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‘This is ridiculous,’ she said, yanking open the passenger door and clambering in. ‘Haven’t you got a wife, or significant other, to go home to?’
‘My wife divorced me four years ago, and there is no significant other in my life.’
‘I…I’m sorry,’ she said awkwardly, ‘about your wife, I mean.’
‘I loved my work, my wife didn’t,’ he replied as he slid into the driver’s seat beside her. ‘End of story. Want to talk about why your marriage failed?’
‘No. ’
‘Fair enough,’ he replied. ‘He’s a doctor at the General, isn’t he, but his speciality is Orthopaedics rather than A and E.’
‘How did you…? Oh, of course,’ she continued tightly. ‘You have all my information on file, don’t you, right down to the size of shoes I take, and the make of my underwear.’
‘We only carry detailed dossiers of known and suspected drug dealers,’ he observed, then his eyes glinted. ‘But if you’d like to tell me the make of your underwear—purely for our file, of course…’
‘No, I wouldn’t,’ she said stonily, ‘and John doesn’t work at the General any more. He got another job six months ago, and can we drop this subject, please?’
‘It must be tough when two consultants get married,’ he observed as though she hadn’t spoken. ‘Two huge workloads, two equally large amounts of responsibility.’
‘John isn’t a consultant. He’s a specialist registrar.’
‘Ah. ’
‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ she demanded.
‘Some men have problems with a woman—even if that woman is their wife—making it to the top if they haven’t.’
‘John isn’t—wasn’t—that petty,’ she protested, and saw one of Mario’s eyebrows rise.
‘If you say so,’ he murmured.
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