Playing Dead: Book One of The Whitechapel Chronicles

Chapter 6

We sat facing each other across a small table in the furthest corner away from the window. The table was my choice whilst Harper had waited at the counter for the coffees. Despite his assurances that it was just coffee, I didn't have the confidence to sit near the window and risk someone I might know seeing me having coffee with a man who was quite clearly not my husband. Although when he finally sat down opposite me, I could still see the row of taxis waiting outside over his shoulder and every now and then people would walk by the window, and I took comfort from the fact that refuge was not too far away should I need it.

"You look nervous," Harper noted, swirling the wooden stirrer around the large mug. "Maybe you should have had a shortbread after all. Sweet things soothe the soul."

I flinched, realising that my discomfort was plainly obvious. "Sorry," I said. "It's just I don't usually do this."

"Drink coffee? Or drink coffee with a man you don't happen to be married to?" He reached over and tapped my wedding ring, much in the same way I had done just ten minutes before. "The power of this thin gold band is quite remarkable. I'm starting to think it's some kind of talisman against dark spirits that might corrupt you."

I dared to look him straight in the eyes. "Are you a dark spirit that might corrupt me, then?"

The intensity of his stare brought colour to my cheeks and I instantly regretted what I had said. He laughed softly and shook his head, his dark hair falling across his face. 

"What?" I said, wishing that he didn't always make me feel so foolish.

"It's nothing," he said, leaning forward slightly to rest both elbows on the table. "But sometimes, just sometimes, it's okay to let down the veneer. You don't always have to be so guarded."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know, it's just I don't think I've ever meant someone so.....tense before. It's like you're always on the look-out for the agenda, as if you think there's some big sinister master plan behind someone wanting to talk to you."

"Look, no offence. It's just in a place like that, when a guy wants to talk to me, they usually do have some kind of agenda and it's never anything I want to be a part of. And anyway, I am married, so I just happen to think there are things a married lady can and cannot do."

"Like have coffee with men?" he replied innocently.

"Yes, I guess so," I mumbled, staring down at the coffee, watching as the froth slowly turned in lazy circular motions. The steam rose up into my already warm face but the smell enveloped me as I breathed it in, wishing it would relax me like it usually did.

"Megan," Harper said and I realised how much I liked to hear him say my name, his faint American accent rolling the word across his lips. "You don't have to be embarrassed to admit you have strong morals about certain things. It's refreshing that you think that way. I'm sure that there are plenty of people who care very little for the marriage vows they made under God's very beady eye. But don't let them morals make you so uptight either. If you want to talk to someone, talk to them, and stop worrying about what people will think."

"I'm not worried what people will think," I insisted.

"Then why do you keep looking over my shoulder every five seconds as if you're worried that you might be spotted?" It was his turn to look me directly in the eyes now and I squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze. He sighed and slouched back in his chair, brushing the hair off of his face and rubbing gently at his beard. "Think on this, Megan. If we were having some kind of clandestine affair, would we perform our mating rituals in the middle of a Starbucks where anyone could see us? Or would we maybe find somewhere more private, secluded and away from those prying eyes? Somewhere where we could be alone and forget the outside world ever existed?"