Four whole, endless weeks, and still no word. He’d promised to be in touch, at least to let her know how his interview went, maybe even come back if he was in the area again. But so far, nothing. Imogen thought back to that last morning, that grey, drizzling Monday when she’d set her alarm to be awake by five to make sure she had time to get Zack’s breakfast. They’d had a deal, he’d paid good money for his breakfasts and she intended to offer the best value. He’d pulled her back into bed as she’d tried to leave and told her he preferred cereal as he reached for a condom from the packet he’d dumped on her bedside table. Imogen couldn’t help thinking it was fortunate the landlady at the Fleece in Bainbridge had re-stocked on Saturday, though she was probably wondering who had emptied her vending machine in the Ladies and where all the action had been. No action here, now, that was for certain. Apart from an elderly couple celebrating their wedding anniversary, she’d had no more guests since Zack.
