“Maybe I could buy you lunch,” I blurt out. “As a proper thank-you. Anywhere you like!”
“That’s not necessary.” He sounds amused. “Besides which, my doctor has put me on a diet.”
“Oh, right. That’s a shame—”
“However, since you mention it . . . As you said yourself in Milan, one good turn deserves another.”
“Absolutely! I really owe you one! If there’s anything I can do, anything at all . . .”
“I was thinking of your husband, Luke. I was hoping he might do me a small favor.”
“He’d love to!” I exclaim. “I know he would!”
“Is he there? Might I have a quick word?”
If I get Luke to the phone now I’ll have to disturb him. And explain who Nathan Temple is . . . and how I met him . . . and about the Angel bag. . . .
“You know what?” I say, turning back to the phone. “He’s not in right now, I’m afraid. But can I take a message?”
“The situation is this. I’m opening a five-star hotel on the island of Cyprus. It’s going to be a top-of-the-range resort and I’m planning a big launch. Celebrity party, press coverage. I’d very much like your husband to be involved.”
A celebrity party in Cyprus? A five-star hotel?
Oh my God. This would be so wonderful for Luke’s business! Forget about Arcodas. The Nathan Temple account could be fab!
“I’m sure he’d love to!” I say, regaining my voice. “It sounds fantastic!”
“Your husband’s very talented. He has a very classy reputation. Which is what we want.”
“Well.” I can’t help but glow with pride. “He is pretty good at what he does.”
“I gather he specializes in financial institutions, though. Would a hotel launch be a problem?”
My heart starts thudding. I can’t let this opportunity slip away. I have to sell Brandon Communications.
“Not at all,” I say smoothly. “We at Brandon Communications are skilled in all areas of public relations, from finance to big business to hotels. Versatility is our motto.”
“Ah.” He sounds pleased. “That’s what I was hoping to hear. I attended a party run by your husband last year as a guest of a guest. A property investment launch in New York. Very slick affair, and a huge media attendance. I was impressed.”
“In that amazing brownstone?” I chime in, delighted. “With the marble staircase and the champagne cocktails? I was there too!”
I nearly add that I was the one in a backless red Donna Karan dress, but stop myself in time.
“You work for the company, then?” He sounds interested.
“I have a . . . small consultancy role,” I say, crossing my fingers. “Specializing in strategy. And by sheer chance, one of our current strategies is an expansion into the . . . er . . . five-star travel arena.”
“Then it looks like we might be able to help one another out,” says Nathan Temple. “Perhaps we could set up a meeting this week? As I say, we’re very anxious to have your husband, Luke, on board.”
“Please, Mr. Temple,” I say in my most charming manner. “You did me a favor. Now this is my chance to repay it. My husband would be delighted to help you. In fact, he’ll make it a priority!” I beam at the phone. “Let me take your number, and I’ll get Luke to call you later today.”
“I look forward to your husband’s call. Nice talking to you again, Mrs. Brandon.”
“Please! Call me Becky!”
As I replace the receiver I’m grinning from ear to ear.
There’s Luke and Gary, slaving away over their pitch—and meanwhile I’ve snaffled them a fabulous new client without even trying! And not even some dreary old bank. A five-star hotel in Cyprus! A huge, prestigious job!
Just then the study door opens and Luke comes out, holding a folder. As he picks up his briefcase he glances over and gives me a distracted smile.
“All right, Becky? We’re off to lunch. Who was that on the phone?”
“Oh . . . just a friend of mine,” I say carelessly. “By the way, Luke . . . maybe I will come along to lunch after all.”
“OK,” he says. “Great!”
When he hears how I’ve been wheeling and dealing with top business magnates on his behalf, he’ll be totally gobsmacked! And then maybe he’ll see just how much of a help I can be to him.
Just wait till I tell them the news. Just wait!
All the way to the restaurant, I’m hugging my secret. Honestly, Luke should hire me! I should become some kind of ambassador for the company! A chance meeting in Milan—and this is what results. A brand-new client for the company. Luke’s going to be so impressed when I tell him the news. He’ll probably order a bottle of champagne straightaway.
