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‘You’ve changed, you know, Rachel,’ he said at last.
‘Oh, dear,’ she said, ‘that sounds ominous. Although I suppose it’s inevitable, really, after all this time, that one would look older…’
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‘Thanks, Julie,’ Rachel replied, pushing the counter-foils and the pen across the desk and stuffing the tickets into her bag. ‘I am in a bit of a rush—as usual.’ She pulled a face. ‘I must go. Nice to see you again, Philip. Say hello to your mum for me.’ With that she hurried out of the centre and into her car to make the two house calls she needed to do before she could go home.
Home for Rachel, as she had told Nick Kowalski, was a house in Cathedral Close, which she was renting for a year from friends of her parents who were travelling abroad. Tucked away in one corner of the close in the lee of the great cathedral, St Edmund’s was an elegant, stone-built Georgian-style house filled with antiques, and if the furnishings were a little too traditional for Rachel’s more modern tastes it was something she felt she could live with. Some of the more expensive pieces of glass and porcelain she had locked away in the glass-fronted cabinets in the dining room, terrified that she might break them, but after a while she had begun to relax and enjoy the undeniable comfort and luxury of the house. In many ways it was similar to Ashton House, her parents’ home, but it had been many years since she had lived there and she had since become used to a more modest way of life, first in student then hospital accommodation and more recently in the apartment she had shared with Jeremy.
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