Still feeling lethargic and majorly bored, Sophie flicked through the channels, but nothing grabbed her. She wished she had her phone. She could at least download something to read then.

Heaving herself up from the sofa, she went to the kitchen. Nothing much took her fancy when she peered into the fridge, but she pulled out the Coke. She was halfway through filling a large tumbler when she stopped, debating. Should she? Had Paul been subtly hinting that she was getting fat? No, he was just pointing out that it wasn’t very healthy to stuff herself full of sugar. He was probably right. She usually drank sugar-free. Maybe she could go and get some when she felt better. And when she had some shoes. Glancing down at her bare feet, she wiggled her toes, noticing her chipped nail polish as she did. There were a few things she needed, in actual fact – nail polish remover being one of them. She didn’t want to ask Paul to fork out though. Then again, as he kept reminding her, he was her father, and he’d been pretty cool about buying her stuff so far.

She hadn’t seen any evidence of a phone yet, but then, he had been busy looking after her. She’d remind him later – casually, though. She didn’t want him thinking she was going to milk the situation. That would be a shitty thing to do when he’d already been treated so crappily by her mum.

Opting for water instead, she grabbed an apple and mooched around the apartment. She hadn’t liked to poke into too many spaces and cupboards while he was here – not that she’d been capable of nosing around – but she needed to know where stuff was and how it worked. The music system, for one. There was a fabulous wireless multi-speaker system. She really wished she had her phone. There was a turntable too, she noticed, going over to it. Not many CDs or vinyl records to choose from though – classical stuff, mostly. She guessed he probably used his phone with Spotify or something. And it wasn’t his apartment anyway, she reminded herself.

The motorised shutters at the windows were something else. You really had to be making serious money to afford one of these places, Sophie surmised. Bored with opening and shutting them after a while, she ambled towards Paul’s bedroom. Nothing much to see in there. Sophie hadn’t thought there would be. Having noted his obsession with having everything in its right place, she guessed he’d have all his stuff put away in drawers and cupboards. She inched open the top dresser drawer. Yup, all neatly folded.

Feeling guilty being in his personal space, Sophie closed the drawer and then had a quick peek in the wardrobe, where his suits and shirts were all pressed and hanging with military precision, like soldiers on parade. His bed was made up with the meticulousness of a hospital. Fastidious, definitely. Still, if his obsession with tidiness was his most annoying habit, Sophie could live with it. She’d just have to remember to clear up after herself. It was no biggie.

Heading back out, she wandered towards the door furthest from the lounge area – his study – where she hesitated. But then, curiosity getting the better of her, she squeaked the door handle down and went on in. She wasn’t really spying on him, she was just curious to know more about him, as anyone would be, having just learned that a complete stranger was their father.

Nodding righteously to herself, Sophie walked across to his desk, and then stopped as her eyes fell on the framed photograph there. It was of her mum, Sophie realised, astonished. She was less surprised by its presence than by the fact that it was a recent-ish photograph, taken by her at a hotel they’d stayed at in London early last year. Sophie remembered it distinctly. The London Eye had been lit up in the background. And wasn’t Justin supposed to be in the photo, too?

How had Paul got it?

Plonking herself moodily down in his office chair, Sophie yanked open the top desk drawer and pulled out an envelope folder she found there. Her mum had sent him the photo, she supposed. Paul had been married in Dubai, and he was still grieving, Sophie had assumed. It might have been that her mum and him had started corresponding after he’d lost his family, which is why Justin might have suspected something. Her mum might have sent the photo and…

And Sophie had absolutely no clue why she was bothering to think it through. There was no point asking her mum about it – she hadn’t been honest with anybody. Not that Sophie intended to speak to her anyway. She’d ask Paul about it. At least he seemed to think she had feelings worth considering.

Peering into the folder, Sophie knitted her brow, and then… Shit! Hearing the front door open, she almost died on the spot.

‘Sophie?’ Paul called.

Shit, shit, shit! Hurriedly cramming the folder back in the drawer, she shot to her feet, scrambling to think of an explanation as to why she was in here that would sound remotely feasible.

‘Sophie?’

‘Coming!’ she shouted. She had no way of not being caught snooping. There was nowhere to go but out of the door, where she’d be on full view before she had a chance to nip back to her bedroom.

She snatched up a pen just before Paul came through the door. ‘Looking for something?’ he asked her, his gaze travelling warily from her to the desk.

‘Yes. I, um…’ Crikey. Sophie’s eyes grew wide. Had he been in some sort of fight? ‘Are you okay?’ she asked.

Paul’s fingers went gingerly to the definite blue-black bruise forming under his eye. ‘Fine. I had a fall, at the gym. Did you find it? Whatever you were looking for?’

‘Paper,’ Sophie ad-libbed, holding up the pen.

Paul frowned, clearly not buying it.

‘I thought I’d write to her, my mum,’ Sophie elaborated, her face, she hoped, the picture of innocence, though her heart was beating a rat-a-tat-tat in her chest. ‘I didn’t want to text her or ring her,’ she went on. ‘I thought a letter might be better. You know, more personal. What do you think?’

Paul studied her for a second, then, nodding slowly, he walked towards her, and then past her, his gaze lingering on the desk drawers as he did.

Pulling a filing cabinet drawer open, he retrieved what she’d supposedly been looking for. ‘Paper,’ he said, handing her a sheaf of printer paper.

‘Brilliant. Thanks.’ Sophie took it and beamed him a smile.

‘No problem,’ Pushing one hand into his pocket, his other going to the bruise on his face, Paul considered her thoughtfully for a second. ‘Don’t come in here again without asking, Sophie – please. I have client information in here. Data protection rules require me to keep that information confidential.’

‘Oh.’ Sophie looked suitably apologetic. ‘Sorry, I didn’t think.’

Again, Paul nodded and offered her a smile.

Not an overly effusive one, Sophie noted. There was something in his body language that made her feel uneasy, along with the wary look in his eyes as his gaze went once again to the desk drawers, the contents of which Sophie was now exceedingly curious about.

Come to think of it, she pondered, as she took her leave, why wasn’t there a photograph of his family on that desk? His wife and his children. Why would he have picture of Alicia instead?