This could be an amazing new business opportunity for him! He could start a whole division devoted to five-star hotels and spas. Brandon Communications Luxury Travel. And I could be part of it, maybe.
I could be the one who test-markets the spas.
“So . . . still on the dinner we’re hosting,” Gary is saying to Luke as we sit down. “You’ve sorted out the gifts?”
“Yup,” says Luke. “They’re at home. What about transport? Have we organized cars for them?”
“I’ll get someone onto it.” Gary makes a careful note on a little pocket pad, then looks up at me. “Sorry, Becky. This must be boring. You know this pitch is pretty important to us.”
“That’s OK,” I say with a demure smile. “Luke was just telling me how winning new business is your number-one priority right now.”
“Absolutely.” Gary nods.
“I expect it’s quite hard work, bringing in new clients,” I add innocently.
“Yes, it can be.” Gary smiles.
I so want to blurt out the whole story. But I must time my revelation perfectly.
As the waiter pours mineral water for Luke and Gary, I suddenly notice three girls at a nearby table, nudging each other and pointing at my Angel bag. Trying to hide my delight, I casually adjust the bag on my chair so that the embossed angel and Dante are clearly visible.
It’s just amazing. Everywhere I go, people notice this bag. It is the best thing I have ever bought, ever, ever. And now it’s brought Luke new business, too. It’s a lucky charm!
“Cheers!” I say, lifting my glass as the waiter retreats. “To new clients!”
“New clients,” Luke and Gary echo in unison. Gary takes a sip of water, then turns to Luke. “So, Luke, just regarding the last proposal we’re making . . . I spoke to Sam Church the other day—”
I can’t wait a moment longer. I have to tell them.
“Speaking of churches!” I interrupt in bright tones.
There’s a startled pause.
“Becky, we weren’t talking about churches,” says Luke.
“Yes, you were! Kind of.”
Luke looks bemused. OK, I could have managed this a little more smoothly. But never mind.
“So, speaking of churches . . .” I press on. “And . . . er . . . religious buildings in general . . . I suppose you’ve heard of a man called Nathan Temple, haven’t you?”
I look from Luke to Gary, unable to hide my elation. Both men look back at me curiously.
“Of course I’ve heard of Nathan Temple,” says Luke.
Ha! I knew it.
“He’s a pretty big player, right? Pretty important.” I raise my eyebrows in a cryptic manner. “He’s probably someone you’d really like to network with. Maybe even get as a new client?”
“Hardly!” Luke wrinkles his nose as though he’s found a worm in his apple.
I pause uncertainly. What’s “hardly” supposed to mean?
“Of course you would!” I persist. “He’d be a great client!”
“No, Becky. He wouldn’t.” Luke takes a sip of water. “Sorry, Gary, what were you saying?”
This is not going according to plan. I had the whole conversation mapped out in my head. Luke was going to say, “I’d adore Nathan Temple as a client,
of course—but how does one get to him?” Then Gary was going to sigh and say, “No one can get to Nathan Temple.” And then I was going to lean across the table with a confidential little smile. . . .
“So, I’ve spoken to Sam Church,” resumes Gary, taking some papers out of his briefcase. “And he gave me these. Have a look.”
“Wait!” I interrupt, trying to haul the conversation back on track. “So, Luke, why wouldn’t you want Nathan Temple as a client? I mean, he’s rich . . . he’s famous. . . .”
“Infamous, more like,” Gary puts in with a grin.
“You do know who Nathan Temple is,” says Luke.
“Of course I do!” I say. “He’s a top businessman and . . . er . . . a high-class hotelier—”
“Becky, he runs the seediest chain of motels in the land.”
My smile freezes on my face.
“What?” I manage at last.
“Not anymore,” says Gary. “Be fair.”
“Then he used to,” says Luke. “That’s how he made his money. Value Motels. Water beds thrown in for free. And whatever other business went on behind closed doors.” He pulls a disdainful face and pours out more water.
