‘Boys!’ Harriet’s mother says sternly, putting down her gin and tonic and looking disapprovingly at all the messing that is going on. ‘Behave yourselves around Freddie, will you? He’s only just got here, he’s our dinner guest and not everyone appreciates the way you pair carry on!’
Carole Waters is tiny in stature, with a voice that makes you drop whatever you’re doing, to stop and listen. But then, the woman is a country vet, dealing with large animals, and, as she has always said, dealing with runaway heifers is not that dissimilar to dealing with her twin sons.
The boys instantly untangle poor Freddie, who laughs gamely, thanks them for inviting him, then ambles over in that dishevelled, long-legged way of his, to where Harriet and her mam are sitting.
He gives Harriet a little peck on the cheek and she immediately introduces him to her mother, thinking about how often she’s fantasised about this moment, and now, here she is, actually taking Freddie into the heart of her family. Pity the twins have to be at their messiest and most rowdy, even in a fancy restaurant, but then, they’re like that most of the time, and at least Freddie has met them before, so he’s had a bit of forewarning about what to expect.
‘It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you, Mrs Waters,’ Freddie says, doing a tiny little head bow and shaking her hand warmly. All very public school, and posh and gentlemanly, in total contrast to the twins, who’ve now moved on to some class of a drinking contest at the bar and who are yelling at Freddie to join in.
‘Very nice to meet you too, Freddie,’ Carole says, smiling. ‘And I apologise in advance for my sons. I wish I could say they’re just acting like this because it’s their stag night this Saturday, but sadly, that’s not the case at all. They’re like this most of the time. Harriet will vouch for that.’
‘It was very good of you to include me,’ Freddie smiles, his blue eyes twinkling. ‘Certainly been a while since I’ve been to a lovely family dinner like this, I can tell you.’
‘Freddie?’ says Jack, nabbing him from behind in what looks like a Heimlich manoeuvre. ‘Come and meet Dad, he’s at the bar, have a few scoops with us before dinner – we’re even buying!’
‘Yeah, which doesn’t happen often,’ quips Terry, ‘so you might as well make the most of it!’
Freddie, it has to be said, looks bewildered, but delighted at the same time, and willingly allows himself to get dragged over to meet Harriet’s dad with the boys.
Now that they are alone, Carole Waters turns her full attention back to her daughter.
‘He’s a sweetheart,’ she says approvingly.
‘Isn’t he?’ Harriet smiles. ‘He’s such a good soul too. And I’m delighted you invited him tonight, he’ll have a great time. I know he will. From the sounds of it, his family never sit down together for dinner and a big, boisterous chat, like we do.’
‘From what you’ve told me . . .’ Carole says, as if she were pronouncing a diagnosis on a colicky racehorse, ‘I think you and Freddie could be good together. I really do.’
‘You do, Mam?’ That means such a lot to Harriet. She is incredibly close to her mam, and her good opinion matters more to her than anyone’s. Carole is as straight-talking as they come; if she didn’t take to Freddie, she’d have said so, with no frills attached.
‘If you want to know my two cents’ worth,’ Carole goes on, ‘then here it is. It seems to me that, to the outside world, Freddie might have money and come from a ridiculously wealthy family, but actually, he’s the one who’s lucky to have you. Because you don’t care about any of that. You genuinely like him for who he is and not what he comes from.’
‘That’s a beautiful thing to say,’ Harriet smiles, really touched. ‘Thanks, Mam.’
‘You’re good for him,’ her mam says. ‘And now his family need to realise that they’d actually be very lucky to have you in their lives.’
‘Freddie’s the kindest, sweetest man I ever met,’ Harriet says truthfully. ‘I love that he’s so innocent and enthusiastic about everything – it’s endearing. And he’s good to me, Mam, so thoughtful and funny and . . . look, here’s the thing. I know it’s early days. We were so close before I went away, and now we need to learn to be around each other again. All I’m saying is, so far, so good.’
