by Louise Wise
‘Were you there, then?’ said Charlie, rolling her eyes.
Faye huffed, and pointedly turned her back on her then directed the rest of her information at Melvin only. ‘Armed police burst in and arrested Mr M. They had him on the floor, arms up his back, you know, like they do on The Bill, and marched him off to a squad car. Oh, very Gene Hunt, I bet. Wish I’d been there!’
‘Gene Hunt isn’t in The Bill,’ said Charlie.
‘She isn’t?’
‘He,’ Charlie corrected. ‘He’s in that 1980s cop series.’
‘The Sweeney?’
‘Hang on,’ interrupted Melvin, waving his hands in front of them. ‘Let’s get this straight –’
‘You’re hardly going to get anything straight, Melly,’ said Faye with a shriek of laughter.
‘That’s good, Faye,’ said Charlie laughing.
‘Thank you, Charlie.’
Melvin closed his eyes in frustration, and Charlie sobered immediately. ‘Oh, Mel, this is just office gossip, a joke at worst. Armed police wouldn’t have arrested Mr Middleton. That’s silly.’
Sarah passed them coming back from the vending machine, sipping a coffee, and heard Charlie’s last words. ‘It’s true as I’m standing here. Everyone’s talking about it, even Fanny.’
Charlie and Melvin stared at one another. ‘My God,’ said Charlie. ‘B-but why? I mean, what has he done?’
Nobody really knew, but it wasn’t long into the morning when a rumour circulated that Mr Middleton’s red Audi was spotted in the Red Light district and he had been arrested for kerb crawling. Then the low whispers started that he was the Gentleman Abductor.
Mr Middleton suddenly burst through the double doors, paperwork under one arm, brief case and coat in another, and he looked furious.
Melvin and Charlie exchanged looks. ‘I think we should keep our heads down today, baby doll,’ he said.
Charlie pulled a face, nodded and slipped behind her own desk. From beneath her eyelashes she watched Mr Middleton snatch the telephone from poor John Fanton’s fingers and Fanny was forced to gather his things together quickly, and looking startled, he found himself on the other side of the door within seconds of Mr Middleton arriving.
Charlie bit the inside of her lip. No, it wasn’t funny, Mr Fanton was a bit of a grump, but even he didn’t deserve that treatment. Still trying hard not to laugh, she looked back at the editor’s window, and jumped when she found Mr Middleton’s chocolate dark eyes boring into hers. He reached up and pulled the blinds, blocking her and the rest of the office out.
She thought of the red car, and its owner’s dark shape within.
Could it have been Middleton?
Her laughter dried up.
TWENTY EIGHT
While Charlie and Melvin had been talking, Ben was entering the building. How stupid was he to believe that his encounter with the police wouldn’t get out. It must have been circulated all around Core – not forgetting the other publications – in a matter of moments. The personal email connection must have been smoking!
He heard the whispers of the receptionists as he strode through the foyer towards the lift, and the back of his neck burned with embarrassment as he stood waiting. Someone giggled behind him and the flush rose from his chest to cover his face.
The lift doors opened to reveal many faces; faces which all stopped chatting. They might as well have pointed their fingers and shouted, ‘Kerb crawler.’ Or worse, ‘Abductor.’
Ben stepped inside the lift and turned to face the door; he watched the floor numbers above his head and wished he’d taken the stairs. The lift had a discomfited quiet about it, and Ben had been glad to get out. He approached the office doors, and peeked in. He found himself mentally counting to ten before opening the door, something he hadn’t done since – well – a month or so, at least.
Twenty-nine eyes turned towards him (Mikey had a false eye that refused to move with the other). He nodded to anyone in general and walked the length of the room towards his office; he was sure someone had moved the office further away.
Inside, Mr Fanton was on the telephone. He raised his eyebrows at Ben, and smirked.
He actually smirked! Ben had never liked Mr Fanton. The man was pompous and obviously thought, because he was on first name terms with his father, that that gave him some kind of advantage over him.
Ben’s anger surprised him; surprised him because it felt so good.