“You’ve heard the rumor he’s considering buying up the Daily World?” asks Gary.
“Yes, I did,” Luke says with a grimace. “Spare us. You know he has a conviction for grievous bodily harm?”
My head is spinning. A conviction? But he seemed so nice. He was so sweet! He got me my Angel bag!
“Apparently he’s reformed.” Gary shrugs. “Become a new person. So he says.”
“A new person?” says Luke dismissively. “Gary, he’s little better than a gangster.”
I nearly drop my glass on the floor. I owe a favor to a gangster?
“ ‘Gangster’s’ a little harsh,” says Gary, amused. “That was years ago.”
“These people never change,” says Luke firmly.
“You’re a hard man, Luke!” Gary says with a laugh. Then he suddenly spots my face. “Becky, are you OK?”
“Fine!” I say shrilly, and take a gulp of water. “Lovely!”
I feel hot and cold all over. This is not going to plan.
This is not going remotely to plan.
My first brilliant networking triumph. The first big client I woo for Brandon Communications. And he turns out to be a motel king with a criminal conviction.
But how was I supposed to know? How? He seemed so charming. He was so well dressed!
And now I’ve said Luke will work for him.
Kind of.
I mean . . . I didn’t actually promise anything, did I?
Oh God.
I can hear my own voice now, gaily chirping: “My husband would be delighted to do it. In fact, he’ll make it a priority!”
I gaze at my menu, trying to stay calm. OK, it’s obvious what I have to do. I have to tell Luke. Yes. Just confess the whole thing. Milan . . . the Angel bag . . . the phone call today . . . everything. It’s the grown-up option.
I glance at Luke’s taut face as he reads through his paperwork and feel a spasm of fear.
I can’t. I just can’t.
“It’s funny you should have mentioned Nathan Temple, Becky,” says Gary, sipping his water. “I haven’t even told you this yet, Luke, but he’s been in touch with us about doing the PR for some new hotel.”
I stare at Gary’s genial face and feel a huge wave of relief.
Of course they would have made an official approach too. Of course! I’ve been worrying about nothing! Luke will do the job and I’ll be quits with Nathan Temple and everything will be fine. . . .
“I take it we’ll decline,” Gary adds.
Decline? My head jerks up.
“Can you think what it would do to our reputation?” Luke says with a short laugh. “Turn down the job. But tactfully,” he adds with a frown. “If he’s buying the Daily World, we don’t want to offend him.”
“Don’t decline!” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
Both men turn to me in surprise, and I force a lighthearted laugh. “I mean . . . shouldn’t you look at both sides of the argument? Before you make your decision.”
“Becky, as far as I’m concerned there is only one argument,” says Luke crisply. “Nathan Temple is not the sort of character I want associated with my company.” He opens his menu. “We should order.”
“Don’t you think that’s a bit judgmental?” I say desperately. “ ‘Cast not the first clout’ and all that.”
“What?” Luke sounds astonished.
“It’s in the Bible!”
Luke gives me a look.
“Do you mean stone?” he says.
“Er . . .”
Oh. Maybe he’s right. But stone . . . clout . . . what’s the difference?
“The point is—” I begin.
“The point is,” Luke interrupts, “Brandon Communications does not want to be associated with someone who has a criminal record. Let alone the rest of it.”
“But that’s so . . . narrow-minded! Most people have probably got a criminal record these days!” I gesture widely with my arms. “I mean, who sitting round this table does not have some kind of criminal record?”
There’s a short silence.
“Well,” says Luke. “I don’t. Gary doesn’t. You don’t.”
I look at him, taken aback. I suppose he’s right. I don’t.
That’s quite a surprise, actually. I’d always thought of myself as living on the edge.
“Even so—”
“Becky, what’s brought this on, anyway?” Luke frowns. “Why are you so obsessed with Nathan Temple?”
“I’m not obsessed!” I say hurriedly. “I’m just . . . interested in your clients. And prospective clients.”
“Well, he’s not my client. Nor my prospective client,” says Luke with finality. “And neither will he ever be.”
