Gabriel’s lip curled in distaste. If he ever saw that son of a bitch again . . .
He closed the text message window and placed his phone on top of the bar. A picture of Clare gazed up at him from the screen.
The rain stopped, the clouds parted, and Professor Gabriel Emerson smiled.
He removed his coat and cap, hastily putting them aside along with his umbrella and his shopping bag. He ran his hand through his unruly hair and quickly sat, scrolling through the photographs of Clare and Julianne.
A trip to the store after midnight isn’t so bad; not when such angels wait for me upstairs.
The bartender served the espresso, along with a small plate of biscuits and a glass of ice water.
He sipped his coffee and was suddenly seized with a coughing fit.
It’s already begun. I’ve contracted pneumonia.
“I won’t have what he’s having.” A female voice sounded to his right. “I’ll have a martini, please, up with an olive.”
Two seats over stood a dark-haired woman who spoke with a smooth English lilt. She placed her leather briefcase on the floor next to her chair and sat, thanking the bartender as he poured her drink. He set a small platter of nuts in front of her, which she sampled immediately.
Gabriel sipped his coffee again, hoping it would soothe his cough. He was almost satisfied with the result.
“Bit cold out, isn’t it?” She smiled conspiratorially.
“Glacial. Does it rain like this all the time?”
The woman shrugged. “I live in London. But the summers here are very nice. The sun doesn’t set at night until past ten o’clock.”
“Humph,” said Gabriel.
“American?” she asked, after tasting her martini.
“Yes.”
“What brings you to a rainy Edinburgh?”
“I’m a guest of the university.”
“Me as well.” The woman looked over her shoulder. “I was supposed to meet my crew here, but I think they’ve gone out without me. Bollocks.”
Gabriel finished his espresso and ordered another. “What kind of crew?”
“Television.” The woman moved her glasses from on top of her head so she could read the bar menu. “We’ve come up from London to cover something at the university.
“I can’t believe they left me.” She looked around the bar, which was almost empty. “Those bastards.”
“You’re a television presenter?” Gabriel asked politely.
“God, no. I’m the producer.” She lifted her martini in his direction. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.” Gabriel lifted his cup in return.
“Right. So what are you doing for the university?”
Gabriel paused as the bartender served his second espresso and another plate of biscuits. “A series of meetings, knowledge transfer, that sort of thing.”
The woman’s mouth twitched. “Are you the one with the knowledge, or is it the other way round?”
“Mostly me.”