‘Only that woman in the flowery dress,’ I murmur with a discreet nod. ‘She just gave us a really filthy look.’
‘Just jealous.’
He goes back to his side of the table and we smile at each other like we’re the only two members of a very exclusive club. And it makes me feel all warm and tingly inside.
Then his phone goes.
I manage to locate it in his coat before it stops ringing and quickly push it over to him. He glances at the name, hesitates for a second, then presses the ‘end call’ button.
‘You should have taken it.’ I’m feeling in a hugely generous mood. ‘Call them back if it’s important.’
He frowns. ‘Do you mind?’
I shake my head and he gets up and disappears out into the foyer.
My head’s still whirling from the kiss and I’ve got this stupid half-smile on my face.
I catch sight of the accounts lying on the banquette beside me. It’s fairly obvious he hasn’t had a chance to look at them.
Slimy Gerry has really done Carol proud. Gone is the tatty red binder and in its place is a rather swish dark blue file with lettering on the front in gold italics. Yes, he’s really stepped up to the mark. But a stylishly presented cover is not going to make the disastrous figures within any more palatable.
Idly, I pick it up and start flicking through the document.
Then our oysters arrive and I have to smile and thank the waiter, and try to look as if I can’t wait to dive in. The platter is exquisitely presented. The oysters nestle on a bed of crushed ice and lemon wedges, and there are tiny little glass dishes filled with a pink cocktail sauce and a dark brown dipping sauce that I saw on the menu is soy with garlic and ginger.
It all looks amazing.
Except for those briny little buggers.
Honestly, they look revolting.
Big gobs of snot sloshing around in sea water.
I turn back to the contents of the dark blue file. There’s something about these accounts that I don’t quite understand. Last time I looked, it was clear – even to me, a perfect novice at these things – that the company had been haemorrhaging cash practically from day one. But these results seem to reveal an altogether different story.
I thumb through to the records for the first few months. Far from the steady decline I noticed last time, these tables suggest solid growth, with impressive sales translating into healthy profits.
Month after month after month …
I stare off into space, wondering if I made a mistake the first time. I probably read them wrongly. Yes, that must be what happened. I’ve never been great with figures.
But on the other hand, if the company really has been growing at a steady rate and making such substantial profits, why would Carol be so desperate to bring Charlie and his cash on board? A healthy business should surely be able to support its own expansion.
Suddenly, I spot Charlie weaving his way back across the restaurant. Quickly, I snap the file shut and bury it under his coat.
‘Sorry about that.’ He hesitates over the banquette. Then he sits down across from me with a rueful smile. ‘I’d better maintain a distance. In public at any rate. We don’t want to be the floor show.’
I point at the platter. ‘The oysters have arrived.’
‘So they have. I didn’t even notice.’ He laughs. ‘Bobbie Blatchett, what are you doing to me?’
It’s rather more what Carol’s doing to you, I think, as a wave of unease rushes through me. My mind is still looping the loop trying to fathom this thing out. Perhaps Gerry gave Carol the wrong set of accounts by mistake?
I stare at the table in a trance, vaguely aware of Charlie using some strange implement I’ve never seen before to detach an oyster from its shell.
‘Have you managed to look at the accounts?’ I ask him.
He nods. ‘Carol must have been doing reverse psychology on me, saying the figures weren’t that great. I honestly wasn’t expecting to see such incredibly healthy results.’ He squeezes a slice of lemon over the oyster. ‘That Gerry Flack’s a bit of a tosser, though, isn’t he?’
‘Yes, he is,’ I murmur, watching him spear the rancid blob and dab it into the soy sauce.
Gerry Flack. Slimy Gerry Flack. I passed him on the stairs that time and he was looking so furtive. I wouldn’t trust that man a fraction of a millimetre, never mind an inch.
Oh God, the bloody oyster is coming towards me. Charlie thinks he’s doing this gloriously romantic thing, feeding me.