‘But let’s not forget,’ Carole cautions, ‘there’s the small matter of his grandmother sending that malicious little viper to try to break the two of you up.’ She breaks off there and takes a sip of her gin and tonic, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘God Almighty. When I think of how taken in by Meg Monroe we all were? I thought she was such a lovely woman – such a good friend to you too. How deceived were we? It doesn’t bear thinking about.’
‘Don’t remind me,’ Harriet shudders. ‘Meg played me, right from day one. I could kick myself for being taken in by her so easily. I’m just glad I haven’t had to set foot back in her flat ever since I discovered the truth earlier today. I came straight to meet you and Dad off your flight, and it was the loveliest distraction I could have asked for. But how about this, Mam. I’m meeting Freddie’s grandmother tomorrow night. What do I do? How do I handle this?’
‘Let’s deal with one problem at a time,’ Carole says calmly. ‘Meg Monroe first, I think. To think that she was the driving force behind you going away for a whole year, when we all missed you so much! The woman is dangerous and she needs to be stopped. Right now.’
‘You’re absolutely right,’ Harriet says thoughtfully, sitting back against the banquette booth she and her mam are cosied up in, as the waiter comes to deliver menus. ‘I’ve twisted that and turned it backwards and forwards in my mind so many times since I discovered the truth. Because the thing is, I don’t think I’m alone, Mam. I think that Meg has lots of other people just like me, who she’s been paid, or paid in kind, to get rid of.’
‘It beggars belief,’ says Carole. ‘It’s such a violation of any kind of moral code.’
‘What’s most astonishing of all is how good she is at it. You’d want to see the way Meg worked on me before I went away last year. She was even crying at the airport because I was leaving, when it was all her idea in the first place.’
‘Have you any idea who these others are?’ Carole asks. ‘Do you have any names or any rough idea of who else Meg may be doing this to? She wasn’t able to keep you and Freddie apart, but there may be people out there who aren’t so lucky. You could help, Harriet. In fact, you have a duty to.’
‘Well, as a matter of fact,’ says Harriet slowly, ‘I do. Because there was a noticeboard in Meg’s flat, stuffed full with Post-it notes, with all sorts of names, dates and places scribbled all over them. Katherine Sisk for one. THE Katherine Sisk.’
‘Well, well,’ Carole says. ‘Isn’t that interesting?’
‘So what’ll I do, Mam?’
Carole takes another sip of her G&T before answering.
‘I’ll tell you exactly what you do,’ she says, after a pause. ‘You start with Meg Monroe herself and you do whatever it takes to make this right.’
‘Whatever it takes,’ Harriet says, sitting back and looking around her. Her family, all in great form, happy out and celebrating being together again. And for the first time all day, Harriet Waters feels that everything is going to be OK.
FRIDAY
Chapter Thirty-Five
Meg
A crazy day ahead, but fortunately, that’s just the way I like it. It’s the crack of dawn and already I’m up and about, diligently working away on this actor guy, Jonny Featherstone-Jones, whoever he is, so I can really go to town on him. How, I haven’t yet decided, but that’ll all come in good time. I’ll do a bit more online searching about him first, before deciding what costume to wear, what character to assume and how best to approach him. It’s a whole process, trust me.
Which is why the home address for him, which I managed to filch from the electoral database in Katherine Sisk’s office, really is beyond prize to me. And when I get my hands on the entire database, later on
today with any luck? My life will be a complete breeze, I think, beavering away at my desktop computer, zoning in on all of Jonny’s past addresses via good old Google Maps. From here on in, just having access to the name and address of every registered voter in the state will speed up my work rate no end. Happy clients equals happy days.
Yawning and stretching, I get up from my desk and wander into the living area, rubbing my neck. Then I pad barefoot over to the balcony, open the doors and step outside into the fresh early-morning breeze, to take a little breather and to clear my head.
My lovely home, I think. My lovely view of the cruise ships docked out in the harbour. And Ellen de Courcey seriously thinks she can just turf me out of here without a by-your-leave? Good luck to her with that. Because I’m already hard at work preparing a case against the de Courceys. Or rather, against those two decrepit old codgers, in that stinking excuse for a legal office.
Honestly, how do those two function in this day and age?
