Page 179 - Bridget Jones's Diary - by Helen FIELDING

looked up at his window and there was Daniel. I beamed at him, waved and

pointed at the door. He disappeared, I assumed to press the buzzer, so I rang the
bell again. He took a bit of time to answer: 'Hi, Bridge Just the on phone to
America. Can I meet you in the pub in ten minutes?'

'OK,' I said cheerfully, without thinking, and set off towards the comer. But

when I looked round, there he was again, not on the phone, but watching me out
of the window.

Cunning as a fox, I pretended not to see and kept walking, but inside I was in
turmoil. Why was he watching? Why hadn't he answered the door first time?
Why didn't he just press the buzzer and let me come up straight away? Suddenly
it hit me like a thunderbolt. He was with a woman.

My heart pounding, I rounded the corner, then, keeping flat against the wall, I
peered round to check he had gone from the window. No sign of him. I hurried
back and assumed a crouching position in the porch next to his, observing his
doorway between the pillars in case a woman came out. I waited, crouched in the
position for some time. But then I started to think: if a woman did come out, how

would I know it was Daniel's flat she had come out of and not one of the other
flats in the building? What would I do? Challenge her? Make a citizen's arrest?
Also, what was to stop him leaving the woman in the flat with instructions to
stay there until he had had time to get to the pub?

I looked at my watch. 6.30. Hah! The pub wasn't open yet. Perfect excuse.
Emboldened, I hurried back towards the door and pushed the buzzer.

'Bridget, is that you again?' he snapped.

'The pub isn't open yet.'

There was silence. Did I hear a voice in the background? In denial, I told
myself he was just laundering money or dealing in drugs. He was probably
trying to hide polythene bags full of cocaine under the floorboards helped by

some smooth South American men with ponytails.