by B P Walter
Peter stands up opposite me and puts a hand on my shoulder. ‘Charles, my dear, please take a seat so we can discuss how we can help you. We’re not stupid. We know something happened the other night that you’re not telling us, that you’re trying to hide from the police. The point your father and I are trying to make is that we can get one step ahead and work out a plan of action.’
I move back in order to get his hand off my shoulder. Being touched by someone I hardly know – someone like him – sickens me. ‘Get off me,’ I say, suddenly angry. ‘You may have needed my father’s help to escape prison, but that’s probably because you’re guilty as fuck.’
My mother stands up now. ‘Please, Charles, just sit down so we can sort this out before it gets out of control.’
I ignore her and start to walk towards the door. ‘I’ll see you back at Wilton Crescent,’ I say as I leave. ‘Enjoy the rest of your little gathering.’
‘Charles,’ my father’s voice cuts through the darkness of the hallway, ‘you’ve made a number of serious errors already regarding this business. Please don’t add another to the list.’
I keep silent as I step through the front door and allow it to clatter shut behind me. I see Malcolm look up as I come into view and go to open the car door, but I turn on my heel and walk away from him and the house in the direction of the Thames.
I walk for about ten minutes down the road that snakes along the river towards Chelsea. When I reach the lower edge of Belgravia, I take a right turn down some steps that lead to the remnants of the old Grosvenor canal. There I sit and put my head in my hands, light from the moon reflecting on the surface of the water, flickering just out of the corner of my eye. I know I’ve been stupid. I know I’ve made mistakes. And, worst of all, I know everything my father has said tonight – about me being foolish, making mistakes, failing to know what to do – is completely correct. There will probably come a time when I will need the help of him and his unsavoury acquaintances. It sounds like he and my mother may have already figured out what really happened that night. And it won’t be long before the police do too.
Chapter Twenty
Rachel
Seven months to go
‘Why were you crying by the photocopiers?’
The assistant head of the PR and marketing department at Streamline, Edward Rex, lounged back on his cream desk-chair, his expression showing not a jot of sympathy.
I sniffed, dabbing at my eyes with a tissue that really should be binned and replaced. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve been having a bit of a tough time of late. Just … well, Christmas was a bit difficult.’ His expression remained blank, although he moved his hand across his face to brush a flop of his red hair away from his eyes. When he didn’t reply, I added, ‘Just personal reasons.’ I hoped he’d think it was boyfriend trouble or something. My dealings with Edward had been infrequent and brief up until this point, and I’d been embarrassed when he’d discovered me sobbing whilst printing off copies of a press release.
‘I know this job probably isn’t very riveting for you, Raquel, and I’m not going to lie to you, you’re only here because Sophia was dead-set on appointing you. Why that is, I haven’t yet found out. But – let me put this politely – you just don’t seem like the Streamline type. You don’t really make an effort’ – he used this moment to look up and down at my grey skirt, second-hand white blouse and dark-grey cardigan – ‘nor do you show much interest in beauty or make-up.’
This was unfair. I did use make-up – a little at least – and it was hard to show interest in lip balm or eye liner when all I was doing was stapling together meeting notes or throwing out old paperwork from office cupboards.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. It was all I could manage.
‘In a nutshell, Raquel, I think maybe this industry isn’t for you. My wife’s brother was much the same – had no aptitude for an office environment.’
Was he sacking me? Surely it couldn’t be as easy as that, I thought. Not while Sophia was away. I took a deep breath and was about to try to gather my thoughts together when there was a light tap on the door.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry to interrupt but I was looking for— Ah, there you are!’
I saw Edward’s eyes widen and I turned round to see Meryl standing in the doorway, looking as stylish as ever in a spotless knee-length cream coat and holding onto a very expensive-looking handbag. ‘So lovely to see you Rachel. I was actually just looking for you.’ She was smiling pleasantly and looked as calm and collected as someone receiving guests in their own front room. She walked into the office without being invited and Edward stood up instantly. ‘Meryl, I didn’t realise you were paying us a visit today.’
