The Real Adam Brightman. Roz Fayrer

laugh almost escaped his lips at the thought. His father. The past. But then tonight was all about the past, wasn’t it? His mind drifted back to Jessie Loe; Lucilla Chatsfield’s Executive Assistant. He’d tried and failed, quite miserably he didn’t mind admitting to himself, to speak to her, but every time he got close, he just couldn’t find the words. He knew that today would be hard for Jessie too, the memories it must bring her, the pain. But tonight was his, for his pain. For his guilt.

      His fist curled around the solid crystal glass containing a mouthful left of his first drink of the night, and for a moment he was almost reluctant to finish it. Before it led to another and another.

      Just as he brought the glass to his lips, another was placed on his table. The sound of glass hitting the solid wood table echoed in his ears, and the woman’s fingers spread across the rim had not yet released their hold.

      ‘Sweetheart, I told you before, I’m not the company you’re looking for tonight.’

      The lack of response, or even movement from the woman, drew his attention up and the wind was knocked out of his chest as if he’d been sucker punched.

      ‘Of all the gin joints in all the world… you can turn around and walk the hell out of this one,’ he demanded.