by Sarah Mason
'He'll find a way' I say, knowing full well that he probably won't be able to this time.
Our little huddle stands nervously at the back until the door opens again and Simon marches into the room, head held high and proud. I stifle a gasp. He looks absolutely beautiful. He has had his hair cut into a very short crop.
'Oh my God!' moans Flo. 'He's like Samson. He'll lose all his strength.'
'Must have got it done this morning,' murmurs Dom.
I'm slapped in the face by a sudden longing for him. What wouldn't I give to be able to clamber over the top of all these people and fling myself into his arms. My stomach fills with butterflies as I watch him settle down behind the table, leaning over to murmur something to one of his colleagues. I'm concentrating so hard on him that I don't notice anyone else coming into the room.
Victoria, the PR girl, keeps giving Simon coy little looks. She teeters around on high stilettos, dressed in a beautiful Jackie Onassis-type suit. I look down at my own outfit. A black crocheted skirt, plum suede boots with a stiletto heel and an embroidered plum-coloured top.
'Oh my God,' mumbles Dom.
'I know,' I whisper back. 'Where do you think she got it from? Whistles?'
I glance over at him and suddenly realise that he's not looking at Victoria. He's looking at someone else. Instinctively I know who it is and my eyes confirm the facts.
'Oh bugger,' I breathe.
C h a p t e r 25
I have no wish to be seen by Rob so I sidle forward and sit down suddenly on one of the chairs. Dom quickly joins me.
'It seems that wherever I look at the moment, Rob is there,' I complain.
'Why is he here?'
'I suppose because he's one of the directors of Wings.'
'Only a non-executive one.'
'Yeah, but he's responsible for all this, isn't he?'
'How are we going to get out of here?'
I look towards the door. We can't possibly leave now without bringing maximum attention to ourselves and making it look as though we're running away.
'We're going to have to sit tight until the end and then slip out with the others,' I say firmly. I can definitely do that. Sit tight, lie low, I repeat to myself. In fact, that's exactly what I would like to do. Bury myself away from all this ghastly business. Someone can dig me up in a few years' time.
The conference kicks off with a representative from the PR agency introducing everyone at the table. I sink lower into my seat. I'm probably quite conspicuous as the only midget in the room. Simon then stands up and talks about what a fine company he thinks Wings could be given the right management, and briefly outlines some of his plans for the company. He explains that the American investors hold the deciding amount of stock and that they would like an extension to the deadline to consider their options.
'So he hasn't managed to persuade them to sell,' Dom murmurs to me. 'He's absolutely stuffed.'
'He might be able to raise the capital from somewhere,' I whisper back. Dom gives me a look. 'Well, he might,' I insist. The people in front of us look round and frown at me. So is that it? Nothing more to be said? It's only another week. But there is the furniture problem, Aunt Winnie has to return it today, and the bank is watching the estate like a vulture. Dom is right. He's stuffed.
I slump even further into my chair and frown. I think about all the work everyone has put in to the estate – Monty, Will, Mrs Delaney. Even Aunt Winnie and Dom have played their part. I think what Simon has been through in order to try to keep his home. All for nothing. All because Rob Gillingham wants to keep his place on the board of directors. My eyes suddenly snap up. Rob's looking very pleased with himself, glancing at his reflection in the window and smirking as the American bank outline their reasons for the delay, indirectly citing the newspaper article. He knows that he's won. Everyone can feel it. God, life can be so unfair sometimes.
Questions from the press begin. Simon fields a couple of nasty ones about how many people he would sack as a result of acquiring Wings. Someone then asks what the plans are for Wings if the hostile takeover doesn't go ahead. Rob leaps to his feet.
'I think I can answer this question. Let me start by saying that all of us on the board of Wings are fighting very hard to ensure that this hostile takeover does not go ahead. We believe that a future with the current management team must be preferable to any future at all with Simon Monkwell's company. We accept that our profits have not been those anticipated by our shareholders but hope that our partners in America, who have been with us since Wings was first formed, will stand by us. We have great plans for the company which have been outlined to our shareholders and which we believe will ensure Wings' profits reach acceptable returns. We guarantee we will not be making any staff cuts. I am not alone in thinking that Simon Monkwell would ensure the worst possible outcome for all concerned at Wings – both shareholders and employees. Press accounts have not been exaggerated. He is not a man of his word. He is not a man who keeps his promises.'
'HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT!' I shout. Except that I thought I said it in my head and I can plainly see from all the faces suddenly swivelling towards me that that wasn't the case. I also find I'm on my feet. I hastily try to sit down again. I'm sure we can just gloss over this, I'll distract everyone by pointing out of the window or something. But Dom won't let me sit down. I make frantic swipes at him.
'Go on, Izzy,' hisses Dom, 'go up to the front.' He gives me a shove and I find myself at the end of our row. I vaguely register the faces looking at me; Simon with sharp-eyed interest, Monty and Flo with their mouths open wide. Simon's team look absolutely aghast and Victoria rushes towards me. Is it too late to faint? What the hell am I thinking? Nothing rational, clearly.
I take a look at Rob and my resolve hardens. I am suddenly furiously angry. I brush Victoria's hands to one side and resolutely march up to the front. Before anyone else can say anything, I announce to the room, 'Rob Gillingham deliberately tried to use me in order to extract any details he could about Simon Monkwell's takeover bid. He knew I would be working in this household and he led me to believe …' my lip trembles a little and I look over at Dom who gives me an encouraging nod ' … that he was very fond of me. He then leaked all the things I innocently told him to the press in an attempt to mislead his shareholders. He is dishonourable and dishonest and the last person on earth to keep his promises. He's a snake.' Snake, Izzy? Snake? 'And Simon Monkwell is the most honourable man I have ever met. He always keeps his promises,' I add for good measure.
I stare at the room for a second until the flash of a camera brings me to my senses. I take one last glance at Simon's amazed face and then try to exit the room with a shred of dignity. Unfortunately, I cannon into the doorway and nearly give myself a black eye. Once out in the hallway, I run to the kitchen. 'Izzy!' Mrs Delaney exclaims, 'what's wrong … ?' but I keep on running until I reach the walled garden. I sit down heavily on the ground and look at my hands, which are trembling madly from all the adrenalin rushing around my body. This must be the most embarrassing thing I have ever done. I cover my face with my hands. What will Simon think?
Dom arrives a few seconds later. 'Oh my God!' he says and starts to grin.
'Did I sound absolutely bonkers?' I ask in distress.
'Let's put it this way, I don't think Mrs Delaney will be asking you to look after Harry any time soon. But it was marvellous! The best thing you've ever done!'
'God, Dom. It was awful, simply awful. What on earth was I thinking? Why couldn't I have just kept my mouth shut?'
'Because you were right, Izzy. Everything you said about Rob and Simon was right.'
'Did anyone say anything after I'd left?'
'All hell broke loose. The press started firing questions but then I came after you. Will, Monty and Flo are still there. They'll tell us what happens!' He drops down and joins me on the ground.
'Have you got a cigarette?'
'Izzy, you don't smoke.'
'Just give me a cigarette.'
<
br /> Dom tuts and extracts a cigarette packet from his pocket. I light up and draw the smoke right down into my boots. It's the most sublime thing ever. Just what I need to get over my rather unfortunate nicotine patch habit.
'Did Simon say anything?' I ask finally.
Dom shakes his head.
'Do you think he'll be cross? Have I ruined everything?'
'How could you have done? Rob is the one in the wrong.'
'This is just what I needed. A little more humiliation and embarrassment. Can we go yet, Dom?'
'We've got to load up the furniture and we can't do that until everyone leaves.'
'How much longer?' I ask pleadingly.
'A couple of hours.'
'I'm just going to stay here and die slowly of embarrassment. If God is merciful, he'll take me right now.'
Dom pats my knee and says, 'Okay. I'll go and get some coffee.'
'See what else you can find out!' I call after his disappearing figure. He raises his hand in acknowledgement.
