Conditional Love Read Online Free

Emma haughtily. ‘Anyway, get your purse out, Stone, mine’s a chicken chow mein.’ She handed me the Chinese takeaway menu and stared at me until I caved in and picked up the phone.

three
    First into the office for once. Excellent. I could wallow in self-pity, exhaustion and general confusion undisturbed for a few minutes.
    I pressed the button marked ‘tea’ and the drinks machine churned out a cup of scalding grey sludge. I took it ungratefully and crossed over to my desk. While the computer was starting up, I checked my phone for the gazillionth time since getting up. Still no texts or voicemails from Marc.
    My heart literally ached from missing him so much. Texting him had always been part of my morning routine. He didn’t used to text me back, but it was more difficult for him, in the noisy market, serving customers. He probably couldn’t even hear the phone. A thought struck me suddenly. What if he was missing me? He could be tying himself in knots with regret and was too proud to admit it. I could just send him one short text. Give him the opening he needed.
    Emma would absolutely kill me.
    I won’t tell her.
    ‘Huh! Glad to see at least someone at their desk.’
    I jumped at the sound of my boss, Donna Parker, head of The Herald ’s advertising department, striding across the office, her trademark platinum hair glinting like a beacon.
    ‘You’d better be a bit more focussed today,’ continued Donna, pausing briefly at my desk. ‘You were a complete waste of space yesterday.’
    To be honest, I was impressed that she had noticed any difference. Let’s face it, I was never especially enthusiastic.
    I immediately started to shuffle a pile of papers on my desk, desperately trying to conceal my mobile. I laughed gaily. ‘Oh yes, Donna, I’m completely on top of everything. Been here ages already.’
    Donna raised a perfectly arched eyebrow and bore her skeletal frame onwards towards her office, leaving a trail of Poison behind her – the perfume, that is. I wafted the air in front of my nose. She used it to mask the smell of Benson and Hedges. I didn’t have the guts to tell her it didn’t work.
    At least she had gone. On top of the new neat pile of papers was the envelope from the solicitor, reminding me why I was in early.
    Receiving that letter was one of the most curious things that had happened to me in years. I would need to ask for some time off to get to the bottom of this Jane Kennedy mystery.
    I contemplated my approach. Judging by this morning’s mood, it wasn’t likely to go down well at all.
    Coffee. That would soften the blow. I scuttled back to the drinks machine and this time selected the brown sludge labelled Cappuccino.
    It would be fair to say that relations between Donna and us, her long-suffering team, didn’t run smoothly. Part-time Maureen referred to her as Cruella de Vil. Jason said she was an acid-tongued, bullying witch who did nothing except wine and dine advertising clients over long lunches. I wasn’t quite so disparaging, although I did see their point. There was a touch of The Devil Wears Prada about her, but I couldn’t help but admire her steely glare; I could never keep it up like she did, day after day.
    Donna was in her late fifties and rumour had it that she had clawed her way up from secretary in a time when the newspaper industry was almost exclusively male, lunch was two pints in the Nag’s Head and you couldn’t see from one side of the room to the other through the smoky fug.
    That probably explained the ruthless management style and relentless ambition. But Donna seemed permanently stressed and angry. If that was what success did for people, I was happy to be languishing in the ranks of the terminally unambitious.
    Knocking and poking my head round the office door failed to draw a response so I coughed and stepped inside. The plastic cup was doing nothing to protect my fingers from its two thousand degree contents.
    ‘Excuse me, Donna,’ I said,