by Michael Ross
“We know it’s over thirty miles away, but you were the first person we thought of.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. The shell is there already, obviously, but it is more than three times larger than this place and obviously there would be a significant increase to your salary.”
I think Buck is expecting a bit more than this wall of silence.
“Well, of course, Danny, you’ve got a lot to think about. Take your time and speak to Dawn at HR, and she’ll go through the package we are offering. Just let me know one way or other over the next week or so.”
He’s knocked me for six. I need time to take this all in.
“Of course, Buck. Of course I will. Shall we go and get a bite to eat?”
“Sure thing, pardner.” Pardner—I like the American twang of that, much prefer it to being called cowboy.
Chapter Ten
“Wow, Rob, that’s impressive. Can I keep one for myself?”
“Danny. I’m becoming slightly anxious that you are turning into someone rather creepy and more than slightly weird.”
I do not understand.
“These photos,” he continues, “are a means to find Gertrude herself, not for you to pin up over your bed and kiss goodnight.”
“No, no, of course not.” Is he a mind reader or what? Only joking.
“So we have a clear eight hours in front of us to accomplish Mission Gertrude.”
“Rob, we’re not running a special ops mission, and we are not an SAS troop going off into battle.”
“Daniel Pearson. Today will define the rest of your life. Are you on board or not?”
“Yes, siiirrrr!”
“Are you taking this seriously, Private Pearson?”
“Okay, too far now, Robert. What’s the plan?”
“Well, firstly you ring up the delightful Miss Chamberlain, tell her the truth, and ask if you can pop around and show her the photograph of Gertrude. She tells us who it is. We ring Gertrude, she remembers you, regrets misleading you with the use of the wrong card, admits she has not stopped thinking about you ever since, falls into your arms, you make passionate love, are married within a month, have six kids—three of each—and die in bed together on your hundredth birthday.”
“That’s all very well, but I don’t think I can face ringing Miss Chamberlain.”
“Ah well, every plan must have one or two hiccups.”
“Could you ring her?”
“Why me?”
“Well, I’m pretty sure she would recognise my voice—you know, what with our first conversation and then the other times when I put the phone down.”
“I refuse to be sidetracked this early in proceedings. This plan will work. We will use your land line. Read out her number—now.”
***
“Gemma, cancel any meetings for the rest of the week. I’m going to have to go up to Glasgow for a few days to sort out the mess up there.”
“Will do. Shall I see if there are flights available later today?”
“That would be brilliant. Any time after four, and book me a room at the Apex while you’re at it, if there are any available flights today.”
Gemma had seen this coming, and whilst there had always been a chance of JB cancelling the trip, she has already put a hold on the 18.15 flight to Glasgow. She will ring the Apex first.
David had taken her rejection better than Gemma had anticipated, which perversely put her in an even worse mood. She wanted him to be upset, devastated even, to feel that his life had fallen apart.
“Oh well, you’re probably right. There’s no point making a scene about it, is there?”
It was no more than she had expected from him, but a million miles short of what she wanted. She wanted a man who was willing to fight tooth and nail for her heart, not bow out graciously at the first sign of trouble. She needed a release valve, some sort of situation where she could let off some steam. Something that had nothing to do with the males of this species.
Chapter Eleven
“It’s gone straight to voicemail. Shall I leave a message?”
“No, no. Put the phone down.” This does seem like the ideal opportunity to belittle Rob because this “master plan” is not going according to plan. But I’ll keep that thought to myself.
“What do this Giraffe group do, anyway?” Rob asks.
“I’m not sure. Pensions, life insurance, that sort of thing?”
“You haven’t a clue, have you? You’ve never even looked them up on the internet, have you?”
“I’ve had other things on my mind.”
“Danny, there is a limit to how much you can play that ‘poor old me I’ve just got divorced’ card. Go upstairs, get on the internet and get their address. We will drive there now and forget all this phone call nonsense.”
Sorry, it’s your nonsense, Rob, not mine. “Of course, I’ll be back down in a minute.”
***
“You’ve been gone nearly thirty minutes! Danny, what the hell—”
“Yes, sorry about that, but what an interesting history. The company was formed back in 1909 by—”
“Danny, are you being deliberately evasive or are you just plain stupid?”
Everyone should have a best mate like Rob. He has a subtle way of flushing me out.
“It’s just, well, what if all this is just a waste of time?” I ask. “What if she’s happily married to a billionaire with three kids and a holiday island in the Bahamas.”
“You think she might be married to Richard Branson?”
“No, you know what I mean. Maybe it’s best for me to live with my fantasy. She probably suffers from bad breath and has really ugly feet.”
“Did Jane have ugly feet?”
“They were horrible—all lumpy and ever so slightly hairy.”
“You’re right, Danny. Let’s forget about it. I couldn’t bear to live with myself if you finished up marrying a woman with ugly feet. Let’s go and play a bit of golf.”
“Why, have you got your racquet with you?”
