Страница 46 из 86
bridge. There’s a bookshelf nearby with lots of business hardbacks and a few awards. No photo
of Willow, though. Nor is there one on his desk. He must have a photo of her somewhere,
surely?
As I’m looking around for it, I notice another doorway and can’t help peering at it
curiously. Why does he have a door? Where does it lead to?
“Bathroom,” says Sam, spotting me. “Do you want to use it? Go ahead.”
Wow. He has an executive bathroom!
I head inside, hoping to find some amazing palace of marble—but it’s quite normal
really, with a small shower and glass tiles. Still. Your own bathroom inside your office. That’s
pretty cool.
I take the opportunity to redo my makeup, brush my hair, and tug my denim skirt back
into place. I open the door and am about to step outside when I realize there’s a soup splash on
my shirt. Shit.
Maybe I can get that off.
I dampen a towel and give it a quick rub. No. Not wet enough. I’ll have to lean down and
get it right under the tap.
As I’m bending down, I see a woman in a smart black trouser suit in the mirror, and I
jump. It takes me a moment to realize I’ve got a reflected view of the whole office, and she’s
actually approaching Sam’s glass door. She’s tall and imposing-looking, in her forties, maybe,
and is holding a piece of paper.
Her expression is fairly grim. Ooh, maybe she’s the CEO with bad personal hygiene.
No. Surely not. Look at that perfectly crisp white shirt.
Oh my God, is this Willow?
I suddenly feel even more embarrassed about my soup stain. It hasn’t come off at all; I’ve
just got a big wet patch on my T-shirt. In fact, I look hideous. Should I tell Sam I can’t come to
the meeting after all? Or maybe he has a spare shirt I could borrow. Don’t businessmen always
keep spare shirts at the office?
No, Poppy. Don’t be ridiculous. And, anyway, there’s no time. The woman in the black
suit is already rapping at his door and pushing it open. I watch in the mirror, on tenterhooks.
“Sam. I need a word.”
“Sure. What is it?” He looks up and frowns at her expression. “Vicks, what’s up?”
Vicks! Of course this is Vicks, head of PR. I should have realized at once.
I feel I already know her from all her emails, and she’s just as I imagined. Sharply cut
sharp brunette hair, businesslike ma
of massive stress on her face.
“Only a handful of people know about this,” she says as she closes the door. “An hour
ago I had a call from a mate of mine at ITN. They’ve got hold of an internal memo from Nick,
which they’re pla
Sam.”
“Memo?” He looks perplexed. “What memo?”
“A memo he apparently sent to you and Malcolm? Several months ago now? When you
were doing that advisory work with BP? Here. Have a read.”
After about ten seconds, I peep round the side of the ajar bathroom door. I can see Sam
reading a printed sheet, an expression of shock on his face.
“What the fuck—”
“I know.” Vicks lifts her hands. “I know.”
“This is … ” He seems speechless.
“It’s a disaster,” Vicks says calmly. “He’s basically talking about accepting bribes. Put
that together with the fact he’s on a government committee right now … ” She hesitates. “You
and Malcolm could be compromised too. We’ll need to look at that.”
“But … but I’ve never seen this memo in my life!” Sam finally has found his voice.
“Nick didn’t send this to me! He didn’t write these things. He would never have written these
things. I mean, he sent us a memo which began the same way, but—”
“Yes, that’s what I gather from Malcolm too. The memo he received wasn’t word for
word the same as this one.”
“Not ‘word for word’?” echoes Sam impatiently. “It was totally fucking different! Yes, it
may have been about BP, yes, it may have raised the same issues, but it did not say these things.”
He hits the page. “I don’t know where the hell this has come from. Have you spoken to Nick?
“Of course. He says the same thing. He didn’t send this memo, he’s never seen it before,
he’s as baffled as we are.”
“So!” Sam exclaims impatiently. “Head this off! Find the original memo, phone your
friend at ITN, tell them they’ve been sold a pup. The IT guys will be able to prove what was
written when; they’re good at that stuff—” He breaks off. “What?”
“We’ve tried.” She exhales. “We’ve looked. We can’t find an original version of the
memo anywhere.”
“What?’ He stares at her. “But … that’s crazy. Nick must have saved it.”
“They’re searching. Here and at his Berkshire office. So far, this is the only version
they’ve managed to find on the system.” She taps the paper.
“Bullshit!” Sam gives an incredulous laugh. “Wait—I have it myself!”
He sits down and opens up a file. “I would have put it …” He clicks a few more times.
“Here we are! You see … here it is—” He breaks off, breathing hard. “What the—”
There’s silence. I can hardly breathe.
“No,” expostulates Sam suddenly. “No way. This is not the version I received.” He looks
up, his face baffled. “What’s going on? I had it.”
“Not there?” Vicks’s voice is tight with disappointment.
Sam is clicking frantically at his computer again.
“This makes no bloody sense,” he’s saying, almost to himself. “The memo was emailed
over. It came to Malcolm and me on the system. I had it. I read it with my own eyes. It has to be
here.” He glowers at his screen. “Where the fuck is that fucking email?”
“Did you print it out? Did you keep it? Do you still have that original version?” I can see
the hope in Vicks’s eyes.
There’s a long silence.
“No.” Sam exhales. “I read it online. Malcolm?”
“He didn’t print it out either. And he can only find this version on his system. OK.” Vicks
sags a little. “Well … we’ll keep trying.”
“It has to be there.” Sam sounds adamant. “If the techies say they can’t find it, they’re
wrong. Put more of them on it.”
“They’re all searching. We haven’t told them why, obviously.”
“Well, if we can’t find it, you’ll just have to tell ITN it’s a mystery to us,” says Sam
energetically. “We refute it. We make it crystal clear that this memo was never read by me, never
written by Nick, has never been seen before by anyone in the company—”
“Sam, it’s on the company system.” Vicks sounds weary. “We can hardly claim that no
one in the company has ever seen it. Unless we can find the other memo—” Her phone bleeps
with a text, and she glances at it. “That’s Julian from legal. They’re going to go for an injunction,
but … ” She gives a hopeless shrug. “Now that Nick’s a government adviser, there’s not much
chance.”
Sam is peering at the sheet of paper again, a frown of distaste on his face.
“Who wrote this crap?” he says. “It doesn’t even sound like Nick.”
“God knows.”
I’m so rapt that when my phone buzzes I nearly expire in fright. I glance at the screen and
feel another jolt of fright. I can’t stay hiding here. I quickly press talk, and hurry out of the