I've Got Your Number (16 page)

Sam looks baffled. “What does that matter? I don’t care what they think of me.”

“You must care a
bit
.”

“Not one bit.”

I peer at him closely. His face is calm. I think he means it. He doesn’t care. How can you not care?

Magnus would care. He always flirts with shop assistants and tries to work out if they recognize him from TV. And one time, when his card was declined in our local supermarket, he made a point of going back in there the next day and telling them about how his bank
completely
cocked up the day before.

Oh well. Now I don’t feel quite so bad.

“I’m going to grab a Starbucks.” Sam starts heading off down the street. “Want one?”

“I’ll get them.” I hurry after him. “I owe you one. Big-time.”

I don’t have to be back at the clinic till after lunch, because I got Annalise to swap her morning off with mine. For a hefty bribe.

“You remember I mentioned a man called Sir Nicholas Murray,” Sam says as he swings the coffee shop door open. “He’s sending over a document. I’ve told him to use my own email address, but if by any chance he sends it your way by mistake, please let me know at
once
.”

“OK. He’s quite famous, isn’t he?” I can’t resist adding. “Wasn’t he number eighteen in the world’s movers and shakers in 1985?”

I did some Googling last night, and I’m totally on top of the whole subject of Sam’s company. I know everything. I could go on
Mastermind
. I could do a PowerPoint presentation. In fact, I wish someone would ask me to do one! Facts I know about White Globe Consulting, in no particular order:

1. It was started in 1982 by Nicholas Murray and now it’s been bought out by some big multinational group.

2. Sir Nicholas is still the CEO. Apparently he can smooth a meeting’s atmosphere by just arriving and can stop a deal in its tracks with a single shake of the head. He always wears floral shirts. It’s his thing.

3. The finance director was a protege of Sir Nicholas, but he’s recently left the company. His name is Ed Exton.
⁵⁵

4. Ed and Sir Nicholas’s friendship has disintegrated over the years, and Ed didn’t even attend the party when Sir Nicholas was knighted.
⁵⁶

5. They had this scandal recently when a guy called John Gregson made a politically incorrect joke at a lunch and had to resign.
⁵⁷
Some people thought it was unfair, but the new chairman of the board apparently has “zero tolerance for inappropriate behavior.”
⁵⁸

6. Sir Nicholas is currently advising the prime minister on a new special “happiness and well-being” committee, which all the newspapers have been rude about. One even described Sir Nicholas as past his prime and had a cartoon of him as a flower with straggly petals. (I won’t mention that to Sam.)

7. They won an award for their paper recycling program last year.

“Well done on the recycling, by the way,” I add, eager to display my knowledge. “I saw your statement that
environmental responsibility is a fundamental linchpin for any company that aspires to excellence
. So true. We recycle too.”

“What?” Sam seems taken aback, even suspicious. “How did you see that?”

“Google search. It’s not against the law!” I add, at his expression. “I was
interested
. Since I’m sending on emails all the time, I thought I’d find out a bit about your company.”

“Oh, you did, did you?” Sam shoots me a dubious look. “Double tall cappuccino, please.”

“So, Sir Nicholas is advising the prime minister! That’s really cool!”

This time, Sam doesn’t even answer. Honestly. He’s not exactly a great ambassador.

“Have
you
been to Number Ten?” I persist. “What’s it like?”

“They’re waiting for your coffee order.” Sam gestures at the barista.

Obviously he’s going to give away absolutely nothing. Typical. You’d think he’d be
pleased
that I’m interested in what he does.

“Skinny latte for me.” I haul out my purse. “And a chocolate chip muffin. You want a muffin?”

“No, thanks.” Sam shakes his head.

“Probably for the best.” I nod wisely. “Since you refuse to go to the dentist.”

Sam gives me a blank look, which could mean, “Don’t go there,” or “I’m not listening,” or, again, “What do you mean, the dentist?”

I’m beginning to learn how he works. It’s like he has an
on
switch and an
off
switch. And he only flips the
on
switch when he can be bothered.

I click on my browser, search for another revolting picture of manky teeth, and forward it to him silently.

“This Savoy reception, by the way,” I say as we go to pick up our drinks. “You need to send your acceptance.”

“Oh, I’m not going to that,” he says, as though it’s obvious.

“Why not?” I stare at him.

“I have no particular reason to.” He shrugs. “And it’s a heavy week for social events.”

I don’t believe this. How can he not want to go to the Savoy? God, it’s all right for top businessmen, isn’t it? Free champagne, yawn, yawn. Goody bags, yet another party, yawn, how tedious and dull.

“Well, you should let them know, then.” I barely hide my disapproval. “In fact, I’ll do it right now.
Dear Blue, Thanks so much for the invitation
,” I read aloud as I type. “
Unfortunately, Sam will be unable to attend on this occasion. Best wishes, Poppy Wyatt
.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Sam is staring at me, bemused. “One of the PAs at the office is helping me out now. Girl called Jane Ellis. She can do that.”

Yes, but
will
she do it? I want to retort. I’m aware of this Jane Ellis, who has started making an occasional appearance in Sam’s in-box. But her real job is working for Sam’s colleague Malcolm. I’m sure the last thing she wants to be doing is wrangling Sam’s schedule on top of her usual workload.

“It’s OK.” I shrug. “It’s been really bugging me.” Our coffees have arrived on the counter and I hand him his. “So … thanks again.”

“No trouble.” He holds the door open for me. “Hope you find the ring. As soon as you’ve finished with the phone—”

“I know.” I cut him off. “I’ll bike it round. The same nanosecond.”

“Fine.” He allows me a half smile. “Well, I hope everything goes well for you.” He extends a hand and I shake it politely.

“Hope everything goes well for you too.”