Shit, I can’t possibly say no.
I open my lips and bite down on the most revolting mouthful of sloppy gunge I have ever tasted in my life. Sea water swills around my mouth. And that age-old dilemma rears its ugly head. What do I do now? Spit? Or swallow?
I stare in panic at Charlie, the oyster lying limply in my mouth.
And at that precise second, the mist in my brain clears and everything moves into sharp focus.
Of course they don’t look like the same figures.
That’s because they’re not!
They’re entirely fictitious, designed to fool Charlie into thinking he’s investing in a thriving company. A company with a future.
Gerry Flack has produced a set of bogus accounts!
I gasp audibly. And the oyster flies into the back of my throat.
I cough hard to dislodge it – with some success – and it sails right out of my mouth in a neat arc and plinks, with barely a splash, into Charlie’s glass of Chablis.
Chapter Thirty-Four
I stare at the glass in horror.
It looks like it has a very tiny alien floating in it.
‘Was it a bad one?’ Concern etches lines around Charlie’s eyes.
He doesn’t seem to be bothered that I’ve ruined his drink.
‘Er, yes! I think it might have been. It tasted a bit too – erm – fishy.’
‘Oh, right, well, I’ll send them back.’ Charlie glances around for a waiter.
‘No!’ I clear my throat. ‘I mean, no, really, I’m sure the rest will be fine.’
My mobile rings and I pounce on it gratefully.
It’s Carol in a panic. Apparently she’s just watched the DVD for the presentation tomorrow and was appalled to find that most of the shots of her good self were taken of her wrong side. She wants me to call at Fez’s house tomorrow morning, on my way to the council buildings, to pick up the new version. ‘I’ve told Fez what to do and he’ll have it ready for you by eight-thirty.’ Abruptly, she ends the call.
Charlie notices my expression. ‘Bad news?’
I nod regretfully. ‘I’m really sorry but I’ll have to go. It’s our presentation to the council tomorrow and there’ve been some last-minute hitches.’
I start shrugging on my coat. ‘You might as well stay and finish off this delicious food.’
He grins. ‘You don’t like oysters, do you?’
I shake my head apologetically and he laughs. It’s a rich, belly laugh and the sound of it makes me want to change my mind and stay.
‘Why didn’t you just say so?’
‘I didn’t want to spoil it for you,’ I tell him in a small voice, feeling completely ridiculous.
He gets to his feet. ‘Come on. Oysters for one are no fun at all. I’ll give you a lift home.’ He holds out his hand and shyly, I take it. Then he goes to settle up and I wait for him by the door.
I’m silent on the drive back, conflicting thoughts rushing around inside my head.
As soon as we pull up outside my door, I get out of the car. I need to be alone to think. Plus I don’t trust myself to resist if Charlie asks to come up.
I lean back in. ‘Thanks. For the lift and everything.’
‘Hey, before you dash off.’ He ducks down slightly to see me. ‘I’d just like to say I had a great night.’
I smile. ‘Me too.’
‘Does it have to end so abruptly?’
I swallow hard.
His eyes are burning through me i
n a very dangerous way. (Dangerous in that I’m in extreme danger of inviting him in and never wanting him to leave. Ever again. Which is weird. Because I’ve never felt like that about anyone before.)
But what happens when he finds out I knew all along that the business was failing?
I should have told him right at the start, when I first knew Carol had lied about the contract and about the health of the business.
But I didn’t. I let time slip by.
A shiver of dread goes through me.
If I tell him now, he’s going to think I colluded in Carol’s nasty plan all along …
‘I’d invite you in,’ I say faintly, ‘but I’ve got a really busy day tomorrow. Maybe next time?’
We look at each other for a moment.
Then he nods slowly. ‘Next time.’
I watch him drive away feeling like the biggest bitch in the world. I should have told him.
I climb the stairs, thinking hard.
I need to give Carol a chance to make things right. I feel I owe it to her. Although why that should be, I’m finding it hard to understand.
