‘The car. Can you get it brought round now, please?’
A silence.
‘Now, or I’m off this project.’
‘OK.’ A grudging mutter.
Kayley smiled with sheer pleasure at hearing Harville treated like a serf.
‘One of the perks of being a rock star,’ said Deano softly. ‘You get to be as bloody rude as you like. I try not to over-indulge, but God, it’s tempting sometimes.’
‘Thanks,’ said Kayley. ‘I owe you one. Though I don’t know how I’m going to get out of here without …’
‘Climb out of the window,’ said Deano.
‘What?’
‘If you want to make a getaway, climb out of the window, then get into my car. It’ll be out there in a minute or so.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Sure I’m serious. It’ll make me feel like James Bond, helping you escape from the evil … youth workers of Bledburn.’
They both laughed, infected simultaneously with the surreal nature of the situation.
‘Go on. I’ll go and appease His Nibs out there. See you in a minute.’
Deano picked up a bag from the top of a filing cabinet and left the room. Kayley, fearing that she might be joined at any moment by a less congenial companion, took his advice and climbed through the window on to the hot tarmac of the back yard.
The car was gliding through the back gates, where a few stragglers stood cheering and waving. None of them seemed to be the ones she was avoiding – it was mostly kids and grannies.
All the same, she ducked behind the rubbish hopper until the car parked up and she was able to climb in without being seen.
Apparently the chauffeur was quite accustomed to random women piling in behind him because he made no comment. He didn’t even turn his head.
How the other half live, eh, thought Kayley, reassured by the smoked glass and the calming hum of air-conditioning. Her breathing steadied and she began to unclench, looking around her at the luxurious upholstery and expensive fittings.
This was quite something. Jenna just drove a little hired run-around, nothing fancy. Deano apparently didn’t want to get as close to his roots as all that.
Deano joined her about five minutes later.
‘Sorry about that,’ he said, sliding in beside her. ‘That Harville bastard never shuts up, does he? So, where are we going? Do you fancy lunch at my hotel?’
‘What?’
God, what must he think of her, sitting there with a gormless expression and the hood of a cheap tracksuit top pulled right over her face?
‘I mean, lunch?’ she amended. ‘Really?’
‘Why not? Is there somewhere you need to be?’
‘Well … no.’
‘There you go then. Lunch it is. OK, Sergio?’
The chauffeur revved up the car and turned in the back yard, edging slowly through the baying hordes outside the youth club.
‘I’m not exactly dressed for lunch in a posh hotel,’ said Kayley, her brain maintaining a running commentary of, Me, invited to lunch by Deano Diamond, wait till the girls hear about this.