However rushed and flustered she felt, Fran always tried to look cool. If she’d combed her hair and applied some slap, senior officers believed the flannel she had to fob them off with, and junior officers trusted her to deal with their problems. Like Tom now, for instance. She even popped a confident smile in place as she opened her office door. And stopped short.‘Dilly! What are you doing here?’ She stepped inside quickly, closing the door.The answer, by the looks of it, was that Dilly Pound was enjoying herself, Tom dancing attendance on her. Bottled water, a plastic dish of salad, some uneaten fruit, all on a canteen tray, sat on Fran’s desk, with Dilly occupying her chair and Tom his usual one pulled up opposite.Tom didn’t even have the grace to blush. He just gave his usual innocent smile. Without a word about Jill Tanner, he explained, ‘Dilly was hungry and I thought no one would notice if I got her the sort of lunch you have if you’re in a hurry.’ Used to have.
