Cocktails for Three

by Madeleine Wickham

  There was a subdued silence.

  “Anyway,” said Maggie. “I’m coming up to London tomorrow. Breakfast?”

  “Breakfast,” agreed Roxanne. “And let me know if you hear anything.” She switched off her phone and began to walk on, her face clouded with sudden worry.

  Chapter Twenty

  At eleven o’clock the next morning, Maggie and Roxanne stood outside Candice’s front door, fruitlessly ringing the bell. After a while, Maggie bent down and peered through the letterbox into the communal hall.

  “There’s a load of letters piled up on the table,” she reported.

  “Addressed to Candice?”

  “I can’t see. Possibly.” Maggie dropped the letterbox flap, stood up and looked at Roxanne. “God, I feel shitty.”

  “I feel awful,” agreed Roxanne. She sank down onto the front step, and Maggie sat down beside her. “I gave her such a hard time at Ralph’s funeral. I was just . . . oh, I don’t know. Beside myself.”

  “Of course you were,” said Maggie at once. “It must have been a terrible time.”

  Her voice was sympathetic, but again she felt a frisson of shock at the idea of Roxanne and Ralph as lovers. Roxanne had, haltingly, told her everything on the journey from Waterloo to Candice’s flat, and for at least five minutes Maggie had been utterly unable to speak. How could two people be friends for such a long time and one of them have a secret as big as that? How could Roxanne have talked about Ralph so normally, without once giving their relationship away? How could she have let Maggie moan on to her so many times about Ralph’s annoying little ways without somehow warning her that they were talking about her lover? Of course it was understandable, of course she hadn’t had any choice— but even so, Maggie felt hurt; as though she would never look at Roxanne in quite the same way.

  “It was as if I’d finally found someone to blame,” said Roxanne, staring bleakly ahead. “So I took it all out on her.”

  “It’s a natural reaction,” said Maggie after a pause. “You feel grief, you need a scapegoat.”

  “Perhaps it is,” said Roxanne. “But Candice, of all people . . .” She closed her eyes briefly. “Candice. How could I have blamed Candice?”

  “I know,” said Maggie shamefacedly. “I feel the same. I can’t believe I slammed the phone down on her. But I just felt so hurt. Everything seemed so awful . . .” She looked at Roxanne. “I can’t tell you what these last few weeks have been like. I honestly think I lost it for a bit.”

  There was a short silence. A car drove by and its occupants looked curiously out of the window at the pair of them.

  “I had no idea,” said Roxanne eventually. “You always looked so . . . in control. It all seemed so perfect.”

  “I know,” said Maggie, staring at the pavement. “I was stupid. I couldn’t bear to admit how terrible I felt to anyone. Not to Giles, not to anyone.” She paused in sudden recollection. “Actually that’s not true. I was going to tell you about it once. That night at the Manhattan Bar. But we got interrupted. And then . . .” She gave a rueful smile. “You know, that night has to be one of the worst in my life. I felt fat, I was exhausted, I was guilty at leaving Lucia . . . Then we all end up arguing with each other. It was . . .” She gave a short laugh. “It was one to forget.”

  “God, I feel terrible.” Roxanne looked miserably at Maggie. “I should have realized you were depressed. I should have called. Visited.” She bit her lip. “Some friend I’ve been. To both of you.”

  “Come on,” said Maggie. “You’ve had it worse than either of us. Much worse.”

  She put an arm round Roxanne’s shoulders and squeezed them. For a while they were both silent. A postman arrived, looked at them oddly, then reached past them to post a bundle of letters through the letterbox.

  “So, what do we do now?” said Roxanne finally.

  “We go and put Justin on the spot,” said Maggie. “He’s not going to get away with this.” She stood up and brushed down her skirt. “Let’s find a taxi.”

  “That’s a nice suit, by the way,” said Roxanne, looking up at her. Then she frowned. “In fact, now I come to think of it, you’re looking very good all over.” She surveyed Maggie’s silk, aubergine-coloured suit; her simple white T-shirt; her gleaming nut-brown hair. “Have you just had your hair cut?”

  “Yes,” said Maggie, a half-smile coming to her face. “This is a whole new me. New hair, new clothes, new lipstick. I went shopping yesterday afternoon. Spent a bloody fortune, I might add.”

