroom would have
a field day if they discovered she’d been hobnobbing with the new boss. And she
couldn’t imagine that Dan’s wife would be impressed either.
    ‘I’m not sure it would be a good idea…’ began Lizzie.
    ‘It’s a great idea,’ said Dan, cutting her off in mid-flow.
‘I think India finishes school at three, so shall we say four o’clock?’
    He nodded briskly and, without waiting for an answer, strode
away.

 
     
     
    SEVEN
     
    Hal tapped the table impatiently. Lizzie was twenty minutes
late. He was sure she was going to cancel – or stand him up. Except she didn’t
seem like that sort of girl. He checked his phone again and tried to tell
himself he wasn’t bothered.
    Glancing around the café, Hal wondered why Lizzie had
suggested meeting there. It was an odd place for someone dreading Christmas to
choose. The décor was a riot of tinsel and glitter, huge bunches of mistletoe
hung provocatively over every table and his gingerbread latte had been served
up in a bright red Father Christmas mug.
    Hal opened the copy of the Evening Standard he’d picked up
at the tube station and, as usual, turned straight to the arts pages. The first
item to catch his eye was a review of Tom Stoppard’s Arcadia, a new production
that had just opened at the Duke of York’s Theatre. He read it avidly, green
with envy. Two pals from drama school had small parts in the show and he’d give
anything to be in their shoes. Not for the first time, he wondered what the
hell he was doing reading the weather on daytime TV when all he’d ever wanted
to do with his life was act.
    The door of the café swung open and Lizzie dashed in,
pink-cheeked from the cold and full of apologies.
    ‘Hal, I’m so, so sorry. Have you been here for ages? I got
asked to do an extra weather piece because of the snow up north. I would have
texted you on the way but I dropped my phone and now it won’t work. I’m all
over the place today. I’ve run all the way from the Strand.’
    Hal laughed and gave her a hug. ‘Relax, Lizzie. It doesn’t
matter at all. I’ve been quite happy sitting here waiting.’
    Lizzie flung her coat over the back of a chair and plonked
her bag on the floor. Hal stared in astonishment when he saw what she was
wearing. He’d only ever seen her in a dark suit before, but today she’d chosen
a purple dress, nipped in at the waist and a couple of inches above the knee.
She looked