I’ll make mincemeat of them. I picked up an impressive amount of legal knowledge working at Sloan Curtis all those years, plus I intend to bring a bit of street smarts to the fore and God help Digby, Markby and Sellers, when faced with me across a courtroom. Maybe neither of them have ever even studied the terms of the lease I signed on the flat, but by God, I’m doing it now. Ad nauseum.
Because I’ve got legal rights here too, lots of them. Plus, I’ve already spotted at least three loopholes in the lease that might effectively get me off the hook. Worst-case scenario? Maybe I’ll still end up getting turfed out of this apartment, but if it comes to that, it certainly won’t be without a hefty cash settlement to soften the blow.
I plonk myself down on one of the rattan sofas on the balcony, lean my head back against one of the cushions, and breathe in the mild, humid air as my mind begins to wander.
Harriet Waters. Sooner or later, all of my problems can be quickly traced back to Harriet bloody Waters. Harriet, who, by the way, never came home last night. The sofa bed was entirely unslept in when I got up. She’s not answering her phone either, which is so unlike her.
Normally, Harriet’s like an eager little puppy, always trying to nail me down to a time and place when we can hang out and do things together. I can practically hear her voice ringing in my ears. ‘I just want to spend time with you!’ At least, until that weird phone call yesterday, when Harriet had sounded . . . so different. Plus, Ellen de Courcey’s famous fundraiser is on this evening and I know for a fact that Harriet will most definitely be there, at thick-boy Freddie’s express invitation.
A challenge, I think, hauling myself back to my feet, padding back in from the balcony and sliding the glass door shut behind me. And challenges are there to be overcome.
I pick up both my phones and get straight back to my desk.
Back to work.
Back to what I’m best at.
Back to being The Fixer.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Meg
Government Buildings
Later on that morning, I’m tucked behind a ‘hot desk’ in that sweaty, claustrophobic little office, high up in the eaves of Government Buildings. Still haven’t had the opportunity or the privacy to download that glorious, fat, juicy database yet, as it’s busier than Grand Central Station here today. So what can I do, but wait it out and grab my chance as soon as I see it? I have a fresh pile of USB sticks beside me and am ready to go at the drop of a hat. On the plus side though, I’m making terrific headway with Jess, and feeling pretty darn smug about how this one is playing out, thanks very much.
I brought her in coffee (skinny latte, extra shot, no foam – remembered exactly how she likes it, of course) and a croissant as a sort of late brekkie for her. She lit up when she saw both me and the grub, and has actually spent the rest of the morning being fairly pleasant, as it happens.
‘Good to see you,’ I said to her when I got here earlier, whipping off my coat. ‘I know the day ahead is crazy busy, so I brought supplies,’ I added, holding up the Starbucks bag.
‘That’s thoughtful of you,’ Jess smiled back at me. ‘I really appreciate it – with three days until the election, it’s going to be tough getting out of here to go to the loo, never mind grab food.’
‘Wait until you’re in Brussels or Strasbourg,’ I stage-whispered across the office to her, with a wink. ‘Can you imagine the food over there? Pains au chocolat and those divine crêpes Suzette that all the street vendors sell right outside the Conseil de l’Europe, or along Parc l’Orangerie? Lunch breaks and eating out will be very different experiences over there, I’ll bet!’
I have never set foot in either Strasbourg or Brussels in my life, but what can I say? I did my research. And hit a home run. Jess’s eyes instantly glistened, as she gratefully took the coffee I handed over to her.
‘Can you just imagine?’ she said, looking dreamy and wistful. ‘I can’t stop thinking about it, and how much my whole life would change if it were ever to happen.’
‘Oh, it’s yours for the taking,’ I told her confidentially. ‘All you need is for Callaghan to lose this election so he has to go back to his old EU job, and you’re home and dry.’
‘I know I’m supposed to be working here,’ Jess said, keeping her voice good and low. ‘But actually . . . strictly between you and me . . .’
Then she spun her laptop around to show me what she was really at. Googling cheap flats to rent in Brussels, no less. Bingo.
*
So now we’ve been working side by side for hours and all I can think is – she’s hooked, and all I need is the room to myself for a few precious minutes, and I’m happy.