  “Good for you,” said Roxanne approvingly. “That’s a fantastic colour on you.”

  “I just have to avoid hearing any crying babies,” said Maggie, pulling Roxanne to her feet. “Or I’ll leak milk all over the jacket.”

  “Oooh.” Roxanne pulled a face. “You didn’t have to tell me that.”

  “The joys of motherhood,” said Maggie cheerfully, and began to stride ahead to the corner. If someone had told her a few weeks ago, she thought, that she’d be laughing about breastfeeding, she just wouldn’t have believed them. But then, neither would she have believed that she’d be wearing a suit two sizes bigger than normal and feeling good in it.

  As they got out of a chugging taxi outside the Allsopp Publications building, Maggie tilted her head back and stared at it. The building where she’d spent most of her working life looked as familiar as ever— and yet different. In just a few weeks it seemed, almost imperceptibly, to have changed.

  “This is so strange,” she murmured as Roxanne swiped her security card and pushed open the glass doors to reception. “I feel as if I’ve been away for years.”

  “Ditto,” muttered Roxanne. “In fact, I’m surprised my card still works.” She looked at Maggie. “Ready?”

  “Absolutely,” said Maggie. The two grinned at each other, then, side by side, walked into the foyer.

  “Maggie!” exclaimed Doreen at the reception desk. “What a surprise! Don’t you look well? But where’s the baby?”

  “At home,” said Maggie, smiling. “With my mother-in-law.”

  “Oh! What a shame! You should have brought her in! Little pet.” Doreen nudged the girl sitting next to her at the desk— a shy-looking redhead whom Maggie didn’t recognize. “This is Maggie who I was telling you about,” she said to the girl. “Maggie, this is Julie. Just started on reception yesterday.”

  “Hello, Julie,” said Maggie politely. “Doreen—”

  “And is she a good little baby? I bet she’s as good as gold.”

  “She’s . . . she’s great,” said Maggie. “Actually, Doreen, I’m here to see Justin. Could you give him a quick call?”

  “I don’t think he’s in,” said Doreen in surprise. “He and Mr. Allsopp have gone off somewhere together. I’ll just check.” She pressed a button and said, “Hello, Alicia? Doreen here.”

  “Damn!” said Maggie, and looked at Roxanne. “It didn’t even occur to me he wouldn’t be in.”

  “Back in about an hour, apparently,” said Doreen, looking up. “They’ve gone to a design presentation.” Maggie stared at her.

  “What for? What design presentation?”

  “Don’t ask me, dear.”

  Maggie’s jaw tightened and she glanced at Roxanne.

  “Nice of them to keep me informed,” she said. “They’re probably redesigning the whole bloody magazine without telling me.”

  “So what do we do?” said Roxanne.

  “We wait,” said Maggie firmly.

  An hour later, Justin was still not back. Maggie and Roxanne sat on leather chairs in the foyer, leafing through old copies of the Londoner and looking up every time the door opened. Some of those entering were visitors who gave them polite, interested looks; others were members of staff who came over to greet Maggie warmly and ask where the baby was.

  “The next time someone asks me that,” Maggie muttered to Roxanne, as a group of marketing executives walked off to the lifts, “I’m going to say it’s in my briefcase.”

  Roxanne did
n’t answer. She was transfixed by a photograph of Candice she had just come across in an old issue of the Londoner. Staff writer Candice Brewin investigates the plight of the elderly in London’s hospitals, read the caption. And next to it, Candice’s round face stared out, eyebrows slightly raised, as though surprised. Roxanne gazed down at the familiar picture as though for the first time, and felt a pain in her chest at the innocence of Candice’s expression. She didn’t look like a hard-hitting reporter. She looked like a child.

  “Roxanne?” said Maggie curiously. “Are you OK?”

  “We should have seen it coming,” said Roxanne in a trembling voice. She put the magazine down and looked at Maggie. “We knew that little bitch was up to no good. We should have . . . I don’t know.” She rubbed her face. “Warned Candice, or something.”

  “We tried, remember?” said Maggie. “Candice kept defending her.”

  “But we could have done something. Tried to protect her, instead of standing back and letting her walk right into it . . .”