“Right. Well . . . that’s pretty clear.”
We all study our menus. At least, the other two are studying their menus. I’m pretending to study mine, while my mind goes skittering round and round.
So I can’t persuade Luke. So I’ll just have to manage the situation. This is what supportive wives do. They deal with problems discreetly and efficiently. I bet Hillary Clinton’s done this kind of thing millions of times.
It’ll be fine. I’ll simply phone up Nathan Temple, thank him for his kind offer, and say that, unfortunately, Luke’s really, really busy—
No. I’ll say he tried to call but no one answered. . . .
“Becky? Are you OK?”
I look up to see both men looking at me with concern. Abruptly I realize I’m tapping the table harder and harder with one of Gary’s pencils.
“I’m great!” I say, and quickly put it down.
OK. I have a plan. What I will do is . . . I will say that Luke is ill.
Yes. No one can argue with that.
So as soon as we get home and Luke is closeted with Gary in the study, I hurry to the phone in our bedroom. I kick the bedroom door shut and quickly dial the number Nathan Temple gave me. To my huge relief, it clicks straight into voice mail.
And now that I’m listening properly, he sounds exactly like a motel king with a criminal past. Why on earth didn’t I hear it before? I must be deaf or something!
The beep goes, and I jump in fright.
“Hi!” I say, trying to keep my voice light and easy. “This is a message for Mr. Temple. It’s Becky Brandon here. Er . . . I told my husband all about your hotel, and he thought it sounded fab! But I’m afraid he’s not very well at the moment. So he won’t be able to do the launch after all. Which is a real shame! Anyway, I hope you find someone else! Bye!”
I put the phone down and sink onto the bed, my heart thumping. All this stress is going to give me a heart attack. Maybe I should try some of my yoga exercises from Sri Lanka. I cross my legs and close my eyes.
Breathe in. Breathe out. I am a radiant being of white light. My body is a temp
le.
Temple. Oh God . . .
“Becky?” Luke opens the door, and I nearly fall off the bed in terror.
“What? What is it?”
“What’s wrong?” Luke looks alarmed. “Becky, are you hyperventilating?”
“Just doing a bit of relaxing yoga!” I say breathlessly. “I’m fine!”
“Well, I just wanted to tell you”—Luke smiles—“Jess is here.”
Thirteen
“She’s coming up in the lift,” says Luke, opening the front door. “Who were you on the phone with, by the way?”
“Nobody,” I say quickly. “I was just . . . er . . . checking the time.”
Gradually my pulse is slowing down. It’s fine, I tell myself firmly. It’s done. Everything’s sorted.
I can hear the lift moving, down below. Jess is on her way! Quickly I grab my crib sheet and skim it one last time. Border collies . . . hates avocados . . . math teacher was called Mr. Lewis . . .
“Becky, I’d put that away before she arrives,” says Luke, looking amused.
“Oh. Right.”
I stuff it into my pocket and take a few deep breaths to prepare myself.
“Listen, Becky,” says Luke, watching me. “Before she arrives . . . I sincerely hope you two hit it off this time. But you are keeping a sense of proportion? You don’t have all your hopes pinned on this visit, do you?”
“Really, Luke,” I say kindly. “Don’t you know me better than that?”
Of course I have all my hopes pinned on this visit. Because I know it’s going to work out. Things will be different this time. For a start, we won’t do anything that Jess doesn’t want to do. I’m just going to follow her lead.
And the other thing I must remember is a tip that Luke gave me. He said it was great that I was so friendly toward Jess—but that she’s quite reserved, and maybe great big hugs weren’t her style. So he suggested I should be a bit more collected, just until we know each other better. Which is a fair point.
From the hall comes the noise of the lift getting closer. Why is this lift so slow? And then suddenly the doors are opening to reveal Jess in jeans and a gray T-shirt, holding her rucksack.
“Hi!” I cry, running forward. “Welcome! We can do whatever you want this weekend! Anything! Just name it! You’re the boss!”
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