I’ve got time on my side, though. No money has exchanged hands yet, so if I talk to Carol, things might still turn out fine. I’ll have to convince her that what she is doing is terribly wrong and that no business could possibly be worth the desperate action she’s taking.
I never believe it when someone declares, ‘I didn’t sleep a wink all night!’
But I actually don’t think I did.
When I look in the mirror next morning, I’m amazed there’s not a wizened old hag staring back at me because that’s how I feel inside.
I’ve been battling with my conscience for hours – and around four o’clock this morning, I finally settled on a plan.
Today, I will tackle Carol over the bogus accounts and do my best to talk her out of it. If she won’t agree to give up her horrible deception, I will be forced to spill the beans to Charlie.
First, though, I have to pick up the DVD from Fez.
I haven’t seen him since the Kissing Disaster. He phoned a couple of times the day after, sounding all bright and breezy and happy, as if the kiss was a natural step on the road to our mutual, everlasting happiness.
I was call-screening, naturally, and to my shame, I haven’t plucked up the courage to phone him back yet.
As I get into the office van that Steph left parked outside for me last night, I’m feeling slightly nauseous from lack of sleep and plain old nerves.
‘Hi, stranger.’ Fez opens the door with his usual smile. ‘I suppose you’ve been busy.’
‘Oh, frantic,’ I lie, bustling straight inside and heading for the study, just in case he’s expecting a snog on the doorstep.
We sit at his computer and watch the results of his editing which, I have to say, look absolutely fine to me. There’s not a dodgy facial angle in sight. In fact, I’m pretty impressed with the film overall. Shona’s voice-over is great – her northern accent so warm and approachable – and Fez has done a superb job of pulling it all together.
‘Well done,’ I say, still avoiding his eye. ‘You’ve made us look like a really professional outfit!’
He laughs. ‘Which of course you are.’
‘Which of course we are!’ I declare, jovially.
He ejects the job and gives it to me, then slides a second disk over. ‘Shona’s coverage of the Fayre, which you probably want to forget all about.’ As he says it, his knee nudges mine.
I laugh nervously and jerk my leg away. ‘Right, I’d better get going. Don’t want to be late.’
‘Hope it goes well,’ he calls, as I belt along the hallway.
Wrenching open the door, I give him a backwards wave and head for the van.
Halfway along the street, my heart gives a gigantic thud.
Bugger! The disk!
I execute a clumsy three-point turn, hands slipping on the steering wheel, and arrive back panting at his door.
‘The disk?’
He grins and pops them both into my shoulder bag.
And I’m off again, tearing through the school run traffic, praying for no delays.
Thank God I remembered the disk. Imagine if I’d got all the way there and then had to go back for it. It doesn’t bear thinking about. I picture Carol’s tight-lipped fury and a panel of solemn, suited council staff checking their watches and exchanging glances, annoyed at being kept waiting.
The dreary council building sits right in the centre of a tricky one-way system. My brain can’t handle that sort of challenge this morning, so I abandon the van on a piece of waste ground and – with the building in my sights on the skyline – I fly like that sensible crow, straight over the road, straight-ish up a side street and straight over a shallow wall into the council’s car park.
I snag my tights on the wall. But it doesn’t matter. Carol’s the one who will be giving the presentation. No one is going to be looking at me.
I walk round to the main entrance and she’s there waiting for me, as arranged.
‘About time,’ she snaps, a spot of high colour in each cheek.
‘But I’m five minutes early!’
‘Let’s go.’ She flicks at her fringe. ‘This thing needs to be perfect!’
I hurry in after her, up to the reception desk, where a woman gives us a badge each with our name and ‘visitor’ printed on it. Then we stand around not looking at each other until someone in a plum-coloured suit called Jan clips across the foyer and asks if we’re here to do the presentation.
I’m already flustered and the warmth in the building isn’t helping. Rising up in the lift to the third floor with Jan, the heat becomes even more oppressive, and Carol and I simultaneously remove our coats.
