The Concrete Ceiling

by Peter Rowlands

  “I’m still not convinced that we know the whole story.”

  “How come?”

  I told her of my suspicions about Ellie, and described the way Noel had tracked down her friend Chico. “I won’t believe Graham did this until I know what part they had to play.”

  “But how much chance is there that he’ll reply to that text you sent him?”

  “Not a lot, probably.”

  “I’m amazed that you can find the energy to keep on banging away at this. In some ways you’re quite like Nick.”

  “Huh! Thanks for the compliment, if it was one.”

  She adopted a serious expression. “Norah told me the whole story of what he got up to in my village. You probably ought to know that.”

  Cautiously I said, “You mean about him stealing commission from the other sales staff?”

  “That and the rest of it. She didn’t want to tell me about it, but I have ways of making her talk.”

  “I must say I wondered how much you’d picked up.”

  “The whole lot.”

  “There’s no proper evidence of that stuff. It’s all secondhand.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I know it’s true.” She gave me a pained look. “Why didn’t you tell me about it yourself, Mike? What was stopping you?”

  I had a feeling there was a right and wrong answer to this. After a moment’s thought I said, “You didn’t want a load of negativity from me.”

  “How do you know what I wanted?”

  “I didn’t think it would help you or me if I just seemed to be bringing Nick down.”

  She was nodding to herself. “I’m thinking, tangled web.”

  My computer pinged, announcing the arrival of an email. It proved to be from the Smart Headings people. I’d promised to supply a batch of editorial by lunchtime, and this was a reminder. I said to Sam, “I need to work, but there’s no need for you to leave. We could have lunch later.”

  “OK – if you’re sure.”

  So I sat at my desk for the next hour and a half, grinding out editorial copy. Sam took out her phone and sat checking her emails, tapping out replies to some of them. When she’d had enough of that she stretched and wandered over to the bookshelves. I glanced up as she pulled out a picture book on Roman art – one of the large collection belonging to my predecessor Joe. She sat down again, and I could hear her leafing through it as I worked.

  I was acutely conscious of her presence. We’d never spent time together like this before, and in different circumstances we could probably have carried it off companionably enough, but today was scarcely a normal day. Eventually I turned to her. “I can’t concentrate.”

  She put the book down on the coffee table and looked at me gravely. “I’m distracting you.”

  I checked my watch. “How about an early lunch? We could go to one of the coffee shops in Camden High Street.”

  “Can’t we just stay here?” She waved round at the flat. “It’s an oasis of calm. I like this.”

  “OK, but there’s no food in the flat – not even bread. I’ll go out and get something. Let me just finish this job.” I turned back to my laptop and completed the piece I’d been working on.

  From behind me Sam said, “Remember that ditch?”

  It was a question calculated to set my pulse racing again. The ditch was where we’d had our one impassioned embrace. I swivelled round and nodded, dry-mouthed. “Difficult to forget.”

  She said, “I’ve thought about it often.”

  “So have I.”

  She stood up slowly and came over to me. I reached out tentatively and touched her arm. She didn’t move or flinch. I pulled myself up from the chair, steadying myself on her arm. We were very close together. I said, “Hello.”

  She smiled hesitantly. “Hello yourself.”

  I put my hands on her shoulders and we kissed. It wasn’t the frenetic kiss of that ditch, it was a soft kiss – a kiss of renewal, of reaffirmation. It felt like one of the most significant kisses of my life.

  Chapter 58

  I bought bread, cheese, tomatoes, pork pies and pickle from the deli round the corner. When I got back I opened a bottle of white wine from the fridge and we sat at the table over our makeshift picnic.

  There was a suppressed hysteria about the occasion – an awareness that the kiss had shifted our relationship into a different gear. We laughed at jokes that weren’t funny, we exchanged meaningful glances, we reacted with shock when our hands inadvertently touched across the table.

  Gradually the effervescence subsided, and Sam leaned back in her chair. “I’m not going to marry Nick.” She frowned as if in surprise at what she’d just said. “You’re the first person to know.”

  I smiled slightly. “It was only a kiss,” I said.

  “Get over yourself! This isn’t about you.”

  “So is it because of that stuff about him cheating when he was working at the village?”

  “No, that just underlines what I’ve seen for myself.”

  “Dare I ask?”

  She shook her head slowly. “I didn’t get it at first. I persuaded myself he was interested in me and my life.” She gave me an ironic look. “The truth is that it was all about him.”

  “I think you’re being hard on yourself.”

  “You don’t need to let me off the hook. I wasn’t being honest either. I don’t think I ever really intended to marry him. I just allowed myself to think I might. It’s a terrible admission, but my life needed a lift, and he was it.”

  “What about Nick? What does he think?”

  “Oh, he really wants to marry me. He’s determined to, in fact. But I think it’s an idea of me that he wants, not the actual me. He doesn’t even know the actual me.”

  “I hope you won’t mind me saying this, but why didn’t you duck out sooner?”