Rob has never played golf in his life.
Ten minutes is an awfully long time when no one speaks. It’s a war of attrition and I give in first.
“Okay. They’re based in an office block down by the harbour.”
“Great, let’s go. Danny, the photos—bring the photos.”
***
Wayne Buckle, the new office run-around, is on work experience. It’s an experience no one is enjoying. If you need him to go to the third floor, that instruction must be accompanied by three fingers being clearly raised on their own. Someone in the mail office had one extra finger not fully pulled back and Wayne went missing for an hour and a half on Thursday of last week.
For some reason, one of the girls in Ella’s office decided that Wayne was capable of bringing back three coffees from the vending machine. In fairness, he was capable of doing that; just not doing it without tripping and pouring coffee all down Ella’s skirt. A trip to the cloakroom cleaned the skirt up to a reasonable standard, but it was probably the most exciting event in Plastic World this entire month. Maybe it was worth keeping Master Buckle in employment to relieve the tedium. With that thought, Ella realises she is fast approaching a breaking point.
Chapter Twelve
“Nice building—foreboding even.”
“Will you come in with me?”
“Of course I will, Daniel. Shall I hold your hand?”
“Oh, piss off. It’s just you’ve got more front than me.”
“You say the nicest things. Come on, let’s do it.”
Giraffe Group are on the third floor. When the lift door opens, six or seven girls get out. I think my forensic gaze may have scarred one or two of them for life.
“Danny, let me remind you it is very unlikely that Gertrude works here. One step at a time.”
The reception area could hold a ballroom-dancing contest. There is a girl behind a counter about a mile away. Rob marches up to her.
“Go
od morning, my name is Robert Palmer.”
I know, everyone thinks his name is slightly funny. However, the girl is no more than seventeen and has not the faintest clue that the name should ring some sort of bell.
“I would like to speak to Ella Chamberlain, please,” he says politely.
The girl, who does not appear to be the brightest, starts tapping away at her PC.
“There are no Chamberlains here. Has she married recently and changed her name?”
Maybe a bit brighter than I originally thought.
“I don’t think so…hang on. Have you got her card, Danny?”
I am meant to be an observer, not a participant! I check, then double check all my pockets—no card. Rob walks over and takes it from my shirt pocket, but there are no smart-aleck looks. He knows how nervous I am.
“Here’s Ella’s card. Does that help?”
“I’ve only been here six months, but I’m sure I know that name the more I think about it. Let me get Tracey up here; she’s been here forever. Help yourself to coffee, Mr. Palmer.”
Smooth bastard.
When she arrives, Tracey is only slightly older than the girl on reception and has worked here for eighteen months.
“Oh, Ella—she left here about three months ago.”
“What a shame,” says Rob. “Do you know where she works now?”
“Well, yes, but I’m not sure I should pass that information on to a stranger.” She’s looking at me, not Rob, when she says that.
“Danny”—he turns and winks at me—“is her cousin from Australia. He has to head to Heathrow for his flight back home within the next couple of hours. He just wants to have a chance to say hello before he leaves the old country.”
It’s such a ridiculous story, there is no way she is going to swallow it. I feel sorry for Rob for even trying.
“Okay, I suppose it’s all right. She works for Plastix Insurance. They are in the building next door, floors three, four, five, and six.”
Bloody hell!
***
Ella checks her watch. The meeting has run overtime, but if she makes a dash for her car, she can be home and changed and back in time for the weekly management meeting. She cannot attend the meeting smelling like a cheap transport cafe. Little Wayne has definitely been moved up to the top of her Death List. Bag in hand, she makes a move towards the office door and her extension rings. Shall she, shan’t she? It might be good news. She can still just about manage to take a quick phone call and get back in time. She snatches the phone.
“Hi, Ella here.”
“Hi, Ella. Mandy in reception here. There’s a Mr. Palmer here waiting to see you. Shall I send him up?”
Palmer, Palmer. The name rings a bell, but she had deliberately kept her diary clear today. Oh well, no time to go home, but a ten-minute meeting will still give her a chance to nip out to New Look and buy something basic which will get her through the day. Maybe Mr. Palmer is the big, moneyed client she needs to boost her figures.
“Okay, Mandy, send him up. Whilst you’re on the line, is there anyone other than Wayne Buckle I can send over to the shopping centre? No, I thought not.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Good afternoon, Mr. Palmer. How can I help you?”
“Good afternoon, Ms. Chamberlain. Please call me Rob, and this is my friend, Danny.”
I think the word “friend” has thrown Ella; she was expecting the word “colleague,” I guess. She is not the girl of my dreams. She has a hard face with bitter eyes and she sort of smells…peculiar. I’ve got the strongest possible feeling this is not going to go well, but Rob is loving every minute.
“The thing is, Ms. Chamberlain”—she makes no attempt to de-formalise matters—“this is a personal matter which should only take a minute or two of your time.”