  “What could we have done?” said Maggie reasonably. “We didn’t know anything. I mean, let’s face it, it was nothing more than instinct. We just didn’t like the girl.”

  There was silence. A couple of businessmen came into the foyer, glanced at Maggie and Roxanne, then headed for the reception desk.

  “Where do you think she is?” said Roxanne, and looked up at Maggie with a sober face. “It’s been days. People don’t just disappear for days.”

  “I . . . I don’t know,” said Maggie. “I’m sure she’s fine. She’s probably . . . having a holiday or something,” she added unconvincingly.

  “We should have been there for her,” said Roxanne in a low, fierce voice. “I’ll never forgive myself for shutting her out. Or you, for that matter.” She looked up at Maggie. “I should have been there for you when you were feeling down.”

  “You weren’t to know,” said Maggie awkwardly. “How could you have known?”

  “But that’s my point!” said Roxanne urgently. “We shouldn’t keep secrets . . . or . . . or put on acts for each other. None of us should ever feel we have to struggle through on our own.” She gazed at Maggie with blue eyes suddenly glittering with tears. “Maggie, ring me next time. If it’s the middle of the night, or . . . whenever it is, if you’re feeling low, ring me. I’ll come straight over and take the baby for a walk. Or Giles. Whichever one you want off your hands.” She grinned, and Maggie gave a giggle. “Please,” said Roxanne seriously. “Ring me, Maggie. Don’t pretend everything’s fine when it isn’t.”

  “I won’t,” said Maggie, blinking away her own tears. “I’ll . . . I’ll ring you, I promise. Maybe even when things aren’t bad.” She smiled briefly, then hesitated. “And next time you have a six-year-long affair with the boss— you tell me too, all right?”

  “It’s a deal.” Impulsively, Roxanne leaned forward and hugged Maggie tightly. “I’ve missed you,” she murmured. “Come back to London soon.”

  “I’ve missed you too,” said Maggie, her throat blocked with emotion. “God, I’ve missed you all. I feel as though—”

  “Shit,” said Roxanne, staring over her shoulder. “Shit. Here they come.”

  “What?” Maggie swivelled round and saw Justin walking along the pavement towards the glass doors of the building. He was dressed in a dark green suit, talking enthusiastically and gesturing to Charles Allsopp at his side. “Oh God!” she said in dismay and turned back to Roxanne. She gave a huge sniff and lifted her hands to her eyes. “Quickly. Do I look all right? Has my make-up run?”

  “A bit,” said Roxanne, leaning forward and quickly wiping away a smudge of eye-liner. “How about mine?”

  “It looks fine,” said Maggie, peering intently at her face. “All intact.”

  “That’s waterproof mascara for you,” said Roxanne lightly. “Copes with sea, sand, strong emotions . . .” She broke off as the glass doors swung open. “Oh fuck,” she murmured. “Here they are. What are we going to say?”

  “Don’t worry,” said Maggie. “I’ll do the talking.” She stood up, smoothing her skirt down, and took a deep breath. “Right,” she said, glancing nervously at Roxanne. “Here goes. Justin!” she exclaimed, raising her voice and taking a step forward. “How are you?”

  Justin turned at the sound of Maggie’s voice as though he’d been scalded. As he saw her, his face fell spectacularly— then, just as spectacularly, repositioned itself in an expression of delight.

  “Maggie!” he said, opening his arms wide as though to hug her. “What a charming surprise.”

  “I thought I’d just pop in and see how things were going,” said Maggie, smiling back and making no effort to mirror his gesture.

  “Great!” said Justin with a forced enthusiasm. “What a . . . marvellous idea!”

  “So this is the famous Maggie Phillips,” said Charles Allsopp, giving her a friendly smile and extending his hand towards her. “Maggie, I’m Charles Allsopp. Congratulations on the birth of your baby. It must be a very exciting time for you.”

  “Thank you,” said Maggie pleasantly. “And, yes it is.”

  “I have to say though, not a day goes by without my being asked when you’re coming back to the Londoner.”

  “Really?” said Maggie, allowing herself a tiny, satisfied glance at Justin’s crestfallen face. “Well, I’m very glad to hear it. And let me tell you, I’m intending to return to work in a matter of weeks.”

  “Good!” said Charles Allsopp. “Glad to hear it.”

