Remember Me?

“But what was it?”

“I don’t know the exact details. You were too superstitious to tell me. You had this theory I was a jinx.” His mouth twists briefly as though he’s sharing a private joke. “But I know it was using retro carpet designs from some old pattern book. And I know it was going to be huge.”

“But why don’t I know about it? Why doesn’t anyone know about it?”

“You were keeping it quiet until the last moment. You said you didn’t trust everyone at the office and it was safer not to.” He lifts his voice. “Hey, Eric. How’s it going?”

I feel like I’ve been slapped in the face. He can’t stop there.

“Here you are, Lexi,” Eric says cheerfully, handing me a glass of wine. Then he heads to the table, sits down, and gestures at Jon to sit. “So the latest is, I spoke to the pla

I’m standing perfectly still as they talk, my mind racing, torn apart with uncertainty. It could all be bullshit. Maybe I’m a gullible fool, listening to even a word.

But how would he know about the old pattern book? What if it’s true? My chest constricts with a deep, painful spasm of hope. If there’s still a chance, even a tiny chance…

“Are you all right, Lexi?” Eric shoots me an odd look, and I realize I’m standing stock-still in the middle of the terrace, my hands clasped to my face.

“Fine.” Somehow I gather myself, retreat to the other end of the terrace, and sit down in a galvanized-steel swing seat. The sun is hot on my face. I’m barely aware of the distant roar of traffic below. Over at the table, Jon and Eric are studying an architect’s drawing.

“We might have to rethink the parking completely.” Jon is sketching on the paper. “It’s not the end of the world.”

“Okay.” Eric sighs heavily. “If you think it can be done, Jon, I trust you.”

I take a deep swig of wine-then pull out my phone. I ca

Can we meet? L

I press Send, then immediately slip my phone into my bag and stare rigidly out at the view.

A moment later, still sketching and without looking anywhere near me, Jon takes his phone out of his pocket with his other hand. He checks it briefly and types back a return text. Eric doesn’t even seem to notice.

I force myself to count to fifty-then casually flip open my phone.

Sure. J

Chapter 17

We’ve agreed to meet in a café called Fabian’s in Holland Park, a small, cozy place with terra-cotta painted walls and prints of Tuscany and shelves full of Italian books. As I walk in and look around at the granite bar, the coffee machine, the battered sofa…I have the weirdest feeling-like I’ve been there before.

Maybe I’m just having déjà vu. Maybe it’s wishful thinking.

Jon is already sitting at a table in the corner, and as he looks up I feel my guard rising. Against all my better instincts, after all my protests, here I am, meeting him illicitly. Just like he wanted all along. I feel like I’m falling into some kind of trap…but I don’t know what the trap is.

Anyway, I’m meeting him for business reasons. As long as I remember that, I’ll be fine.

“Hi.” I join him at the table, where he’s drinking coffee, and drop my briefcase on an adjoining chair. “So. We’re both busy people. Let’s talk about this deal.”

Jon is just staring at me, as though trying to work something out.

“Is there anything more you can tell me?” I add, trying to ignore his expression. “I think I’ll have a cappuccino.”

“Lexi, what is this? And what the fuck happened at the party?”

“I…I don’t know what you mean.” I pick up the menu and pretend to be studying it. “Maybe I’ll have a latte.”

“Come on.” Jon pulls the menu down so he can see my face. “You can’t hide. What happened?”

He thinks this is fu

“If you must know,” I say tightly, “I spoke to Rosalie at the party, and she told me about your…predilections. I know it was all bullshit. And I don’t appreciate being bull-shitted, thanks.”

“Lexi-”

“Don’t try and pretend, okay? I know you tried it on with her and Margo.” An edge of bitterness has crept into my voice. “You’re just some smooth operator who tells married women what they want to hear. What you think they want to hear.”

Jon’s expression doesn’t flicker.

“I did try it on with Rosalie and Margo. And I might have gone”-he hesitates-“a tad too far. But you and I agreed I should. That was our cover.”

Well, of course he’d bloody well say that.

I glare at him in impotent fury. He can say anything he likes, and there’s no way for me to know whether he’s speaking the truth or not.

“You have to understand.” He leans across the table. “It was all fake. We cooked up a story that would fool everyone, so if we were ever spotted together, that could be the explanation. Rosalie fell for it, just like we wanted her to.”

“You wanted to be portrayed as a womanizer?” I retort, rolling my eyes.

“Of course not!” There’s a sudden heat to his voice. “But we had a couple of…near misses. Rosalie, in particular-she’s sharp. She would have cottoned on.”

“So you chat her up.” I can’t help the sarcasm. “Nice. Really classy.”

Jon meets my look steadfastly. “You’re right. This hasn’t all been pretty. It’s not a perfect situation and we’ve made mistakes.” He reaches a hand toward mine. “But you have to trust me, Lexi. Please. You have to let me explain everything.”

“Stop it!” I whip my hands away. “Just…stop! We’re not here to talk about that, anyway, it’s irrelevant. Let’s stick to the subject.” A waitress approaches the table and I look up. “A cappuccino, please.” As soon as the waitress moves away, I say briskly, “So, this deal. It doesn’t exist. I’ve looked everywhere. I went into the office and searched every tiny corner, every computer file. I’ve looked at home, nothing. The only thing I’ve found is this.” I reach into the briefcase and produce the piece of paper with the coded scribbles on it. “There was an empty drawer in my desk. This was in there.”

I’m half-hoping Jon’s eyes will light up and he’ll say, “Aha! The key!” like we’re in The Da Vinci Code. Instead he glances at it and shrugs. “That’s your handwriting.”

“I know it’s my handwriting.” I try to keep my patience. “But I don’t know what it means!” In frustration I throw the paper down. “Why on earth didn’t I keep my notes on the computer?”

“There’s a guy at work, Byron?”

“Yes,” I say guardedly. “What about him?”

“You didn’t trust him. You thought he actually wanted the department to be disbanded. You thought he’d try and screw things up for you. So you were going to present the whole thing to the board when it was already done.”

The door to the café swings open and I jump in guilt, imagining it’s Eric. I’m all ready with an excuse at the tip of my tongue, I was just out shopping and guess what, I bumped into Jon! By total coincidence! But of course it’s not Eric, it’s a cluster of teenagers who start talking in French.

“So you don’t know anything else.” My guilt makes me sound aggressive, almost accusing. “You can’t help me.”

“I didn’t say that,” Jon replies calmly. “I’ve been thinking back, and I did remember something. Your contact was Jeremy Northam. Northwick. Something like that.”

“Jeremy Northpool?” The name pops into my head. I can remember Clare thrusting a Post-it at me with his name on it. Along with the other thirty-five Post-its.

“Yes.” Jon nods. “That could be it. Northpool.”

“I think he called while I was in hospital. Several times.”

“Well.” Jon raises his eyebrows. “Maybe you should call him back.”