Meryl smiled wider. ‘Do you know, Edward, I really have been missing the office lately. I’ve always flirted with the idea of coming back to play a more day-to-day role in the running of the place. But, I suppose, I’ve probably got used to living a life of semi-leisure.’
She came over and took the seat next to mine, setting her handbag in her lap. Edward sat back down without a word. ‘Do you know what my father said to me when I was twelve?’ Meryl continued. ‘I was growing up on Long Island and had probably got too used to the comfortable existence my family had provided me with. My father – he was such a wise man; made the best cider you’d ever drink – but anyway, he once said, Meryl, you’re becoming complacent, you need to learn some hard work; a life of all play and no work never did anybody any good.’ She nodded at Edward, while he, on the other hand, stared back at her, his mouth slightly open. ‘So, anyway, my point is, I think the mind needs new challenges, new adventures. Do you know what I’m saying, Edward?’
A small pause passed before he realised a reply was expected. ‘Oh … um … yes, I suppose so.’
She beamed. ‘Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page with this. Because, from what I’ve been hearing from Sophia, you’ve been limiting Rachel’s work here to very dull tasks. You’ve practically made her into your paperclip monitor.’
His eyebrows rose at this. ‘Well … I … er … Sophia never provided much guidance on what, er, what duties should be considered her…’
‘Yes, she did,’ Meryl said simply. ‘I’m also surprised it’s taken you this long to remember her name. Rachel. Not Raquel, as I heard you twice call her just now. You see, I’ve never been able to avoid the lure of eavesdropping. It’s one of my weaknesses.’
Edward’s jaw clenched. He looked like he was biting his tongue.
‘Well, I’m going to take Rachel here out for lunch. We’ll probably be gone a few hours. And when she returns, I trust you’ll find her some more stimulating tasks to fill her time. After all, she’s a bit old to be treated like your office intern. And of course, you have a bit of a history with interns, don’t you, Edward?’
Edward made an uncomfortable swallowing sound and coughed. ‘I … er … I’m sorry, what do you…?’
‘We’d better be off,’ Meryl said, ‘I’ve made reservations for 1pm at Enoteca Turi. Lovely to see you, Edward.’
With that, she picked up her bag and rose out of her seat, then looked at me, making it clear I should do the same. I got up and, following her lead, walked out of the office, not giving Edward a second glance.
Enoteca Turi was an intimate Italian restaurant on the Pimlico Road. I’d never been anywhere so fancy, and the prices of the pasta almost made me swear. For Meryl, however, this was probably considered cheap and cheerful.
‘Thank you for saving me from that,’ I said, after the waiter had taken our order. ‘He was laying into me a bit. It was silly really. I shouldn’t have got so upset.’
I made a point of dabbing my eyes at this. Part of me suspected Meryl liked coming to the rescue of people – she did it so smoothly and with such a sense of knowing ease that it could hardly have been her first time.
‘He’s a tiresome little man, Edward. I can’t imagine why Sophia has let him rumble on in that place for the past few years.’
The waiter
brought Meryl her wine and me the Diet Coke I’d ordered. ‘What you said about him having an interesting past with interns. Was that true?’
Her eyes sparkled a little at this. ‘No, I just made it up on the spot. It certainly put the cat among the pigeons though.’
I laughed and took a sip of my drink. ‘Well, hopefully he’ll be a bit nicer to me in future.’
Meryl suddenly looked more serious. ‘My dear, are you unhappy? Because you shouldn’t be. You’re an intelligent, competent individual. Anyone who can’t see that is either blind or stupid or both.’
I smiled, a little sadly, and said, ‘I just feel a bit lost, really. I didn’t have a very good Christmas. It’s just me and my dad, you see, so it’s not exactly very lively. And coming back here and Edward being unpleasant to me… I’m very grateful for the job, don’t get me wrong, it’s just I’m… I don’t know. Nothing feels sure or stable.’