I sit and stare at the ground, my arms wrapped around my knees, and take a disturbing amount of comfort from my cigarette. When I finish it, I awkwardly swivel my foot on the butt and wonder what they are all up to inside. Dom is right; I should wear little bells to warn people of my approach, or at least take out public liability insurance. I look at my watch – twenty past eleven. The Americans still have forty minutes to accept the offer; my little speech could have been just the catalyst they needed. More likely, they'll just want to wash their hands of the entire affair.
Too nervous to sit still for long, I get up and start inspecting the borders. Moving from plant to plant, I pick off leaves, inspect flowers, even dead-head a couple. I discover a peony being absolutely throttled by honeysuckle and I pull a few tendrils off so the peony can at least breathe. I pace a bit more, discovering rosemary, sage and lemon balm. God! Where the hell is Dom? How difficult can it be to make one sodding cup of coffee? How long is he going to leave me to be Alan Titchmarsh out here before he rescues me with some caffeine?
'Izzy?' I hear a distant voice call. It's not Dom. 'Izzy?' I can see the top of Aunt Winnie's head looking around hopefully for me.
'Aunt Winnie!' I hiss. She doesn't spot me. 'AUNT WINNIE!' I say again. She looks over in my direction and I make furtive waving gestures. This time she spots me, waves back and then does a comical half-run on tiptoes which I think is supposed to convey a level of secrecy.
'Izzy, my dear! Dom said you were outside!' she booms, just in case the pursuing spies had lost her. She reaches me and plants a kiss on my cheek. We both sit down.
'What's happening?' I ask.
'Well, those Purrer girls—'
'PR girls,' I correct.
'That's what I said.'
'No, you said Purrer girls, as though it's a word. It's PR, which stands for—'
'Izzy, do you want to hear this or not?'
'Oh yes. Sorry.'
'Anyway,' she glares at me, 'those Purrer girls are trying to hustle the press out but they're all waiting around, desperate to find out who you are.'
'Where's Simon?'
'He's disappeared into the drawing room with everybody else. One of the Purrer girls wanted to find you to get some sort of statement from you but we've told her we don't know where you are. She's gone to talk to Simon instead.'
'How did he look? Angry?'
'No.'
'Annoyed then?'
'No.'
'A little disgruntled?'
'No, more hassled I think.'
'Hassled?'
'Well it is quite a big story for the press! A director of a company targeted for a hostile takeover uses the caterer for information!'
'I am not a caterer! I am an organiser! I hope that bloody PR girl isn't telling them I'm a caterer! Gerald will kill her! Do you think I'll be in the papers?'
'I think you'll definitely be in the papers.'
'I wonder if Gerald will fire me this time? It's not going to look too good to our clients.'
'No!' Aunt Winnie says cheerfully, 'it's probably not.'
'I haven't even told him about Rob trying to get information from me. I thought he would freak out!'
'Well, he certainly will now!'
I remember writing a list a few years ago of what I wanted to achieve in life. Something about finding a decent man and being successful at what I do. How could I have cocked up so comprehensively on both counts?
'Can we go now?' I ask Aunt Winnie desperately.
'We've got to wait until everyone else has left to get the furniture out, Izzy!'
'Can I wait for you at your house? I don't think I can face anyone.'
'Of course! But don't you want to say goodbye to the family?'
'I'll send them all cards!' I say wretchedly. 'And flowers. And chocolates. Besides, I'll see Monty when he comes over next week.'
'Izzy, I think they're about to lose Pantiles,' she says gently. 'Couldn't you just wish them all well? You needn't see Simon,' she adds shrewdly.
Dom appears in the archway carrying three mugs of steaming coffee. 'Sorry Izzy! People kept button-holing me for information. But I never said a word. I never squealed. Even when they held me down and poked me!' He grins. 'Mrs Delaney sent these.' He produces some broken biscuits with bits of fluff on them from his jacket pocket.
I manage a half-smile back. 'You didn't tell them where I worked, did you?' He shakes his head. 'Maybe they won't find out and then Gerald won't fire me.'
