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his voice.
    ‘You're a young man, Daniel,’ he said firmly. ‘This is not your last chance. I will see you again.’
    They shook hands and Daniel left, closing the door quickly behind him so Chalmers wouldn't hear him sniff. There were things he'd confided in Des Chalmers that he wouldn't have told even Brodie, but he didn't want anyone to know the pain this was giving him.
    He could do it. He could put his body and soul into being Brodie Farrell's gopher, because she needed him and that mattered more than anything else. But no effort of will that he was capable of would stop him regretting the turn events had taken, or feeling trapped by the solution he'd found. What he wanted almost more than anything else had been within his grasp, and he'd thrown it away because of the one thing he wanted more.
    And it wasn't that he thought of it as an investment – that when she realised what he'd sacrificed for her Brodie's fondness for him would turn to love. He knew as he hurried down the school corridor, busily polishing his glasses as displacement activity, that she must never find out. That she would never forgive him if she did.

CHAPTER FOUR
    Deacon was still thinking about Alix Hyde when he went to meet Brodie. On mature reflection he decided this was probably not a good idea. One of the few things he reckoned to know about women was that they could read your mind. He made a point of clearing his before rapping on the burgundy door in Shack Lane.
    When she'd called, for a minute they couldn't think where to meet. Lunch didn't feel appropriate for two people who'd split up, so that ruled out the French restaurant which was Deacon's preferred venue. His office was too public, her home too personal, a park bench too absurd. There was baggage associated with Brodie's office too, but it was the least worst option. It was private if they ended up arguing, and small enough to facilitate a swift departure. Deacon had slammed that burgundy door behind him a few times in the last six months. Once Brodie had stalked out, and had to come back later to lock up.
    She met him at the door. He could read nothing from her expression, but she ushered him in with a kind of careful politeness, as if he were a wealthy but unpredictable client. Inside his own head Deacon gave an ironic snort. One out of two ain't bad.
    ‘Jack.’
    ‘Brodie.’
    ‘You're looking well.’
    ‘You too.’ He thought that was probably safe enough.
    ‘I'm fine,’ she agreed. ‘Well – in the circumstances.’
    He didn't know what circumstances she meant, except that he didn't think for a moment she was pining for him. If she had been she'd have died rather than admit it. He wouldn't have told her how losing her had felt like having his legs hacked off, and he wouldn't have asked precisely what she meant except that this appeared to be why she'd brought him here. ‘What circumstances?’
    In the tiny kitchen the kettle was boiling. Brodie made coffee and put a cup – he noted the use of the good china -into his hands before answering. Even then she built her reply carefully, foundations first then one brick at a time.
    ‘The first thing I want to say is, I don't see this as changing how things are between us. I don't expect you to do anything. I don't want anything and I don't consider that you owe me anything. At the same time, if there are things you want we can discuss them. You have certain rights and I've no wish to deny them.’
    She saw the puzzlement in his craggy face but didn't stop to explain. If she kept going, a minute from now he'd know all there was to know. ‘I hope we can handle this in a civilised fashion, because whatever we decided two months ago, what it means in practice is that we're going to remain part of one another's lives for the foreseeable future. How big a part is for us to decide – mainly, for you to decide. I'm fine on my own, I don't need any help, but the child I'm carrying is yours aswell and if you want to be involved