Meryl nodded slowly, her expression suggesting she was contemplating my words carefully. She changed the conversation then, moving instead to talk about our upcoming book-club book and how much she hoped I’d be coming along. It was only when we’d cleared our plates and Meryl was sorting out the bill that she turned the topic back round to my depressing life.
‘My dear, I have a proposition. If you wish to say no, think nothing of it; I will not be offended. I’m too tough and old to be easily offended. Anyway, for some time I’ve been thinking I could do with some help with some general life admin things. Take the load off me. It wouldn’t be arduous work, just booking me in for hair appointments, my little dog Bunty’s trips to the grooming salon, shopping, organising cars to collect me when I need them, or perhaps even driving yourself – I don’t drive, you see, I could never work out the British road system. So, my proposal is this: how about you leave Streamline and come and work for me?’
A few seconds went by before I realised I was gaping at her. This was better than I ever could have hoped, ever could have dreamed. The thought of being so closely connected to Meryl, and in turn to the Allerton-Joneses, took my breath away.
‘Really? You’re offering me the job? I’m … not skilled in PA work. I’ve done retail and customer service, but I’ve never been a secretary or anything like that.’ Even in my shocked state, I was mindful not to bite Meryl’s hand off with eagerness. Keep it slow, play it cool was always my dad’s method of selling cars when I was young, and I’ve found it to be a useful motto.
‘I’m offering you the job. Honestly, I’d much prefer to have you than one of those aspiring socialites with degrees, hoping to marry the first rich guy that comes across their path.’
I have a degree, I thought to myself, but I pushed the snag of annoyance to the back of my mind. What Meryl was offering was nothing short of golden.
‘Also,’ she continued, ‘you can leave that little flat of yours. Come and stay with me at Eaton Square. I have a house far too big for a single old lady. Charlie has been telling me for years to allow a real-estate company to carve it up into apartments and make a killing, but I just can’t bear the thought of the upheaval and, to be honest, money is overrated.’
Money is overrated. In any other situation, a phrase like this, spoken by a multimillionaire, would have made me bloody livid, but my mind was still spinning from this new bombshell: I was to leave Churchill Gardens. Move in with Meryl. To one of the most famous squares in London. Hadn’t the Bellamys in Upstairs Downstairs lived at Eaton something-or-other? Faded memories of me watching old videos of the show on the sofa on rainy days with my mum swam into my mind. I could feel my heart pounding as I took in a slow breath. ‘Are you sure?’
Meryl smiled kindly at me. ‘Of course I’m sure. I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t. I’ll have my lawyer draft up all the employment details, of course, to make sure I’m doing everything above board. I’ll get him to sort all that out with you directly – National Insurance and all that; I avoid all paperwork where possible. In terms of salary, how does £40,000 a year sound? Of course, I won’t be charging you rent or anything. We’ll throw your accommodation in because, really my dear, it’s you who is doing me a favour here. So, do you accept?’
Now, at last, I allowed my excitement to show through. Clasping her hands across the table, and letting a perfectly timed tear fall from my face, I said, ‘Yes. Completely. Thank you so, so much.’
Meryl looked delighted. ‘Excellent. Right, let me pay for the food and then we’ll set off to the house. I can show you where you’ll be living. I’ll tell Sophia and Edward you won’t be returning because you’ve had a better offer elsewhere.’
I nodded and sat quietly while Meryl paid for our meal. A better offer. She didn’t know how much of an understatement that was.
Chapter Twenty-One
Charlie
Seven months to go
Things continued to get weirder at the start of the New Year. It set the tone for things to come, in some ways. When I say weird, I’m rather lumping together everything involving Rachel and Matthew and her proximity to our lives, although of course later on I would discover there were many strands to all of this. We were at Jerome’s apartment when the next notable ‘odd thing’ involving Rachel occurred.
We’d been reading the Margaret Atwood novel for that first meeting in January and, to my surprise, Titus expressed an interest in joining. Although he’d always been very bookish himself, like me (until recently) he’d never expressed a wish to join in before, always seeming more content with baking cakes than participating in the discussion with us adults. But on this occasion, he arrived downstairs just as we were getting our coats on, asking if he could come with us.