  “I didn’t want to admit my mistake to myself.” Her eyes flashed for a moment. “It’s not as if there wasn’t enough evidence. I should have suspected something long ago, when he invested in our business. It seemed such a generous thing to do. I should have known you don’t get something for nothing in this life.”

  “What did Nick get out of it?”

  “He got a stake in my soul – that’s what he got. But I’m going to find a way to get it back.”

  I looked at her reflectively. “I suppose you know he’s been quietly trying to drive a wedge between you and me?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, take the other night, when we met up at Marylebone station. Basically he was warning me off.”

  “He said you had a pleasant drink together.”

  “Huh! He would say that, wouldn’t he? Actually he was giving me a dressing-down for meeting you with Jess in Covent Garden. Oh, and he was letting me know he’d heard about a meeting I had with some surveyors in Banbury. It was for a story I’ve been working on – a story that might involve him. He said his company was going to stop using them as a punishment. He was even trying to make them fire the man who’d spoken to me.”

  “Bloody hell, Mike!”

  I wondered how much more anti-Nick propaganda she was ready for. I said, “If you think that’s bad, this story I’m working on is a lot worse. I think he may have got himself into seriously deep water.”

  She frowned at me. “What story? Have you been making a study of him or something?”

  Quickly I said, “It wasn’t like that. Originally I was just researching a logistics lead in Rugby – but then his name came up in connection with some suspicious activity.”

  “Suspicious how?”

  “It involved some warehousing. Nick wanted to influence what happened to it, and I got the impression he’d used some very underhand tactics to get his way.” I raised my arms in appeal. “So yes, I thought I should find out if there was any truth in it.”

  “And was there?”

  “I think so, yes. Blackmail, bullying, coercion …” I thought I’d better stop there.

  “Huh! Well thanks fo
r telling me.”

  “I would have told you in the end, when I’d worked out exactly what was going on.”

  “I should hope so.” She stared at me for a moment. “I don’t believe this. There I was, living my simple life in Banbury, and here are you, telling me I was living with a machiavellian monster.”

  “Hardly that. I’m just saying he was stretching the bounds of legality.”

  She sat back in her chair. “What a foolish man. Why couldn’t he see there was no need for all this?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “He doesn’t seem to realise he has no need to prove himself. People are perfectly willing to accept him for what he is.”

  “And you think that’s what he’s been doing here?”

  “It’s bound to be. The thing is, the success of Nick’s estate agency is all down to his father and his partner Harry Simms. Nick just walked into a thriving business. But that isn’t good enough for him. He’s determined to make his own mark on it. He keeps trying to expand into all kinds of other things, but from what I’ve heard they nearly always go wrong, and the firm has to fall back on its core business. So whatever it is that you’re talking about, it’s just the latest in a long line.”

  “It’s a retail project this time. He’s put money into a development company, but according to Jess the whole thing is more or less dead in the water. I think he’s trying to force the project through so that he can pull his money out without a big loss.”

  “Why would there be a big loss? Can’t he just sell?”

  “My impression is that he paid way over the odds for his stake. He was assuming it would generate big profits. If the project is cancelled, the value of the site will plummet, and he’ll be seriously out of pocket. He might not even be able to find a buyer – not in the short term, anyway.”

  She looked at me reflectively. “So that’s what Jess was trying to tell me the other day. She couldn’t make up her mind whether to talk about it or not.”

  “She probably didn’t want you to think she was attacking Nick just because she doesn’t like him.”

  “You people!” Her eyes gleamed. “You’re all trying to protect me like a china doll. If I didn’t know you better, I’d consider it insulting.”

  I said nothing for a moment, then, “It’s been a difficult call.”

  She relented. “I suppose I should never have put you in this position.”

  I started clearing away the remnants of lunch, but then my phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen: Guy Dereham. I said, “I’d better take this.”

  Sam said, “I’ll do the clearing.”

  Guy was chasing up the work I’d been doing. “They’re telling me you were going to upload it at lunchtime,” he said.

  “Sorry, I got sidetracked.”

  I sat down at the desk and resumed the work while Sam clattered in the kitchen. There was a beguiling complicity about her presence; I’d seldom shared any domestic task since I’d been living here. When she’d finished she sat down and continued browsing Joe’s book.

  Finally I uploaded my work to the web site, but as I did so Sam said, “I should go.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “You have work to do.”

  “Sod the work. I’ve done enough.”

  She couldn’t resist chuckling at this. “That’s not a very good attitude.”

  “Are you heading back to Banbury?”

  “No, I’ll go on over to Ronnie’s flat and spend the night with her. But I’ll have to go back to Banbury tomorrow. I need to think what I’m going to say to Nick.”

  Cautiously I said, “You could always stay here tonight.”

  I expected her to brush away the idea, but in fact she laughed again. “I wish I could. I sometimes get fed up with Ronnie’s nagging.”

  “There you are then.” Suddenly my whole being seemed focused on achieving this single objective. “No strings,” I said quickly. “You’ve already tested the couch. Insanely comfortable.”

  “Huh!” She reflected for a moment. “Probably not a good idea, on the whole.”

  “Stay. I’ve got more wine chilling in the fridge. Or there’s a bottle of red in the rack. In fact I could cook you a pasta to go with it.”