He snatched the phone from Mr Fanton’s hand, and manhandled him outside and slammed the door after him. He then reached to pull the blind, but hesitated as a pair of green eyes glowered at him.
Charlie Wallis was a popular member of London Core. He had already knocked the dynamic of the office out of orbit, and it wouldn’t do to upset the most liked member in the building either. Or that’s what he told himself. In truth he didn’t want her to hold horrible thoughts on him like everyone else seemed to be.
He pulled the blind. Too late, it seemed. They all hated him anyway. Everyone had nick-names and was touchy-feely; tactile.
TWENTY NINE
Charlie went to lunch in a daze. Her judgement of character seemed to be wrong yet again. The quiet, mild-mannered and astronomy boff Mr Middleton was prime suspect in the abduction case. Of course, gossip and speculation had added weight to Middleton’s ‘arrest’, making him sound like a hardened criminal.
She found herself in the car park. Close to London Core’s main entrance was a section for senior staff to park their cars and Charlie headed over. She felt conspicuous, especially as she’d travelled to work by bus today. She acknowledged that CCTV would be recording her every move, and tried to walk casually towards the line of cars. Unfortunately her casual walk: exaggerated longer stride, nose in air and whistling tunelessly was more eye-catching than casual, but luckily for her she was well recognised and security were probably not paying her much attention.
She walked past the line of expensive cars until she spotted a red convertible. Charlie turned from it quickly.
‘Oh my God, oh my God,’ she muttered. She turned back; glanced at the camera and ‘casually’ walked towards it.
It wasn’t an Audi, and Charlie breathed a sigh of relief. Next to the car was an empty space. On the ground it was painted: RESERVED FOR DIRECTOR.
Ben Middleton’s space.
A door opened to London Core and a security guard stepped out. He raised a hand towards Charlie. She stopped herself from diving to the floor, and rolling, American cop style, under the belly of the nearest car.
‘All right, love?’ he called.
Her grin was over-stretched. ‘I’m fine thank you Tom. I’m thinking of buying myself a new motor and I’m looking around for inspiration. This is a nice car,’ she waffled, and touched the nearest car. ‘I love strong colours in cars, don’t you? Something that says something about a person.’
‘White’s strong?’ Tom said, and Charlie looked at the car she was touching. Chuckling, he headed towards a KFC across the road.
Charlie looked back at the empty space where Middleton’s car should have been. Now what?
She turned towards the car park’s exit, and made her way to the park. She grabbed a sandwich from the local takeaway café on the way. It was nice and sunny for November and not too cold at all. She found a bench and unwrapped her ham and tomato.
She chewed on her lunch as her mind re-ran the image of Sally Readman climbing into the red car. It was a shame Middleton’s car wasn’t in the car park, and then she would’ve seen he couldn’t possibly be the abductor. His car was probably a red Jag or something, and the police singled him out because of the similarities. What a weird coincidence the abductor and Mr Middleton each have a similar car!
But… and this was only a tiny ‘but’, there had been something in Mr Middleton’s eyes. Sadness, yes; but a fear and a longing of some kind. Charlie bit into her ham and tomato sandwich thoughtfully.
Had she really been the last person to see Sally Readman? The guilt was
intense, and she had to close her eyes to gather back her poise.
‘Want a coffee with that?’
She jumped, and began to cough as a piece of ham became lodged in her throat.
‘Do you want me to administer the Heimlich manoeuvre?’ Mr Middleton placed two coffees on the ground and patted her on the back. He looked concerned.
‘No,’ she coughed. ‘It’s OK.’
He patted harder, and she was almost knocked off the bench. ‘Sorry,’ he grabbed her arm before she could fall. ‘Look, take a sip of this.’ He handed her the drink.
‘Thanks,’ she took it, and sipped. She peeked up at him from beneath a shaggy fringe, feeling a sudden rush of shyness as he sat next to her. He picked up his coffee, and as he bent forwards Charlie decided she liked the way his hair fell off his forehead to cover his eyes.
