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one?’
    ‘I got the impression Lord Whellerby likes to be kept
informed,’ I said stiffly. ‘It’s part of my job to keep the client happy.’
    ‘I must remember to tell Roly that,’ said George with a wink,
which I met with a stony look.
    ‘Would he like this report or not?’
    ‘Oh, absolutely.’
    ‘Fine.’ Tucking my clipboard under my arm, I shouted to Frank
over the sound of the concrete mixer. ‘Can you carry on, Frank?’ I pointed at
the clouds. ‘And keep an eye on those!’
    Frank lifted a hand in acknowledgement and I led the way to the
site office. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried it, but there is no way to walk
gracefully through mud in a pair of Wellington boots. The mud sucked at my feet
and made horrible squelching sounds, and I was horribly aware of George behind
me, watching me waddle. I had to resist the urge to tug my safety jacket further
down over my rear.
    ‘Boots,’ I said, pointing to George’s feet when we reached the
prefabricated building that housed the site office, and he threw a crisp salute.
Needless to say, he had made it across the mud as if he were walking across a
perfectly mown lawn.
    I ignored him. My boots were so clogged with mud that I
struggled to get them off even using the scraper at the bottom of the steps, but
after a tussle that George watched with undisguised amusement I managed to
replace them with a pair of pumps I kept just inside the door. Tossing my hard
hat onto a chair, I stalked across to my computer and pulled up the file, my
colour still high.
    George—of course—had no trouble taking off his own boots. He
lounged in the doorway in his socks while I bent over the printer and
concentrated fiercely on the pages spewing out. I could feel his eyes on me, and
I plucked at the collar of the simple blue shirt I was wearing, wishing I could
blame the single electric radiator for the warmth climbing into my cheeks.
    Collecting up the pages, I banged them neatly together on the
desk and fastened them with a bang of the stapler. ‘There you go.’
    ‘Thanks.’
    But instead of leaving, George threw himself down in the
visitor’s chair on the other side of the desk and flicked through the pages. ‘I
see you’ve changed the specifications for the storm water drainage system,’ he
said, then he glanced up at my face. ‘What?’ he said.
    ‘Nothing. I was just...surprised.’
    ‘What, you thought I couldn’t read a report?’
    ‘Of course not.’ I tugged at my shirt front. The truth was that
I had assumed that he was too laid-back to pick up on the details of the report.
‘You don’t strike me as a details person, that’s all.’
    A faint smile curled his mouth. ‘I can pay attention when
required,’ he said.
    ‘Right.’ I cleared my throat. ‘Well, as you’ve noted, I’m
putting in a different kind of underground chamber to store the rainwater
run-off. I think this one is a better design.’
    ‘More expensive though,’ George commented, flicking through to
the figures.
    ‘It is, but we’re saving money with a better deal on the glass
wool cavity insulation slabs. If you look at the last page, you’ll see we’re
still on target to stick to the budget.’
    ‘Good. We can’t—’ George broke off as a disembodied voice
started shouting:
    HEY, YOUR PHONE IS RINGING! PICK UP THE
PHONE! YES, YOU, IT’S YOUR PHONE. DON’T EVEN TRY AND IGNORE IT! PICK IT UP
RIGHT NOW!
    He laughed at my expression. ‘Good, isn’t it?’
    Embarrassed at having jumped so obviously, I smoothed back my
hair. ‘Hilarious,’ I said, watching as George extracted the still-squawking
phone from his pocket. I always leapt to answer my phone, but George only
studied the screen in a leisurely manner, apparently able to ignore the noise it
was making.
    ‘It’s Roly,’ he said. ‘Wonder what he wants?’
    ANSWER THE PHONE! PICK UP THE PHONE! It wasn’t often that I found myself in agreement with an object.
    ‘Crazy idea, I know, but you could try answering