I've Got Your Number

I've Got Your Number Page 89

Sam thrusts some notes at the driver and opens the taxi door almost before it brakes. “Poppy, excuse me a moment. Hi, guys … ”

The three of them huddle on the gravel, and I get out more slowly. The taxi pulls away and I look around at the manicured gardens. There are croquet lawns and topiary and even a little chapel, which I bet is lovely for weddings. The place seems empty, and there’s a freshness to the air which makes me shiver. Maybe I’m nervous. Maybe it’s delayed shock.

Or maybe it’s standing here in the middle of nowhere, not knowing what the hell I’m doing here, with my personal life about to collapse in ruins around me.

I pull out my phone for companionship. The feel of it sitting in my hand comforts me a little, but not enough. I read the Unknown Number text a few more times again, just to torture myself, then compose a text to Magnus. After a few false starts I have it exactly right.

Hi. How are you doing? P

No kisses.

As I press send, my eyes start to sting. It’s a simple message, but I feel as though every word is freighted with double, triple, even quadruple meaning, with a heartbreaking subtext which he may or may not get.81

Hi means, Hi, have you been unfaithful? Have you? Please, PLEASE don’t let this be true.

How means, I really wish you’d ring me. I know you’re on your stag do, but it would reassure me so much just to hear your voice and know that you love me and you couldn’t do such a thing.

Are means, Oh God, I can’t bear it. What if it’s true? What will I do? What will I say? But, then, what if it’s NOT true and I’ve suspected you for no good reason—

“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 dinner tonight; we’ll regroup tomorrow, see how things have played 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 annual physiotherapists’ one. There are massive WHITE GLOBE 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—”