  “You’re making it hard to resist.”

  “But you’ll have to go shopping for the ingredients.”

  “I think I could handle that.”

  This unexpected prospect was dizzying. I said, “So it’s agreed?”

  “I tell you what – I’ll stay for the food, then head over to Ronnie’s later on.”

  “You drive a hard bargain.”

  She picked up her phone. “I’ll just call Ronnie and let her know when to expect me.”

  A couple of minutes later she ended the call and turned to me. “Ronnie thinks I’m raving mad: her words, not mine.” She grinned. “That means qualified approval. Oh, and Ramsgate is a no-no, but she’s been enjoying the sea air.”

  I described where the nearest shops were, and she was just preparing to go out when the entry phone buzzed. I went over and lifted the receiver.

  “Mike, it’s Ashley! Can you let me in?”

  Chapter 59

  I turned to Sam, aghast. “It’s Ashley. She must be over from California. I had no idea she was coming.”

  She was giving me a puzzled look. “I assumed you two had broken up. Seems I got it wrong.”

  “No, you didn’t get it wrong. We just … we haven’t … ” I swallowed. “There’s a conversation to be had. We couldn’t have it while we were five thousand miles apart.”

  “A conversation?”

  Struggling, I said, “Like the one you’re going to have with Nick.”

  “Hm. Well, apparently now you have your chance. I’d better get going.”

  There was a tap on the door. I swept it open with an irritable flourish. Ashley was standing there, wearing a light coloured coat. There was a hefty suitcase at her side. She said, “Hello!” Then she looked past me and saw Sam. “Oh, I didn’t realise you had company.”

  I waved her inside. “Ashley, this is Samantha.”

  She stepped forward, put her case down and held out her hand. “Sam, it’s nice to meet you at last.”

  “Likewise.”

  It was a vignette I would hold in my head forever: Ashley with her shoulder-length dark hair and business attire, Sam with her shorter blonde hair and bohemian look; Ashley, the woman I’d spent many nights with, joyously at first, and Sam, the woman I might have ended up spending that very night with, but now clearly wouldn’t.

  Sam said, “We’ll have to catch up some time, but I’ve got to go.”

  “Please don’t feel you have to leave on my account.”

  “I don’t. Mike will explain.” She turned to me. “Am I right about that, Mike?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right then.” She turned back to Ashley. “Nice to meet you.” And she was gone.

  Ashley picked up her case and lugged it to the middle of the room, glancing at the remains of lunch on the table. “What have I walked into exactly?”

  “Nothing. I wasn’t expecting Sam here today. She just turned up this morning out of the blue.” Then I stopped. I didn’t have to defend either Sam or myself. I said, “She’s having a hard time with her fiancé. She wanted to talk it through with someone, and she chose me.” It wasn’t exactly true, but it wasn’t a lie either – and more important, it wasn’t a denial.

  Ashley said, “I should have let you know I was coming. It was a bit of a last-minute thing, and by the time I got round to it, I’d left it too late.” She gave me an apologetic look. “I did try phoning you from Heathrow, but it went to voicemail.”

  “So how did you know I would be here this afternoon?”

  “I talked to that strange man you write for – Guy something? He said you were working at home today.” She hesitated, then finished somewhat lamely, “I thought I’d surprise you.”

  I smiled faintly. “You did that a
ll right.”

  She was looking keenly at me. She said, “It’s not over between you and Samantha, is it? I should have realised.”

  “What do you mean? There was never anything between us in the first place.”

  “Come on, Mike. Reality check, please.”

  I was about to reply when my phone bleeped, announcing the arrival of a text. I glanced at the screen, hoping absurdly that the message was from Sam. In fact it was from an unfamiliar number. I started to lower the phone, then had a sudden intuition that the message might be from Chico.

  I said, “Sorry, hang on a second.” I swiped the screen again and called up the message. It read: “Who R U?” It really was from him.

  I looked up. “Sorry, but I have to deal with this. It won’t wait. Why don’t you take your coat off, put the kettle on, make yourself comfortable?”

  She seemed about to demur, then nodded, slid her coat off and dragged her suitcase out of the way. I sat down at the table, feverishly trying to think how to reply to Chico’s message in a way that would keep him engaged. Finally I knew what to put.

  “I’m the guy who didn’t kill Rob Openshaw.”

  Nothing happened. It occurred to me that if Chico waited as long to reply to this new message as he had to my first one I would be sitting here for several days. All the same, I kept watching the screen hopefully. I could hear Ashley clattering in the kitchen.

  Then he did reply. “Wot do U want?”

  I’d already worked out what to say to this. I had to keep on believing in the scenario I’d invented for him – the one in which he’d had something to do with Openshaw’s death. I typed, “To get us both off the hook.”

  This time the delay was shorter. He came back with a one-word question: “How?”

  For a moment I sat exulting over this. It seemed to confirm that I was on the right lines. I typed, “Can we meet?”

  I had no idea what kind of result this would produce, but the one that came back to me was a surprise. The text read, “U the guy in Camden?”