I haven’t even asked him when his wedding is. Perhaps it’s a week from tomorrow, like ours. In the same church, even. I’ll arrive and see him on the steps with Willow the Witch on his arm, telling him he’s toxic.

He strides away and I hurry off toward the bus stop. There’s a 45 bus disgorging passengers, and I climb on board. It’ll take me to Streatham Hill, and I can walk from there.

As I take my seat, I look out and see Sam walking swiftly along the pavement, his face impassive, almost stony. I don’t know if it’s the wind or he’s been knocked by a passerby, but somehow his tie has gone skew-whiff, and he doesn’t even seem to have noticed. Now
that’s
bugging me. I can’t resist sending him a text.

Your tie’s crooked.

I wait about thirty seconds, then watch his face jolt in surprise. As he’s looking around, searching the pedestrians on the pavement, I text again:

On the bus.

The bus has moved off by now, but the traffic’s heavy and I’m pretty much keeping pace with Sam. He looks up, straightening his tie, and flashes me a smile.

I’ll have to admit, he does have quite a smile. Kind of heart-stopping, especially as it comes out of nowhere.

I mean … you know. If your heart was in the kind of place to be stopped.

Anyway. An email has just come in from Lindsay Cooper, and I briskly open it.

Dear Sam,

Thank you so much! Your words mean a lot to me—it’s so nice to know you are appreciated!! I’ve told the whole team who helped me with the strategy document, and it’s really boosted morale!

Best,
Lindsay

It’s cc’ed to his other address too, so he’ll have got it on his phone. A moment later my phone bleeps with a text from Sam.

What did you write to Lindsay??

I can’t help giggling as I type back:

Happy birthday. Just like you said.

What else??

I don’t see why I need to answer. Two can play at selective deafness.

Have you contacted the dentist yet?
I counter.

I wait awhile—but we’re back to radio silence. Another email has arrived in the phone, this time from one of Lindsay’s colleagues, and as I read it I can’t help feeling vindicated.

Dear Sam,

Lindsay passed on your kind words about the website strategy. We were so honored and delighted you took the time to comment. Thanks, and look forward to chatting about more initiatives, maybe at the next monthly meeting.

Adrian (Foster)

Ha. You see?
You see?

It’s all very well sending off two-word emails. It might be efficient. It might get the job done. But
no one likes you
. Now that whole website team will feel happy and wanted and work brilliantly. And it’s all because of me! Sam should have me doing his emails all the time.

On a sudden impulse, I scroll down to Rachel’s zillionth email about the Fun Run and press
reply
.

Hi, Rachel.

Count me in for the Fun Run. It’s a great endeavor and I look forward to supporting it. Well done!

Sam

He looks fit. He can do a Fun Run, for God’s sake. On a roll now, I scroll down to that guy in IT who’s been politely asking about sending Sam his CV and ideas
for the company. I mean, surely Sam should be
encouraging
people who want to get ahead?

Dear James,

I would be very glad to see your CV and hear about your ideas. Please make an appointment with Jane Ellis, and well done for being so proactive!

Sam

And now that I’ve started, I can’t stop. As the bus chugs along, I email the guy wanting to assess Sam’s workstation for health and safety, set up a time, then email Jane to tell her to put it in the schedule.
⁵⁹
I email Sarah, who has been off with shingles, and ask her if she’s better.

All those unanswered emails that have been nagging away at me. All those poor ignored people trying to get in touch with Sam. Why
shouldn’t
I answer them? I’m doing him such a service! I feel like I’m repaying him for his favor with the ring. At least, when I hand this phone back, his in-box will have been dealt with.

In fact, what about a round-robin email telling everyone they’re fab? Why not? Who can it hurt?

Dear Staff,

I just wanted to say that you’ve all done a great job so far this year.

As I’m typing, an even better thought comes to me.

As you know, I value all your views and ideas. We are lucky to have such talent at White Globe Consulting and want to make the most of it. If you have any ideas for the company you would like to share, please send them to me. Be honest!

All best wishes and here’s to a great year ahead.

Sam

I press
send
with satisfaction. There. Talk about motivational. Talk about team spirit! As I sit back, my fingers are aching from so much typing. I take a sip of latte, reach for my muffin, stuff a massive chunk into my mouth—and my phone starts ringing.

Shit. Of
all
the times.

I press
talk
, lift the receiver to my ear, and try to say “Just a moment,” but it comes out as “Gobblllllg.” My whole mouth is full of claggy muffin. What do they
put
in these things?

“Is that you?” A youthful, reedy male voice is speaking.

“It’s Scottie.”

Scottie?
Scottie?

Something sparks in my mind. Scottie. Wasn’t that the name mentioned by Violet’s friend who rang before? The one who was talking about liposuction?

“It’s done. Like I said. It was a surgical strike. No trace. Genius stuff, if I say so myself.
Adios
, Santa Claus.”

I’m chewing my muffin as frantically as I can, but I still can’t utter a sound.

“Are you there? Is this the right—Oh,
fucking
—” The voice disappears as I manage to swallow.

“Hello? Can I take a message?”

He’s gone. I check the caller ID, but it’s
Unknown Number
.

You’d think all Violet’s friends would know her new number by now. Clicking my tongue, I reach inside my bag for the
Lion King
program, which is still there.

Scottie rang
, I scribble next to the first message.
It’s done. Surgical strike. No trace. Genius stuff. Adios, Santa Claus
.

If I ever meet this Violet, I hope she’s grateful for all my efforts. In fact, I hope I
do
meet her. I haven’t been taking these messages for nothing.

I’m about to put the phone away when a crowd of new emails arrives in a flashing bunch. Replies to my round robin already? I scroll down—and to my disappointment, most of them are standard company messages or ads. But the second-to-last makes me stop in my tracks. It’s from Sam’s dad.