Chapter Three

Objectivity

Her boots were in the cupboard in the office. She could easily have taken them to the locker room to change: the jacket, the belt, the see through top, the adjustments to her hair and make-up. They could all have been done more simply and easily in private but Harry's demand that she recheck her assessment of Penny's cervix had not been done in private. That had been shouted across the lab accompanied by a vigorous shake. The revelations that Penny's child could have been his, that had not been done in private either and so she made a meal of bending down, wiggling her foot inside and zipping up the boots tantalisingly slowly, right in front of his face.

They were good boots too; she'd bought them a while ago but rarely took the opportunity to wear them now. Shiny patent black leather, spike heel, zips up to the knee. They were perfect. She rotated her ankle joint slowly admiring the way the light reflected in the leather.

She would not be dictated to by her profession. She would choose. She would not be another dead person talking about dead people to borrow a phrase from Harry. She was alive and she was going out to have a good time.

"Where are you off to?" She'd got his attention then, she smiled to herself. He'd never really described Penny, 'quite wild, quite glamourous,' was as much as she'd got. She'd said the bit about Penny being the rich heiress. Did it look like she was up for a 'wild' night? Did she look glamorous? Leo's 'no contest,' played through her mind, but surely that was because Penny was lying cold and stiff in a mortuary drawer, the competition wasn't fierce.

"Friend's birthday party." Nikki replied giving Harry a quick smile. She wasn't going to admit that the friend had been surprised by Nikki's sudden contact again after eighteen months of silence. 'You can't have a life and be successful,' Harry had summarised for Leo. Well she would. She would not become bitter and twisted, she would change the rules, make a different path to another life, where she would be successful and have a life and she'd make sure Harry watched her do it. She wasn't going to wait until the only man left was a loner with a fetish for shrivelled produce.

But is this what she wanted? She tried to catch her reflection in the window. It had been a long time since she'd been out like this. She had trouble recognising herself but she could feel Harry's eyes boring into her back and hear his breathing shallow and rapid.

She had cast herself in the role of 'boringly diligent and off-puttingly committed to her work,' it was not the person who looked back at her now. If this case had shown her anything it was that people did not always fulfil the roles ordained for them.

The son or the lover?

The cheated husband?

The mother?

The stepfather?

The abuser?

The abused?

The boyfriend and? What had Harry been? He and Anne had been the ones cheated on!

Edward had blamed Harry for Penny's overdose but Harry hadn't even known. He'd said he'd tried to see her. He'd been rejected by her in Harry's version of events and what of Penny herself? Had she known that baby was as likely to be Max's as it was Harry's when she confronted Harry about it? If she hadn't wanted an abortion, was she really expecting Harry to give up all he had dreamed of at the age of 18 to raise a child with her, one that she couldn't be certain was even his? How could she have asked that of him? Nikki wondered if Harry had thought this far yet. His perspicacity was usually lightning quick but his emotions had been fogging his clarity throughout the week. She'd keep that to herself, she'd imparted enough bad news to him this week and after the initial pleasure the aftertaste was bitter.

Simon wasn't even his anyway.

She thought she was glad.

Nikki flicked her hair back across her shoulders.

"Does this suit me?" She asked Harry's reflection in the window. She had been watching him watching her and couldn't resist the temptation to turn round and see first-hand the effect her little stunt had had.

"Yes it does," he nodded. She picked up her bag and turned towards the door, the image of Harry's green eyes burning into her back. She could do this, she told herself. She could walk away.

I've always loved this scene and wondered what exactly is going through Harry's mind as he watches her, so I enjoyed playing with it here. There is a subtle undercurrent bubbling though, a few clues if anyone is up for guessing. Maybe it's just my twisted psyche though. I'd love to hear what you think.