How can staff be productive, I wonder, in such ridiculously high temperatures?
Then it occurs to me that this is probably fairly average for the work place. It’s just Carol and I are used to freezing our bollocks orf.
Jan leads us to the venue, where the presentation will take place in half an hour. Halfway along the corridor, we pass a little alcove with a table set up for refreshments. ‘Help yourselves,’ says Jan, indicating the coffee machine and little baskets of milk and sugar.
She makes sure we have everything we need in the presentation room, then she clips off again.
I glance at my watch as we walk back along the corridor to the coffee station. We’ve got some spare time before the presentation, easily enough to say what needs to be said.
As Carol chooses a cup and picks up the coffee jug, I take a deep breath and launch straight in.
‘I know what you’re up to, Carol. I saw the accounts you gave to Charlie and I know they’re not the real ones.’
She stops pouring for a fraction of a second.
Then she carries on filling her cup and turns to me with a neutral expression on her face.
‘I’m assuming you asked Gerry Flack to adjust the figures to make them look good,’ I rush on, ‘so Charlie will agree to invest. But it’s wrong, Carol. It’s – it’s criminal! You must see that.’
Her calm expression turns into a look of incredulity. ‘Now, hang on a minute. The real accounts?’ She exhales sharply. ‘What on earth are you going on about?’
I’m trembling at the confrontation but I have to see it through.
‘Carol, you know exactly what I’m talking about.’
‘Well, actually, I don’t,’ she snaps back immediately, in my face. ‘Have you been rifling through my private drawer?’
‘No, of course not.’ I stand my ground. ‘But a while ago, the accounts got mixed up with my stuff and I – erm – read them. By accident.’
‘And?’
‘And then last night I saw the accounts Gerry was producing for Charlie.’ I shrug. ‘They’re wrong.’
She puts her cup down, folds her arms and calmly studies me.
I fling out my hands in appeal. ‘You can’t do this to Charlie. He absolutely doesn’t deserve it.
And anyway, you’re not that sort of a person. The Carol I know would never treat a friend like that!’
It strikes me only when I’ve said it how hollow the words sound.
Perhaps I should have said, ‘The Carol I knew would never treat a friend like that.’ Because it used to be true. Whereas now … I really don’t know any more.
‘You’re mad.’ She dismisses me with a curt shake of the head. ‘You haven’t a clue what you’re talking about. I’ll be in the presentation room.’ She picks up her cup and saucer and walks out.
I sink back against the wall.
If she’s not even going to admit conning Charlie, I won’t be able to try reasoning with her. So she’s left me with no other choice. I’ll have to tell him.
But for now, I suppose I’ll have to go along and help her set up. I don’t like it, though. It feels like I’m colluding with her in her rotten plan.
I’m heading along the corridor when Carol suddenly bolts out of the room up ahead and barks, ‘Where’s the disk?’
My bag! I left it by the projector when Jan was showing us how the equipment worked.
‘It’s in there. In my bag. I’ll get it.’
‘Oh no, you won’t.’ Her face is contorted with spite. ‘I don’t trust you. I’ll do it myself.’
At the door she turns and hisses, ‘And if you dare tell Charlie the accounts are false, I won’t be responsible for my actions!’
My stomach turns over with shock.
She’s admitting it, then.
A second later, the door slams in my face.
I lean against the wall and draw a shaky breath.
Does she really think she’ll get away with this deception?
After a while, people start arriving and walking into the presentation room.
Carol has made it quite clear she doesn’t want me in there, which is fine by me.
I listen outside the closed door as she launches into her introductory spiel. She sounds confident and in control, as she always does in a professional setting like this. In spite of myself, I’m curious. Quietly I open the door and slip in the back, as Carol’s telling the three rapt council employees – all women – what a thorough, reliable and comprehensive service we can offer them.
Humbugs and Heartstrings Page 24