‘I’ve read the book,’ he said. ‘I’d really like to discuss it. And I haven’t seen Meryl in ages.’
I saw Matthew looked slightly taken aback. ‘Well … I’m not sure. It isn’t at Meryl’s; it’s over at Jerome’s place.’
Titus rolled his eyes. ‘But Meryl will be there, won’t she? And Rachel.’
I looked up sharply at the mention of Rachel – too sharply, because I saw Matthew notice. I don’t know if that was why he gave an automatic ‘yes’ to Titus, or if he just didn’t want to get into a needless argument and end up being late. Whatever the reason, he said Titus was allowed to accompany us, and we all hopped in the X6 and set off towards Jerome’s apartment.
The first disconcerting incident occurred just as we were driving up to Grosvenor Square. A car cut in front of us, causing me to break suddenly as we were turning the corner, drawing a muttered swear word from Matthew. I was about to tell him to calm down when the doors of the sleek black Mercedes in front of us opened and out stepped Meryl, followed by, rather astonishingly, Rachel. Her light-blonde hair was unmistakable, although her clothes seemed to have drastically improved since we’d last seen her. She’d never been badly dressed, but was always the safe-side of plain and unremarkable. Now, she looked … well, sophisticated. Her hair was tied back and she was dressed in a jet-black trench coat and clasping a pristine cream handbag. It was starting to drizzle and as I watched she opened up a deep-maroon umbrella and used it to cover herself and Meryl.
Matthew shifted next to me, and I thought he was about to tell me to move on, but then the figures in front of us caught his attention. ‘Is that Rachel?’ he asked. ‘She looks … well, different. And what’s she doing with Meryl?’
I shrugged, ‘How should I know?’
We watched them walk along the pavement, up the steps towards the apartment building, and then disappear from view. A hoot from behind us startled us out of our respective trances.
‘Er, you going to move the car?’ Titus said from the back seat.
I snapped into action, ‘Yes, sorry.’ I began to steer the car around the corner, my mind racing. What on earth was going on? Why had Rachel got out of that car with Meryl? And what was she wearing?
Inside Jerome’s apartment, we found Rachel browsing the ultra-modern bookshelves (complete with under-shelf lighting st
rips), a large collection of Angela Carter stories held in her hands. Meryl was sitting near her, sipping a martini.
‘Hello dear,’ the latter said to me when she saw me approaching. ‘How are you on this cold, blustery night?’
‘Good, thanks,’ I said, distracted by Rachel, who had closed the book and was smiling at me. ‘Good evening, Rachel,’ I said, feeling it would be weird not to acknowledge her since she clearly expected a greeting.
Meryl then carried on talking. ‘I don’t think I’ve seen you since … well, Rachel here has decided to become my new personal assistant.’ She said it with a wide, apparently overjoyed smile on her face.
‘Personal … assistant?’ I repeated, slowly.
‘That’s right,’ Rachel said, also beaming. ‘It all happened rather quickly, but it’s been a good few weeks now. Almost a month, actually.’
I was partly furious at Meryl, my mother, even Jerome, for not making me aware of this sooner. Surely they all must have known? A weird development such as this? Because it was weird – extremely odd. Meryl didn’t need a PA. She didn’t really work anymore and spent most of her time flitting from one social occasion to the next. And if she did need some help, why wouldn’t she interview someone with references and a track record of being good in that field, not some random stranger she met at a book club who used to stack shelves in a garden centre?
‘But, I thought you worked at Streamline?’ I said, momentarily forgetting my manners as I accepted a cocktail from Jerome without saying thank you.
‘Well, I did until recently,’ Rachel said. ‘But Meryl offered me the chance to work for her.’
I turned to look back at Meryl. Her slightly mad smile had settled into a calmly reserved look of happiness and contentment. ‘I have to say they were tragically under-utilising her,’ she said, with a little shake of her head. ‘So I offered her an alternative. It really doesn’t do to have a smart, keen, young mind wasted behind a photocopier and endless pointless emails.’