'Um, I think I heard one of the PR girls telling them.'
I stare at Dom in horror. Could this get any worse?
Dom shrugs. 'Maybe Gerald will be okay about it.'
'Confidentiality is supposed to be the hub of our business!'
I stare at the two of them, speechless for a second. On top of everything else I'm going to lose my job, and I don't think I'll get another one in a hurry. Tears spring into my eyes once more and I brush them away impatiently. I'm bored of crying now.
'I'll wait for you at your house, Aunt Winnie.'
They both realise that asking me to stay won't do any good and nod slightly.
I march into the house and up to my bedroom where Meg is waiting for me. I slam the door in an act of defiance that goes completely unnoticed – this household is as accustomed to slamming doors as it is to grasshoppers. I pick up my bags and stagger to the door. Heavily laden, I trudge downstairs with Meg following. My bruised and injured pride is quite a burden in itself. After years of abuse it has finally given up walking.
I successfully make it to the car without meeting any of the family, and then try to find my car keys without relinquishing any of my bags. I finally locate them in my handbag, shove everything in the boot, open the passenger door for Meg to jump in and get into the driver's seat. My hand is trembling so much that I can barely slot the key into the ignition, but I find it eventually, shove the car into first gear and look up. A man and a woman are standing in front of the car. On closer inspection I find they're my parents.
C h a p t e r 26
I stare at them in surprise. Unfortunately my foot slips slightly on the clutch, the car leaps forward and I damn near run them over. Both of them jump back in shock.
I get out of the car. 'God, sorry' I say as I notice my mother has her hand to her throat and is breathing heavily. 'What on earth are you two doing here?'
They both solemnly and dutifully give me a kiss and a hug.
'What are you doing here?' I repeat.
'Izzy, Aunt Winnie called us,' my mother says. 'We got on the first plane we could.'
I frown. God, Aunt Winnie is taking my love life very seriously indeed. 'I'll be fine,' I say automatically.
'No, that's not it,' says my father. 'Is there somewhere we could go to talk?'
The only place I can think of where we will get any degree of privacy whatsoever is the ruddy walled garden. Meg and I lead the way, treading the well-worn route. Why on earth are they here? Has someone in the family
died or something? Thankfully the walled garden is deserted and my parents sit down on the warped old garden bench. I sit on the ground with Meg beside me.
I look at them expectantly. 'Aunt Winnie called you?' I prompt.
They look at each other and then my mother takes a deep breath. 'Yes. She said you and Simon Monkwell were getting quite close.'
'Not any more,' I reply shortly.
My father looks up sharply at this. 'Really?' he says and then looks at my mother.
'What's going on?' I ask, looking from one to the other.
'Well, maybe nothing now,' says my father slowly, staring at my mother as some non-verbal messaging goes on.
'Does this have something to do with Simon?' I ask suddenly. 'Because if it does, I would really appreciate knowing what is going on.'
'Are you two close?'
'We have been. I had been hoping that we might be again,' I eventually confess. 'But I don't think so now.'
My parents stare at each other for what seems like an eternity.
'What is it?' I ask. 'You can't not tell me now.'
'She's old enough,' my mother says to my father. 'She'll understand.'
My father nods suddenly as though his mind is made up and then turns to face me. 'Izzy, this is a very difficult thing for me to have to tell you. I had hoped that you would never need to know as it's something I'm very ashamed of.'
'What is it?' I whisper, feeling quite faint.
'I'm only telling you this because, in view of your relationship with Simon Monkwell, past or present, it would be unfair if you didn't know. We didn't want you to hear it from him.'
He takes a deep breath and continues, 'When we lived at the estate, and you were about eleven years old, I had an affair with Elizabeth Monkwell.' He looks deeply into my eyes and watches the words sink in.
'An affair?' I say eventually.
'Yes.'
'What sort of affair?'
He looks slightly puzzled at this and glances over at my mother. 'Er, the normal sort, Izzy.'
I shake myself slightly and shift position. I stroke Meg's fur and wait for the words to have some effect on me. I'm surprised to find my hand is shaking.