Oh my God, the look in her eyes. Run, Rob, let’s run whilst we still can!
“A personal matter? A personal matter? This is a place of business, Mr. Palmer. I do not conduct personal business whilst I am at work.”
Rob’s colour is now somewhere between puce and salted porridge.
“No, no, not your personal business, Ms. Chamberlain. Danny’s…Mr. Pearson’s.”
“Oh, I see. That’s all right, then. Of course there’s no problem with you interrupting me whilst I am at work to devote some time to Mr. Pearson’s personal business.”
I silently pray that Rob realises she is using the ironic form of speech to make her point. If at this point Rob takes her seriously, I think we’re dead meat. It is a couple of seconds before I realise that Rob has lost the power of speech. Once more unto the breech, dear friends…
“Ella”—I’ve got balls when so required—“here is your visiting card.” I pass it over. “I was given what I know now is your card by a young woman you must have given the card to, fairly close to the time I was given the card.” It sounded straightforward in my head, but even I’m beginning to get confused. “The thing is, she dropped a gold bracelet on the floor after she left and I wanted to return it to her.” Good. Ms. Chamberlain is looking suitably perplexed.
“I haven’t worked at Giraffe for three months.”
“Yes, this was almost six months ago.” I had thought Rob’s plane back to Australia was a poor story. If Ella digs any deeper with this garbage I’m spouting, his tale will look like pure genius.
“So you’ve had this gold bracelet for six months, and you’re only just beginning to return it.”
“I got knocked over by a taxi. Just after. I’ve been in traction.”
“He couldn’t walk for months.”
Thanks, Rob. I was drying up for a second.
“Could I see the bracelet?”
“No. It’s pure twenty-two carat gold. It’s in my safety deposit box at the bank.” Hell, I’m getting to be damn good at this.
“The thing is, we have this photograph of her that you might recognise.” Rob pushes it under her nose.
She frowns before speaking.
“This is taken at a football match.”
“Well, actually not at a football match. I’ve got a new Apple phone and—”
I interrupt his flow.
“Rob that’s not important.”
“Sorry, you’re right. Do you recognise her?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Who is she?”
“Rob, I think Ella is making the most of this moment.” I make full eye contact with her. “Could you please tell us who she is?”
“You do realise I do not believe your story for even one nanosecond?”
“If you knew the real story, Ella, I’ve got a feeling you would throw up. What is that peculiar smell, by the way?”
“I tell you what—Danny, was it? I need fifty pounds to buy a skirt to replace this one with the peculiar smell. Would you like to contribute?”
I hand over the fifty without comment.
“Her name is Gemma Barrow. She works for a company called Avionics over in Westbury.”
***
With JB away for a few days, Gemma’s workload is considerably lighter. It does not happen that often, so she decides it would be a good idea to take advantage of the situation, and rings down to reception.
“Hi, John. I’ve got nothing on for the rest of the day. I’m off home; if anyone wants me, my mobile will be on until seven.”
“No problem. I’m off myself shortly, but I’ll leave a message with Rose. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
“Thanks, John. I will.”
Chapter Fourteen
“I could do with a drink.”
“Okay. First pub we come to.”
“This could be it, Danny. You could well be face-to-face with Gertrude by five o’clock.”
“Gemma. Gemma, not Gertrude.”
“Mm. I was getting quite attached to the name Gertrude. It’s going to take some adjustment, but all right. Gemma she shall be known as from here on in.”
&
nbsp; “This place look good enough?”
“Danny, I just want a quick drink. We’re not staying the night.”
The pub is rough even with no punters inside. I’ve no intention of looking too closely at the wooden floor; it is more than likely covered in bloodstains.
“Two grapefruit and lemonades, please, and two packets of crisps.” I give him a five-pound note and hope for the best. I take the drinks over to the window, where Rob is sitting. He looks exhausted.
“You look knackered. Everything okay?”
“Yes, of course, but the twins are teething and I’ve not slept that well for the last week or so.”
I feel bad for taking Rob for granted. He probably needed a day like today like a hole in the head.
“Sorry if I’ve messed your life up.”
“Don’t be daft, it’s been a blast.”
“Really?”
“No, you daft prick. It’s been a nightmare, but hopefully another twenty minutes or so and the first part of the plan will be completed.”
“What if she wants to spend some time with me? You know, getting to know me and stuff.”
“Don’t be so bloody stupid. She’s going to take one look at you and hide herself in the ladies’ toilet. Get real, Pearson.”
We both burst out laughing. The landlord looks over at us and contemplates calling the police. It’s not the sort of place that allows laughter.
“Come on, Danny. We need to get there well before five in case she goes home early.”
***
“What? She’s gone already? It’s only three-thirty.”
The receptionist is horrified by Rob’s attitude.
“I’m very sorry, but I don’t tell the staff when they should come and go. Gemma would normally leave at about five-thirty. You are more than welcome to wait. Over there in the waiting area.”