Page 65 of Famous Last

After doing as instructed and waiting as the machine churned to life, he peered around Marshall’s kitchen. Brand-new appliances filled a room more spacious than Spencer’s living room. With a shake of his head, he wondered how many of the devices ever got used. When the machine began to slow, and the smell of coffee reached his nose, he let out an involuntary carnal moan and grabbed the mug.

With the vessel beneath his nose, he ambled into the living room. There on the coffee table a plastic covering sat over a dinner plate with a Post-It, this time in pink, stuck to the top.

Eat me. Next stop bathroom.

Beneath the plastic covering, Spencer found one of the chocolate croissants and some freshly cut fruit—watermelon, honeydew melon, orange, mango, and pineapple slices. Not unexpectedly, a pile of the day’s newspapers sat on the sofa, already scanned by the looks of the ruffled front pages. Spencer plonked himself down, grinning at the little windows into Marshall’s life, into his daily routine. While enjoying the light breakfast, he flicked through the papers, noticing Marshall hadordered pretty much all the dailies. With pleasure, he dug out theNational Heraldso he could swot up on the paper’s main stories before his meeting. After reading from cover to cover, then checking messages on his phone—none from Marshall—he yawned into the morning and headed for the bathroom.

There, hanging from the door of a bathroom wardrobe, he found his freshly pressed suit and shirt. Marshall had even brought his socks, underwear and newly shined shoes into the room and placed them on a wicker bench. Two green Post-Its were pinned to the jacket pocket.

Suit, shirt and shoes ready. Rock the interview. Enjoy the shower and use anything you want. Fresh towel left out for you. Next stop second bedroom.

By the time he had finished his shower and dressed, checking himself in the mirror to assess his suitability and deciding he looked as good as he ever would, he returned to the kitchen to refill his coffee cup. While the coffee brewed, he headed to the spare bedroom, which appeared made up but empty. This time an orange note sat on the duvet cover.

Unless my mother stays, this room rarely gets used. But I’m giving you the virtual tour anyway. Now go and be fabulous like I know you can be. MJHx

Smiling to himself in the hall mirror, and feeling happy at what he saw, he made sure he had everything before closing the apartment door behind him. Downstairs, as the lift door opened, a new, younger concierge smiled a welcome then went back to working on his computer. On his way to the door, Spencer plucked out his phone and used the map app to find his way to the nearest Tube station.

Leaving at eight-thirty, he knew he could be at the newspaper offices at just after nine, find a nearby coffee shop and hang out until around nine-forty. That way, when he turned up at the reception ten minutes early, he wouldn’t seem too desperate and more importantly, would not be late. Had he been like Bev, he would have left everything to the last minute, trusted there would be no delays or obstructions, and—not in Bev’s case, of course—he would have turned up not only a sweaty wreck but a bag of jangling nerves. In his book, the extra time and caution was simply a fallback in case things did not go to plan.

As he marched along the road towards Herald Towers, his phone began to ring.

“Squirrel,” said Bev, her cheerful voice instantly putting a smile on his face. “Good luck today, baby. Tried to call you yesterday night but I got your voicemail, so I guess you were at home. How are you feeling?”

“Terrified.”

“Do you want me to courier you a Valium?”

Spencer laughed aloud.

“Do people actually do that kind of thing?” he asked.

“All the time.”

“Thanks anyway, but I’ll manage. And I’ll let you know how it goes later.”

“Are you coming in afterwards?”

“No, I have the day off today—” Right then, his phone buzzed with another call. Marshall. “Bev, can I call you back? Marshall’s on the other—”

“Speak to you later. Break a leg.”

Spencer thumbed the button for the new call.

“Marsh. How’s it going?”

“This manual work thing is entirely overrated. We haven’t stopped packing boxes and loading them into vans all morning and we’re only just stopping for a cuppa.”

“Poor you. But keep in mind the good you’re doing. I bet there aren’t many in your profession who would roll up their sleeves and muck in. I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you, Spence.”

Spencer could tell from Marshall’s tone that he appreciated the compliment.

“More importantly, how are you doing?” asked Marshall.

“Nervous. But I’m about to hit the coffee shop.”

“You didn’t get coffee this morning?”

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