I've Got Your Number

I've Got Your Number Page 43

5. They had this scandal recently when a guy called John Gregson made a politically incorrect joke at a lunch and had to resign.57 Some people thought it was unfair, but the new chairman of the board apparently has “zero tolerance for inappropriate behaviour.”58

6. Sir Nicholas is currently advising the prime minister on a new special “happiness and well-being’ committee, which all the newspapers have been rude about. One even described Sir Nicholas as past his prime and had a cartoon of him as a flower with straggly petals. (I won’t mention that to Sam.)

7. They won an award for their paper recycling program last year.

“Well done on the recycling, by the way,” I add, eager to display my knowledge. “I saw your statement that environmental responsibility is a fundamental linchpin for any company that aspires to excellence. So true. We recycle too.”

“What?” Sam seems taken aback, even suspicious. “How did you see that?”

“Google search. It’s not against the law!” I add, at his expression. “I was interested. Since I’m sending on emails all the time, I thought I’d find out a bit about your company.”

“Oh, you did, did you?” Sam shoots me a dubious look. “Double tall cappuccino, please.”

“So, Sir Nicholas is advising the prime minister! That’s really cool!”

This time, Sam doesn’t even answer. Honestly. He’s not exactly a great ambassador.

“Have you been to Number Ten?” I persist. “What’s it like?”

“They’re waiting for your coffee order.” Sam gestures at the barista.

Obviously he’s going to give away absolutely nothing. Typical. You’d think he’d be pleased that I’m interested in what he does.

“Skinny latte for me.” I haul out my purse. “And a chocolate chip muffin. You want a muffin?”

“No, thanks.” Sam shakes his head.

“Probably for the best.” I nod wisely. “Since you refuse to go to the dentist.”

Sam gives me a blank look, which could mean, “Don’t go there,’ or “I’m not listening,’ or, again, “What do you mean, the dentist?”

I’m beginning to learn how he works. It’s like he has an on switch and an off switch. And he only flips the on switch when he can be bothered.

I click on my browser, search for another revolting picture of manky teeth, and forward it to him silently.

“This Savoy reception, by the way,” I say as we go to pick up our drinks. “You need to send your acceptance.”

“Oh, I’m not going to that,” he says, as though it’s obvious.

“Why not?” I stare at him.

“I have no particular reason to.” He shrugs. “And it’s a heavy week for social events.”

I don’t believe this. How can he not want to go to the Savoy? God, it’s all right for top businessmen, isn’t it? Free champagne, yawn, yawn. Goody bags, yet another party, yawn, how tedious and dull.

“Well, you should let them know, then.” I barely hide my disapproval. “In fact, I’ll do it right now. Dear Blue, Thanks so much for the invitation, ” I read aloud as I type. “ Unfortunately, Sam will be unable to attend on this occasion. Best wishes, Poppy Wyatt. ”

“You don’t have to do that.” Sam is staring at me, bemused. “One of the PAs at the office is helping me out now. Girl called Jane Ellis. She can do that.”

Yes, but will she do it? I want to retort. I’m aware of this Jane Ellis, who has started making an occasional appearance in Sam’s in-box. But her real job is working for Sam’s colleague Malcolm. I’m sure the last thing she wants to be doing is wrangling Sam’s schedule on top of her usual workload.

“It’s OK.” I shrug. “It’s been really bugging me.” Our coffees have arrived on the counter and I hand him his. “So … thanks again.”

“No trouble.” He holds the door open for me. “Hope you find the ring. As soon as you’ve finished with the phone—”

“I know.” I cut him off. “I’ll bike it round. The same nanosecond.”

“Fine.” He allows me a half smile. “Well, I hope everything goes well for you.” He extends a hand and I shake it politely.

“Hope everything goes well for you too.”

I haven’t even asked him when his wedding is. Perhaps it’s a week from tomorrow, like ours. In the same church, even. I’ll arrive and see him on the steps with Willow the Witch on his arm, telling him he’s toxic.

He strides away and I hurry off toward the bus stop. There’s a 45 bus disgorging passengers, and I climb on board. It’ll take me to Streatham Hill, and I can walk from there.