Just then the door bursts open and in strides Billy.
‘Wow,’ he says, taking us both in. ‘Here you both are. The hard-working team, slaving away. No sign of Philip to give you a hand?’
I throw a quick glance over to Jess, but she doesn’t react at all. Instead, she’s just focused on the screen in front of her, scrolling, scrolling, scrolling.
A very good sign, methinks. Brussels clearly means more to her than he does.
‘No rest for the wicked,’ I smile brightly back at him, while Jess just gives a friendly little wave.
Billy dumps a pile of files down on the desk I’m sitting at, then stands up to his full height to yawn and stretch.
‘What are you doing anyway, Meg? Mind if I take a look?’ he says, shoving his hands into his pockets and idly ambling around to where I’m sitting, still buried deep in work.
‘Oh, all very boring,’ I say, ‘just doing as I promised, making sure all of Katherine’s constituents are targeted with her election manifesto.’
‘And it’s all in hand?’ Billy asks. ‘Looking good?’
‘All in hand,’ I say cheerily. ‘Not a problem.’
‘You remember what I told you about the electoral database? It doesn’t leave this room, for any reason whatsoever.’
‘Absolutely not,’ I say, pretend-horrified at the very thought.
‘Well, the boss will certainly be pleased,’ Billy says, taking out his phone and reading a text message that’s just come through. ‘That’s her now, in fact.’
‘Katherine?’ Jess says. ‘Where is she, anyway? I thought you and she had a full morning of radio interviews.’
‘All of which are done and dusted,’ Billy smiles, ‘and all of which, I’m delighted to report, went very well. Few tough questions that she managed to deal with under pressure, but otherwise, not a bad morning’s work. Holding steady in the polls, if you can believe pollsters, that is. Anyway, don’t either of you want to know what that text message said just now?’
‘Go ahead,’ Jess shrugs back at him.
‘Katherine says to tell you there’s a photocall happening downstairs in front of the portrait of Countess Markievicz, for all the women working in Government Buildings. She says she’d love you both to be included in the photo too.’
‘Me as well?’ I say, surprised.
‘Yes, you as well. Now go on, what are you waiting for? Scram, the pair of you!’ he grins, almost scooting us out the door. ‘Bring me back a coffee if you’ve time!’ is his parting shot.
‘Ha! Weren’t you the one who promised to do that for us?’ I toss back over my shoulder at him, already on my way out the door and banging it shut behind me, for the first time since I got here, leaving my desk and everything on it completely unattended.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Meg
Last thing I’d wanted to do was leave Katherine Sisk’s office back at Government Buildings, but like it or not, I’ve no choice. Another job to do, another client to keep happy – hopefully. I told everyone I was dashing out on a last-minute bit of pre-election constituency business on Katherine’s behalf and that I’d be back as fast as I could. A few texts from Billy have pinged through in the last half-hour, saying, ‘Where are you? You’re needed here!’ But nothing that I can’t handle.
Of course I’ll zip back to the office just as fast as I can; well, I have to, don’t I? It’s already lunchtime and I still haven’t had a chance to download that precious electoral database. But for now, I’m busy chasing up yet another job for yet another client and so far, so good.
‘You can leave me off here, just at the street corner,’ I say to the taxi driver, bossily telling him exactly where to park, before handing him over a crisp fifty-euro note and instructing him to keep the change.
‘Well, thanks very much, love, pleasure doing business with you,’ he replies, delighted with himself.
I climb out of the taxi and take a moment to look around; so far, so normal. I’m standing on Myrtle Street, at a tiny row of council houses, all of which look like old Victorian railway cottages to me and most of which are sadly in need of an upgrade.
The rubbish bins are overflowing, the whole place stinks to high heaven and it seems the only retailers for miles consist of a bookie’s shop and a solitary chipper, with a gang of lads loitering around outside, ready to pick a fight with anyone who looks crossways at them. Anyone else would have been intimidated by these surroundings, but not me. Let’s face it, I come from a lot worse, and this is nothing to me. If anyone tries to mug me for my phone, or cash, or my good Michael Kors bag, God help them.
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