He brushed it away. ‘I saw you from over there,’ he nodded towards a fast-food mobile van. ‘And I thought, by way of a peace offering, I’d buy you a drink.’
‘Peace offering?’
‘For kicking your beloved John Fanton out of his office. You were giving me such an evil eye this morning,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘I thought I’d better surrender quickly.’
She looked at his hands, curled around the plastic cup of coffee, and imagined them throttling someone to death – but instead thought of them caressing her body. She sighed with pleasure almost as if her daydream had become a reality. ‘Those hands would cup my boobs just nicely,’ she murmured.
‘Pardon?’
She stilled as she realised she’d spoken out loud. ‘I – I, er, um… Hot! Hot, this cup. For my hands, that is.’
Somehow, Mr Middleton seemed to understand. ‘Oh, my,’ he said, and took the plastic cup from her. ‘Sorry. I’ll put it on the ground by your feet. Be careful not to knock it over.’
They sat in silence for a while; Charlie not daring to look at him and holding her limp sandwich on her lap.
Mr Middleton cleared his throat. ‘How’s the new vending machine? Are you getting your caffeine fix?’
‘It’s good, thanks.’ Come on Wallis, you’re usually so nervous you can’t stop talking. Say something interesting. ‘It makes a lovely cup of tea.’ Yep, that’ll do it.
‘Did you see the comet the other week?’ Ben asked.
‘Hartley 2? Nah, it was cloudy. Can never manage to see anything under this sky. Now where I used to live in Northampton I could see everything.’ That’s better. Common ground. ‘Did you spot it?’
‘Unfortunately no. I didn’t get the chance to look through my telescope –’
‘You’ve a telescope?’
He gave a smile, which crinkled his chocolate eyes. ‘I’ve an observatory.’
‘Oh my God! You are so lucky! But why didn’t you look through it? You’ve another six and a half years to wait now.’
‘I had, er, other things on my mind.’ His face became taut again. His mouth moved to sip his coffee, and she found herself watching the movement, her own lips parting as his touched the edge of the cup. Charlie shivered, and looked away.
‘Cold?’
It wasn’t cold that she was feeling. She bit into her sandwich, wondering when she’d swapped the filling with cardboard.
‘No, I’m fine,’ she answered. They sat in silence again.
‘How’d you like working for Core?’ he asked. ‘You said you were aiming to be a writer.’
He remembered her babbling at their disastrous meeting? God, help her. ‘I love fiction writing,’ she said at last, ‘but I don’t think I’m any good.’
‘Is that your opinion or someone else’s? And unless they are a bestseller ignore them. What about journalism? Have you thought about putting your writing to good use and doing that?’
Was he laughing at her? Charlie frowned and moodily wondered if anyone would ever take her seriously. It wounded her that she had to place him with that group of people. She wondered what it would be like to have him look at her in admiration instead of frustration – hmmm well, anyone looking at her like that, really. She glanced at him. His face was serious.
‘I don’t think I’d be any good at reporting. I’d get too involved in the stories.’ Ain’t that the truth!
‘Isn’t that what gives a reporter their fire?’
She smiled; he was trying to be kind – or humouring her; her smile died.
‘If, er, being a writer is something you’re interested in then I’ll help you,’ he said. ‘Which university did you qualify at?’
‘I never went to college or university,’ she said. ‘I was never given the option. I only have a handful of GCSEs.’
‘Oh,’ he looked surprised. ‘Don’t you have a NCTJ or anything?’
‘No, nothing.’ She sighed. ‘It was just a dream I had that’s all, an unreachable dream.’ She had meant to sound flippant rather than sad, but she sounded heartbroken even to her own ears. ‘I was always writing stories as a kid. I tried to sell them to neighbours for fifty pence.’ She smiled as she remembered, and he smiled with her.
‘Your dream still doesn’t have to be impossible,’ he said softly. ‘There are writing courses you can go on. And, I can pull a few strings,’ he winked, looking pleased with himself. ‘Leave it with me.’
‘I can’t afford college fees –’ she began to say apologetically.
