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“Poppy.” Sam is turning toward me, and I jump.
“Yes! Here.” I nod, thrusting my phone away. I have to concentrate now. I have to put
Magnus from my mind. I have to be useful.
“These are Mark and Robbie. They work for Vicks.”
“She’s on her way down.” Mark consults his phone as we all head up the steps. “Sir
Nicholas is staying put for now. We think Berkshire’s the best place for him to be if there’s any
chance of being doorstepped.”
“Nick shouldn’t hide.” Sam’s frowning.
“Not hiding. Staying calm. We don’t want him rushing to London, looking like there’s a
crisis. He’s speaking at a di
out. As for the conference, we keep going for now. Obviously Sir Nicholas was due to arrive
here in the morning, but we’ll have to see”—he hesitates, wincing slightly—“What happens.”
“What about the injunction?” says Sam. “I was talking to Julian; he’s pulling out all the
stops.”
Robbie sighs. “Sam, we already know that won’t work. I mean, we’re not not going to
apply for one, but—”
He stops midstream as we arrive in a big lobby. Wow. This conference is a lot more
high-tech than our a
CONSULTING logos everywhere and big screens mounted all round the lobby. Someone is
clearly using some kind of TV camera inside the hall, because images of an audience sitting in
rows are being beamed out. There are two sets of closed double doors straight ahead of us, and
the sound of an audience laughing suddenly emanates from them, followed, ten seconds later, by
laughter from the screens.
The whole lobby is empty except for a table bearing a few lonely name badges, behind
which a bored-looking girl is lolling. She stands up straighter as she sees us and smiles
uncertainly at me.
“They’re having a good time,” says Sam, glancing at the TV screen.
“Malcolm’s speaking,” says Mark. “He’s doing a great job. We’re in here.” He ushers us
into a side room and shuts the door firmly behind us.
“So, Poppy.” Robbie turns to me politely. “Sam’s filled us in on your … theory.”
“It’s not my theory,” I say in horror. “I don’t know anything about it! I just got these
messages, and I wondered if they could be relevant, and Sam worked it out.”
“I think she has something.” Sam faces up to Mark and Robbie as though daring them to
disagree. “The memo was planted. We all agree on that.”
“The memo is … uncharacteristic,” amends Robbie.
“Uncharacteristic?” Sam looks like he wants to explode. “He didn’t bloody write it!
Someone else wrote it and inserted it into the system. We’re going to find out who. Poppy heard
the voice. Poppy will recognize it.”
“OK.” Robbie exchanges wary glances with Mark. “All I will say, Sam, is that we have
to be very, very careful. We’re still working on breaking this news to the company. If you go
crashing in with accusations—”
“I won’t crash in with anything.” Sam glowers at him. “Have a little trust. Jesus.”
“So what are you pla
“Walk around. Listen. Find the needle in the haystack.” Sam turns to me. “You up for
that, Poppy?”
“Totally.” I nod, trying to hide how panicked I feel. I’m half-wishing I never took those
messages down now.
“And then … ” Robbie still looks dissatisfied.
“Let’s cross that bridge.”
There’s silence in the room.
“OK,” says Robbie at last. “Do it. Go on. I guess it can’t do any harm. And how will you
explain away Poppy?”
“New PA?” suggests Mark.
Sam shakes his head. “I’ve appointed a new PA, and half the floor has met her already.
Let’s keep it simple. Poppy’s thinking of joining the company. I’m showing her round. OK with
that, Poppy?”
“Yes! Fine.”
“Got that perso
“Here.” Robbie hands it to him. “But be discreet, Sam.”
Mark has opened the door a crack and is looking into the lobby.
“They’re coming out,” he says. “All yours.”
We head out of the room, into the lobby. Both sets of double doors are open and people
are streaming out of them, all wearing badges and chatting, some laughing. They all look pretty
fresh, given it’s 6:30 p.m. and they’ve been listening to speeches all afternoon.
“There are so many.” I stare at the groups of people, feeling totally daunted.
“It’s fine,” says Sam firmly. “You know it’s a male voice. That already cuts it down.
We’ll just go round the room and rule them out, one by one. I have my suspicions, but … I won’t
bias you.”
Slowly, I follow him into the mêlée. People are grabbing drinks from waiters and
greeting each other and shouting jokes across other people’s heads. It’s cacophony. My ears feel
as though they’re radar sensors, straining this way and that to catch the sound of voices.
“Heard our guy yet?” Sam says, as he hands me a glass of orange juice. I can tell he’s
half joking, half hopeful.
I shake my head. I’m feeling overwhelmed. The sound in the room is like a melded roar
in my head. I can barely distinguish any individual strands, let alone pick out the exact tones of a
voice I heard for twenty seconds, days ago, down a mobile-phone line.
“OK, let’s be methodical.” Sam is talking almost to himself. “We’ll go round the room in
concentric circles. Does that sound like a plan?”
I flash him a smile, but I’ve never felt so pressured in my life. No one else can do this.
No one else heard that voice. It’s down to me. Now I know how sniffer dogs must feel at
airports.
We head to a group of women, who are standing together with two middle-aged men.
“Hi there!” Sam greets them all pleasantly. “Having a good time? Let me introduce
Poppy, who’s having a look round. Poppy, this is Jeremy … and Peter… . Jeremy, how many
years have you been with us now? And Peter? Is it three years?”
OK. Now that I’m listening properly, close up, this is easier. One man has a low growly
voice and the other is Scandinavian. After about ten seconds I shake my head at Sam, and he
moves us swiftly off to another group, discreetly ticking his list as we go.
“Hi there! Having a good time? Let me introduce Poppy, who’s having a look round.
Poppy, you’ve already met Nihal. Now, Colin, what are you up to these days?”
It’s amazing how different voices are, once you start to pay attention. Not only the pitch
but the accents, the timbres, the little speech impediments and slurs and quirks.
“What about you?” I join in, smiling at a bearded guy who hasn’t uttered a syllable.
“Well, it’s been a tricky year … ” he begins ponderously.
No. Uh-uh. Nothing like. I glance at Sam, shaking my head, and he abruptly takes hold of
my arm.
“Sorry, Dudley, we must dash.” He heads to the next group along and charges straight in,
interrupting an anecdote. “Poppy, this is Simon… . Stephanie you’ve met, I think … Simon,
Poppy was just admiring your jacket. Where’s it from?”
I can’t believe how blatant Sam’s being. He’s practically ignoring all the women and
being totally unsubtle about getting the men to talk. But I guess it’s the only way.