Don't Stand So Close Read Online Free

far removed from the busy road outside. It was a great place to work.
    A winding, carpeted staircase took Stella from her officeon the first floor to the waiting room downstairs, where the reception area was gently jasmine-scented.
    ‘Your next client is waiting,’ Anne said. She tended to hover around the reception desk, keeping an eye on the comings and goings of both patients and staff. She was a study in controlled perfection, with perpetually sleek hair and glossy nails. Her blouse was, as usual, low cut and invited attention to her breasts, which in Stella’s opinion were suspiciously firm and upright. Anne arranged her pens, telephone and iPad in lines far too precise and she made Stella apprehensive for no good reason.
    She pointed towards the waiting room with the air-conditioning remote control. ‘Dr Simpson has been here for twenty minutes,’ she said.
    Anne managed to imply that Stella was late for her appointment, when in fact the client was early and Stella was precisely on time.
    He was waiting for her on the red-leather chesterfield, his arms and legs tightly crossed and his slender body tensed from head to toe. Next to him was a stack of magazines: the latest issues of
Hello
,
Vogue
and
Men’s Health
artfully arranged in a spiral by Anne. The light reading matter was untouched.
    ‘Dr Simpson?’ Stella asked.
    He nodded, unsmiling and ill at ease. Most of her medico-legal clients responded this way on meeting her for the first time, and she did not take it personally. They were required to see her, forced, essentially, by the judges of the family courts. There was tremendous pressure on these parents to present in the best possible light and so they feared her.
    Simpson’s angular face was clean-shaven. His fair hair was sharply cut and combed to the side. He wore a navy suit with a pristine white shirt and a yellow tie. His black broguesshone. She would note this for her report; he was ‘well-groomed’ to say the least.
    ‘I’m Dr Davies,’ she said. At the mention of her title, she thought she saw him flinch.
    He stood and extended his hand, slowly. His eyes flickered up and then down, over her black suit jacket, her skirt and her heels. His handshake was firm and warm. Stella smiled. ‘We’re on the first floor,’ she said.
    As he followed her up the stairs, she couldn’t help but wonder where his eyes rested. She held open the door to her office and he took his time stepping over the threshold.
    She had arranged two chairs at right angles to each other, along the two sides of the desk. ‘Take a seat,’ she said.
    The moment he sat down, he resumed his position from the waiting room, with his arms and legs tightly crossed.
    ‘Before we start, I need you to sign a consent form,’ Stella said. ‘Please read it carefully. This gives me permission to release the contents of my report to the court.’
    She handed him the standard form on a clipboard. He frowned at the page and then signed. His expression was rather acid as he handed it back to her.
    ‘Is it all right with you if I record our interview using my Dictaphone? That way I don’t need to take notes.’ She smiled once again, pretending she did not notice his displeasure.
    ‘No, it’s not all right,’ he said.
    Stella had never had a client refuse this request. Her clients were told by their solicitors that everything discussed in the interview would be taken down for the report anyway, so there seemed no reason to refuse other than the desire to make her life more difficult.
    ‘It saves me time taking notes as I talk to you,’ she said, hopefully.
    ‘No recording,’ he said. He glanced around the room as though checking for covert surveillance equipment. He seemed restless, uneasy. It was clear that he found it difficult not to be in charge. He was used to being the person behind the large desk. Stella could relate; she too liked to be in control.
    ‘No problem. I’ll type as we talk. I type much quicker than I