  “Charles, this is Roxanne Miller,” said Justin in a loud, attention-seeking voice. “One of our regular freelancers.”

  “Miss Miller and I have already met,” said Charles after a tiny pause, and gave Roxanne a friendly little smile. “Now, may I offer the two of you a cup of tea? A drink?”

  “Very kind,” said Maggie in a businesslike manner. “But I’m afraid this visit isn’t social. I’m actually here on an unfortunate matter. The suspension of Candice Brewin. I was a little perturbed to hear about it.”

  “Ah,” said Charles Allsopp, and glanced at Justin. “Justin?”

  “It was completely justified,” said Justin defensively. “The fact is, Candice has been found to be defrauding the company. If you don’t think that’s a serious offence, Maggie—”

  “Of course I do,” said Maggie calmly. “But I can’t believe Candice is capable of doing such a thing.”

  “I’ve got the evidence in my office,” said Justin. “You can see it with your own eyes if you like!”

  “Fine,” said Maggie, and gestured towards the lifts. “Let’s see it.”

  As Maggie strode through the door of the editorial office, she felt suddenly proprietorial. Here was her magazine; here was her team. It was almost as though she were coming home.

  “Hi, Maggie,” said Alicia casually as she walked past, then double-took. “Maggie! How are you! Where the hell’s that bump gone?”

  “Damn,” said Maggie in mock-alarm. “I knew I was missing something.” There was a giggle round the office. Bright-eyed faces looked up from desks, glanced at Justin and back to Maggie.

  “I’m just popping in briefly,” said Maggie, looking around the room. “Just a quick hello.”

  “Well, good to see you,” said Alicia. “Bring the baby next time!”

  “Will do,” said Maggie cheerily, then turned and walked into Justin’s office where he, Charles and Roxanne were waiting. She pulled the door shut behind her and for a few moments there was silence.

  “I have to say,” said Charles eventually to Maggie, “I’m a little unclear as to why you’re here. The evidence against Candice seems, I’m afraid, fairly strong. And she will, of course, be given a chance at the hearing . . .”

  “Hearing!” said Maggie impatiently. “You don’t need a hearing to sort this out!”

  “Here we are,” said Justin, producing from a drawer a pile of photocopied forms, each headed with Candice’s name. His voice sharpened slightly with triumph
. “What do you make of these?”

  Maggie ignored him. “Did you hear her explanation?” she asked Charles.

  “Some story about being set up by one of her colleagues?” He wrinkled his brow. “It seems a little fanciful.”

  “Well, frankly, the idea that Candice Brewin is capable of fraud is even more fanciful!” exclaimed Roxanne.

  “You’re her friend,” said Justin scathingly. “You would defend her.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong,” retorted Roxanne, “but you’re her ex-boyfriend. You would get rid of her.”

  “Really?” said Charles in surprise. He frowned, and looked at Justin. “You didn’t tell me that.”

  “It’s irrelevant!” said Justin, flushing. “I behaved in a completely fair and impartial way.”

  “On the contrary,” said Maggie in her calm, competent voice. “If you ask me, you behaved in a completely high-handed and irresponsible way. You took the word of Heather Trelawney— a girl who has been at the company for a matter of weeks— over that of Candice, who’s worked here for, what, five years? You fell for this ridiculous story of office bullying— did you ever actually see it going on with your own eyes? You took at face value these expenses claims—” Maggie picked one up and dropped it dismissively on the desk. “But I’m a hundred per cent sure that if they were analysed, they would be shown to be an imitation of Candice’s handwriting, not the real thing.” She paused, letting her words sink in. “I would say, Justin, that not only have you shown a partisan and improper haste to get rid of a talented employee, but that your lack of judgement has cost the company substantially in terms of lost time, disruption and damaged morale.”

  There was silence. Roxanne glanced at Charles Allsopp and gave an inward grin. He was staring at Maggie open-mouthed.

  “There were witnesses to the bullying,” said Justin, leafing through his papers. “There was definitely a . . . Yes.” He pulled out a sheet of paper. “Kelly Jones.” He stood up, stalked to the door and called, “Kelly? Could you step in here a moment please? Our secretary,” he added, in a lower voice to Charles. “Heather said she had witnessed some instances of Candice’s unpleasant behaviour.”