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talk to you about. Are you ever down Hampshire way?
OK. So maybe I got it wrong about Sam’s father and the cottage and the faithful dog. But
these words still touch a nerve in me. They sound so humble. So self-effacing. This David is
clearly an old, old friend who wants to reach out. Maybe this is another relationship which Sam
is leaving to wither. Maybe they’ll see each other and the years will fall away and afterward Sam
will thank me and tell me how he needs to value friendship more, he simply didn’t realize it, and
I’ve transformed his life… .
Abruptly, I hurry after Sam and catch up with him.
“So, is he a good friend?” I begin. “David Robinson? Is he, like, a really old, close
chum?”
“No.” Sam doesn’t break his stride.
“But you must have been friends once.”
“I suppose so.”
Could he sound any less enthusiastic? Does he realize how empty his life will be if he
doesn’t keep up with the people who were once important to him?
“So, surely he’s someone you still have a bond with! If you saw him, maybe you’d
rekindle that! You’d bring something positive into your life!”
Sam stops dead and stares at me. “What business is this of yours, anyway?”
“Nothing,” I say defensively. “I just … I thought you might like to get in touch with
him.”
“I am in touch with him.” Sam sounds exasperated. “Every year or so we meet for a
drink, and it’s always the same story. He has some new entrepreneurial project he needs
investors for, usually involving some ridiculous product or pyramid scheme. If it’s not fitness
equipment, it’s double-glazing or time-shares in Turkey. Against my better judgment I give him
some money. Then the business folds and I don’t hear from him again for another year. It’s a
ridiculous cycle I need to break. Which is why I blanked his email. I’ll call him in a month or
two, maybe, but right now, frankly, the last thing I need in my life is David bloody Robinson—”
He breaks off and peers at me. “What?”
I gulp. There’s no way round this. None.
“He’s waiting for you in the bar.”
Maybe Sam hasn’t turned into a statue quite yet. Because as we head into the hotel, he
says nothing, but I can easily read his feelings on his face, the entire range of them: from anger,
to fury, to frustration, to …
Well. Back to anger again.82
“Sorry,” I say yet again. “I thought … ”
I peter out. I’ve already explained what I thought. It hasn’t really helped, to be honest.
We push our way through the heavy double doors to see Vicks hurrying down the
corridor toward us, holding a phone to her ear, struggling with a pile of stuff and looking
harassed.
“Sure,” she’s saying as she nears us. “Mark, wait a minute. Just met Sam. I’ll ring you
back.” She looks up and launches in with no niceties. “Sam, I’m sorry. We’re going with the
original statement.”
“What?” Sam’s voice is so thunderous, I jump. “You have to be kidding.”
“We have nothing on Ryan. No proof of anything untoward. There’s no more time. I’m
sorry, Sam. I know you tried, but … ”
There’s a tense silence. Sam and Vicks aren’t even looking at each other, but the body
language is obvious. Vicks’s arms are now wrapped defensively around her laptop and a mass of
papers. Sam is kneading both fists into his forehead.
Personally, I’m trying to blend into the wallpaper.
“Vicks, you know this is bollocks.” Sam sounds as though he’s trying hard to control his
impatience. “We know what happened. What, we ignore all this new information?”
“It’s not information, it’s guesswork! We don’t know what happened!” Vicks looks up
and down the empty corridor and lowers her voice. “And if we don’t get a statement out to ITN,
pronto, we are sitting fucking ducks, Sam.”
“We have time,” he says mutinously. “We can talk to this guy Ryan. Interview him.”
“How long will that take? What will that achieve?” Vicks puts a hand to her head. “Sam,
these are grave accusations. They have no substance. Unless we find some solid proof … ”
“So we stand back. We wash our hands. They win.” Sam’s voice is calm, but I can tell
he’s simmering with rage.
“The techies are still investigating in London.” Vicks sounds weary. “But unless they
find proof … ” She glances at her watch. “It’s coming up to nine. Jesus. We have no time, Sam.”
“Let me speak to them.”
“OK.” She sighs. “Not here. We’ve moved to a bigger room with a Skype screen.”
“Right. Let’s go.”
They both start walking briskly along, and I follow, not sure if I should or not. Sam looks
so preoccupied, I don’t dare utter a sound. Vicks leads us through a ballroom filled with
banqueting tables, into the lobby, past the bar …
Has he forgotten about David Robinson?
“Sam,” I mutter hastily. “Wait! Don’t go near the bar; we should go a different way—”
“Sam!” A throaty voice hails us. “There you are!”
My heart freezes in horror. That must be him. That’s David Robinson. That guy with
curly, receding dark hair and a pale-gray metallic suit, which he’s accessorized with a black shirt
and white leather tie. He’s striding toward us with a massive beam on his fleshy face and a
whiskey in his hand.
“Been far, far too long!” He envelops Sam in a bear hug. “What can I get you, my old
mucker? Or is it all on the house? In which case, mine’s a double!” He gives a high-pitched
laugh that makes me cringe.
I glance desperately at Sam’s tight face.
“Who’s this?” says Vicks, looking astonished.
“Long story. College friend.”
“I know all Sam’s secrets!” David Robinson bangs Sam on the back. “You want me to
dish the dirt, cross my hand with a fifty. Only joking! I’ll take a twenty!” He roars with laughter
again.
This is officially unbearable.
“Sam.” Vicks can barely conceal her impatience. “We have to go.”
“Go?” David Robinson makes a mock stagger backward. “Go? When I’ve only just
arrived?”
“David.” Sam’s politeness is so chill I want to shiver. “Sorry about this. Change of
schedule. I’ll try to catch up with you later.”
“After I’ve driven for forty minutes?” David shakes his head in a pantomime of
disappointment. “Can’t even spare ten minutes for your old mate. What am I supposed to do,
drink here on my own?”
I’m feeling worse and worse. I’ve totally landed Sam in this. I have to do something
about it.
“I’ll have a drink with you!” I chime in hurriedly. “Sam, you go. I’ll entertain David. I’m
Poppy Wyatt, hi!” I thrust my hand out and try not to wince at his clammy touch. “Go.” I meet
eyes with Sam. “Go on.”
“OK.” Sam hesitates a moment, then nods. “Thanks. Use the company tab.” Already he
and Vicks are hurrying away.
“Well!” David seems a bit unsure how to react. “That’s a fine thing! Some people get a
bit too big for their boots, if you ask me.”
“He’s very busy at the moment,” I say apologetically. “I mean really busy.”
“So where do you fit in? Sam’s PA?”
“Not exactly. I’ve kind of been helping Sam out. Unofficially.”
“Unofficially.” David gives a great big wink. “Say no more. All on expenses. Got to look
kosher.”