‘Don’t worry about that, the company will pay. And before you get all insulted,’ he smiled as she opened her mouth to protest, ‘the company often pays for such courses.’
Charlie nodded dumbly.
‘That’s settled then. How do you think the merger is going?’
Why was he asking her? ‘Fine, I – I suppose. Our office doesn’t seem that affected, although I’ve heard a few grumbles.’
‘Keep your ear to the ground, eh? I suppose there are, er, rumours circling the building regarding me?’ He sounded, and looked, embarrassed.
‘Rumours?’ Charlie managed to look wide-eyed and guilty all at the same time. ‘No. I can’t say I’ve heard any.’
Mr Middleton sighed. ‘I thought so. It’s nonsense, of course. A misunderstanding.’
‘Of course,’ Charlie agreed.
They sat in another silence with Charlie feeling his tension and intense thought. She looked at him askance and took in his broad shoulders and wide chest, which she had a sudden compulsion to rest her head against…
Charlie pulled herself up short. She picked up her coffee and took a sip, then finished her sandwich. She wished she bought the chicken salad. It wasn’t her, the ham was like cardboard.
Mr Middleton finished his coffee, aimed and threw the cup towards a bin attached to a large tree. It missed. ‘Bugger.’ He stood up to retrieve it, and dropped it into the bin.
My, he’s tall, Charlie mused. Get a grip, woman, she mentally shook herself.
‘Mr Middleton…’ she hesitated. Should she confront him with what she knew about him? She looked around the park. There was only a handful of people around, would they come to her aid? She knew she was being ridiculous. There was no way he could have anything to do with the abductions. She judged people with her heart and not her head, but even so she couldn’t be that wrong about a person.
‘Call me Ben,’ he was saying.
‘Not Burt after all, then?’
Their eyes met, smiling at one another.
‘Not Burt, no. So please call me Ben. Mr Middleton reminds me of my dad, and that’s not a good memory, believe me. What was it you were saying?’ he asked.
‘Nothing really, just that I know it’s a misunderstanding, for what it’s worth.’
He looked touched at her words, and turned his head as if to mask the emotion. He turned back. ‘Thanks, Charlie. That means a lot to me.’
‘I mean it,’ she said, and she did. ‘And it’ll all blow over soon.’
‘I hope so.’
‘And thank you, for the chance to go on a writing course, I mean. I really appreciate the thought.’ She felt him look at he
r quizzically, and then he nodded, turned and strode across the park.
She watched him go as she finished the last of her sandwich, and chewed without taste. He cut a lonely figure, even lonelier than her.
*
Her parting words meant more to him than Anthony Lord’s assurances that all police charges against him had been dropped.
But what prompted him to approach her? And more, offer to help her achieve her dream? The Middleton Group offered journalism courses, but usually only to promising staff. And Ms Charlie Wallis was, if John Fanton could be believed, an employer’s answer to care in the community.
Ben would pay for her to go on a creative writing course out of his own pocket. Why he wanted to do that he didn’t exactly know. He could feel her incredible green eyes on his back as he walked across the park. She intrigued him. She was scatty, vivacious, and she made him laugh even when she was angry. He liked Charlotte Wallis and knew that was dangerous.
His mobile vibrated and he pulled it out. It was Kevin Locke. He had heard about Saturday’s imprisonment and was complaining that Ben’s interference would impede on all his strategies.
‘What exactly are you doing to find my sister?’ Ben interrupted his moaning, feeling the bubbles of anger rising again.
There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the telephone. ‘Ben,’ he said, in a tone that suggested Ben was a child that Locke was simply humouring, ‘I have exhausted my contacts. Your sister may simply not want to be found, have you thought about that?’
‘No,’ said Ben and he terminated the call.
At the gates of the park, Ben turned around for a final glance at Charlie. He couldn’t see her. Trees blocked his view.
He didn’t care what others thought of him; not really. But somehow, Charlie Wallis’ thoughts were very important. He was drawn towards her time and time again. Even when he wasn’t with her, he thought he could see her: on the street corner, dashing across a road, sitting in the window of a late night café…
