The Duke's Affair

VIII

Lauren slammed the glass frosted door as she left the meeting room, tripping up the stairs and heading straight for the bathroom. She sank onto the floor, kneeling in front of the toilet, and finally threw up, violently. For minutes on end she vomited until there was nothing but putrid bile left inside.

Her forehead was sweating and her hands were sticky. Even if she hadn't just lost her job, she would have had to go home anyway. She couldn't work like this; she was too ill. She could barely even think straight.

The bastard, she thought, as she rinsed her mouth and washed her face. Her CV was going to start to look patchy, as though she couldn't hold down a job for a significant period of time. And would he give her a reference? And where would she live? With Emily and George? Newlyweds, blissfully happy in their flat in South Kensington? No.

She couldn't go home either. Not to Brentwood. Tony would be there; she would bump into him if she went to the pub, or to the shops. She leant forward, her hands on the sink, and stared critically at her own reflection, gritting her teeth.

She dropped her head, unable to look herself in the eye any longer. And what would Tony think when he found out she had been fired?

Anger flared up as she thought of Henry, and how calmly he had offered her the option of going out with him. As though it were a viable alternative to employment.

She crept to the bathroom door and listened; when she was sure that Henry wasn't on his way up the stairs, she let herself out and stalked to her desk, where she began to pack her essential belongings into a box. She had intended to be subtle, but her barely repressed fury got the better of her. She started banging her stuff about as she cleared her desk, raising questioning expressions from the rest of the office.

"What are you doing?" asked Mrs Balfour, who had come scurrying out from behind the reception desk.

"Leaving," she said, loud enough for everyone to hear. Lauren knew there was a stillness setting in behind her: everyone was listening.

Mrs Balfour's pearl earrings moved upwards, along with her eyebrows, as her features responded to the news. With a warning glance over Lauren's shoulder, she clasped the younger woman's forearm and pulled her back towards the reception desk. "What happened?"

"He fired me," said Lauren, reluctant to elaborate further. "I'm not staying around. I want to get out before I bump into him in the corridor or something."

"Oh Lauren."

Lauren shrugged it off, focussing on the large pearl necklace about the receptionist's neck. She watched how the light rolled over the shimmering spherical surfaces. She didn't want to see pity in someone else's face. "I'll have to find somewhere else to live."

Just then Henry appeared and, glancing at Lauren as though she were the last person he expected to see, pursed his lips and sighed. Lauren shifted the box under her arm, adjusting the distribution of its weight.

"Will you step inside a moment?" he asked, pressing open the door of his office. "Before you leave," he added.

Mrs Balfour nodded at Lauren, who followed Henry inside, still clutching tightly to the cardboard box.

"You can continue to live in the house, if you wish," he said, as the door swung closed.

"No thank you. I'll find somewhere else."

"Stay at least until you have found somewhere to go." If Lauren didn't know better she would have thought he were truly upset. His limbs twitched, and he wasn't nearly as composed as he had seemed only half an hour ago. "I'll provide you with references. I'll make calls. I'll help you find somewhere else. Another job."