Страница 48 из 86
men? What’s wrong with facing the world together? Side by side? What’s wrong with being a
partnership? Or is that too … generous for him to get his stupid male head round?”
“He wants control,” says of one the other girls, cracking a chocolate biscuit in half. “They
all do. He’s never going to give you the credit you deserve in a million years.”
“But can’t he see how perfect it would be if we could get it fucking right? If we could get
beyond this crappy bad patch?” Willow sounds impassioned. “Working together, being together
… the whole package … it could be sublime.” She breaks off and takes a gulp of tea. “The
question is, how long do I give him? Because I can’t go on like this much longer.”
“Have you talked it through?” says the third girl.
“Please! You know Sam and ‘talking.’ ” She makes quote marks with her fingers.
Well. I’m with her there.
“It makes me sad.” She shakes her head. “Not for me, for him. He can’t see what’s in
front of his face and he doesn’t know how to value what he has, and, you know what? He’s
going to lose it. And then he’s going to want it, but it’ll be too late. Too late.” She bangs her
teacup down. “Gone.”
I’m suddenly gripped. I’m seeing this conversation in a new light. I’m realizing that
Willow has more insight than I gave her credit for. Because, if truth be told, this is just what I
feel about Sam and his father. Sam can’t see what he’s losing, and when he does it may be too
late. OK, I know I don’t know the whole story between them. But I’ve seen the emails, I’ve got
the idea—
My thoughts stop abruptly in their tracks. Alarm bells have started to ring in my head.
First distant, but now getting loud and clangy. Oh no, oh no, oh God.
Sam’s father. April 24. That’s today. I’d completely forgotten. How could I be so stupid?
Horror is rising up in me like chill water. Sam’s dad’s going to pitch up at the
Chiddingford Hotel, expecting some lovely reunion. Today. He’s probably on his way already.
He’ll be all excited. And Sam won’t even be there. He’s not going to the conference until
tomorrow.
Shiiiiit. I’ve really messed up. I’d forgotten all about it, what with all the other
emergencies going on.
What do I do? How do I solve this? I can’t tell Sam. He’ll go absolutely mad. And he’s
so stressed anyway. Do I cancel the dad? Send a quick rain-check apology email? Or will that
make everything even worse between them?
There’s only one tiny ray of hope. Sam’s dad never sent any reply, which is why I forgot
about it. So maybe he never even got the email. Maybe it’s all OK—
I suddenly realize I’m nodding emphatically, as though to persuade myself. One of the
girls with Willow looks up and eyes me curiously. Oops.
“Right!” I say out loud. “So … I’ll just … Good. Yes.” I hastily turn on my heel. If
there’s one thing I don’t want, it’s being busted by Willow. I scurry to the safety of Sam’s office
and am about to grab the phone to email Sam’s dad, when I see Sam and Vicks marching back
toward the office, apparently in the middle of a blazing argument. They look a bit terrifying, and
I find myself backing hastily into the bathroom.
As they stride in, neither of them even notices me.
“We ca
paper he’s holding and throws it in the bin. “It’s a travesty. You’re completely shafting Nick,
you realize that?”
“That’s not fair, Sam.” Vicks looks prickly. “I’d say it’s a reasonable and balanced
official response. Nothing in our statement says he did or didn’t write the memo—”
“But it should! You should be telling the world that he would never say these things in a
million years! You know he wouldn’t!”
“That’s for him to say in his own personal statement. What we ca
though we condone these kinds of practices—”
“Hanging John Gregson out to dry was bad enough,” says Sam, his voice low, as though
he’s trying to keep control of himself. “That never should have happened. He never should have
lost his job. But Nick! Nick is everything to this company.”
“Sam, we’re not hanging him out to dry. He’s going to release his own statement. He can
say what he likes in that.”
“Great,” says Sam sarcastically. “But meanwhile his own board won’t stand by him.
What kind of vote of confidence is that? Remind me not to hire you to represent me if I’m ever
in a spot.”
Vicks flinches but says nothing. Her phone buzzes, but she presses ignore.
“Sam—” She stops, then takes a deep breath and starts again. “You’re being idealistic. I
know you admire Nick. We all do. But he’s not everything to this company. Not anymore.” She
winces at Sam’s glare but carries on. “He’s one man. One brilliant, flawed, high-profile man. In
his sixties.”
“He’s our leader.” Sam sounds livid.
“Bruce is our chairman.”
“Nick founded this fucking company, if you remember”
“A long time ago, Sam. A very long time ago.”
Sam exhales sharply and walks a few paces off, as though trying to calm himself. I’m
watching, agog, not daring even to breathe.
“So you side with them,” he says at last.
“It’s not a question of siding. You know my affection for Nick.” She’s looking more and
more uncomfortable. “But this is a modern business. Not some quirky family firm. We owe it to
our backers, our clients, our staff—”
“Jesus Christ, Vicks. Listen to yourself.”
There’s a sharp silence. Neither of them is looking at the other. Vicks’s face is creased
and troubled-looking. Sam’s hair is more rumpled than ever, and he looks absolutely furious.
I feel a bit stu
like a fun job. I had no idea it was like this.
“Vicks.” The unmistakable drawl of Justin Cole hits the air, and a moment later he’s in
the room, wafting Fahrenheit and satisfaction. “Got this under control, have you?”
“The lawyers are on it. We’re just drafting a press statement.” She gives him a tight
smile.
“Because, for the sake of the company, we need to be careful that none of the other
directors are tainted with these unfortunate … views. You know what I’m saying?”
“It’s all in hand, Justin.”
From Vicks’s sharp tone, I’m guessing she doesn’t like Justin any more than Sam does.77
“Great. Of course, very unfortunate for Sir Nicholas. Great shame.” Justin looks
delighted. “Still, he is getting on now—
“He is not getting on.” Sam scowls at Justin. “You really are an arrogant little shit.”
“Temper, temper!” Justin says pleasantly. “Oh, tell you what, Sam. Let’s send him an
e-card.”
“Fuck you.”
“Guys!” Vicks sounds close to the edge.
I can totally understand now why Sam was talking about victories and camps. The
aggression between these two is brutal. They’re like those stags who fight every fall until they
wrench each other’s antlers off.
Justin shakes his head pityingly—his expression changing briefly to surprise as he clocks
me in the corner—then saunters out again.
“That memo is a smear,” Sam says in a low, furious voice. “It’s planted. Justin Cole