"Great, lots to tell."
When she arrived in the coffee shop, the two of them were there seated and in deep discussion, chances were, she thought, about how well or badly lunch went. Kerry stood up and walked to meet her. "Give us a hug, darling," she said. "I was so worried about you earlier. What the fuck went on?"
"It was me Kerry, I'm so sorry. What with everything that was happening, I was feeling a bit low and I sort of freaked out. But he was a real gentleman, good company, and not the devil incarnate that I had imagined, and, well, in the end I had a really enjoyable time."
"And what happened in the park?" she asked.
"I'll tell you later," she whispered.
The two of them joined Adrian at a table and, even though he liked his role as the office jester, he knew this was not the time for acting the fool. Alex had always looked after him even when times were tough and, though he enjoyed the ridiculing of each other in the office, he knew that she had issues that deserved some modicum of seriousness.
"Hi, let me get you a coffee."
"Flattie, please," said Alex.
Flattie...what the fuck is that, he thought as he went to the counter.
While he was ordering, Alex told Kerry about the park.
"Just everything was against me like in a perfect storm, the texts, the attention from people who work for Hensen and then a beautiful young girl enjoying a day out with her mum. I just cracked. And I wanted to just go home, get into bed and forget everything."
"But you made it to the restaurant – that's the main thing," Kerry said. "Strong as a lion."
"Well, I was shaking when I went up in the lift. Couldn't wait for it to be all over. But Nick was great, I think he sensed I was tense, but he made me feel so comfortable and he was so sort of normal that I just started relaxing and forgot everything. "
Adrian came back with Alex's coffee. "Here you go," he said, placing the cup in front of her.
Alex wanted straight away to discuss her reasons for asking him there, mainly because she wanted to know if there was a solution – but also because she wanted to talk alone with Kerry. She explained to him about the text messages she had received regarding Nick Hensen, unsure what Kerry had already have told him, and asked whether it was possible to trace who sent them.
"You have two ways," he explained. "You either hack the computers of the text-sending service or you go to the police and say you are being harassed by a person or people unknown, in which case, if it's serious enough, they might go the company and demand to see which IP address the messages were sent from.
"Neither is easy, particularly as the company is likely to be in the States. The texts, although a bit weird, are not really threatening so chances are the police won't be bothered. Even if you get them to act, there is no guarantee that they will be able to trace the sender. They might have sent them from a computer that's not theirs.
"Even with an IP address we might not find the actual sender."
"What's an IP address?" Kerry asked.
Adrian explained that it was just like your home address, everyone has a unique identifier. But on the internet your address could be disguised or hidden and, unlike in your own home, posting from one address didn't actually prove that you lived there.
"You only have to go to an internet cafe. The message can be traced back there, but the chances of proving who actually sent it would be slim."
"So people can send anyone text messages on their phone and there is really little chance of finding out who sent it?" asked Alex.
"The police might find out with lots of work, but they would only be bothered if someone was being really malicious, threatening to kill you or something. Telling them that someone is warning you about another person isn't going to get them running around."
"So I have to put up with the messages?"
"You could change your number, but then you'd have to tell Hensen's people if you want to carry on working for them, and the chances are that whoever is sending them will get your new number, since we have to assume that they have come from someone with a connection to Hensen, the company or the man.
"You could block messages from that text-forwarding service. But do you want to. Maybe the sender is trying to warn you of something that you need to know?
"The messages will still be sent, just you wouldn't see them."
Alex and Kerry looked at each other.
"Listen ladies, I'm happy to give you some free overtime, but I think you two might want to discuss things between yourselves. Let me know if there is anything I can do tomorrow. In the meantime I'd like to join the rat race on its homeward journey through the sewers of London and catch up with my Miss Rat."
Adrian might be the prankster and joker who dealt in computer code and numbers and not emotions, but he was perceptive enough to sense that the two of them wanted to be alone.
"Ade, can't thank you enough. You go home and have a good evening," said Alex.
Once he had left, the two women talked of things that Adrian didn't know about. Only Kerry knew of Alex's true history and Alex knew that she, true to her word, wouldn't have told a soul, not even her own husband. She recalled the day that she had first told her of her past, and Kerry had muttered the memorable words, to lighten the dreadful moment, "An Englishman's word is his bond."
Despite the magnitude of what she had revealed, both of them managed a smile. And now Alex knew that Kerry's bond was as safe as Fort Knox or the Bank of England.
The two of them spent the next hour talking of Nick and the lunch, and how Alex liked him and how he had made her feel so at ease. "He is just like so bloody normal. I don't get it that a man of his means isn't all airs and graces, and dating, like, royalty, or at least Lord and Lady Ashton's daughter or granddaughter - if they have one.
"He is like wanting us to walk round London after lunch. I thought rich guys only did limos and all that shit. And he promised to bring me back some blueberry cheesecake from New York, and that he'd go out and buy it himself!"
"And the girl in the park..." Kerry prompted.
"It shook me up, the likeness. It was just a mother and daughter looking the happiest people in the world and I was in a state over the text message and I was nervous about the meeting, Nick and who he might be. And everything just got on top of me.
"I was dizzy in the traffic as I went back to the Hilton, everything was whizzing around. It was like the whole city and all its people were coming to get me and I just wanted to go home."
"Listen, no arguments, I'm going home to get some clothes and stay at yours tonight. The couch will do. We'll go straight to the pitch tomorrow," said Kerry.
"Hubby won't mind?"
"He's a big boy now, he'll sort things with Ollie."
"Kels, I'd really appreciate it. Today before lunch was....well, like hell and it almost tipped me over the edge. It would be nice to have some company."
"Hey, you came through it. I'll see you in a couple of hours."
Chapter six: Who is she?
Nick Hensen sat behind a glass desk in his Mayfair office, a laptop either side and an A4 - what the subject of the photo would call 'letter-sized' - image of Alex Anderson in the middle.
"Who is she?" he asked.
"No idea. But one thing that's almost certain is that she is not Alex Anderson from New York City or even New York State," replied Tavis from the opposite side of the desk. "We have checked birth records at the time she was supposedly born, state taxes, school records, medical records, newspaper reports, everything. "The Alex Anderson's we found do not match our lady."
"Are you sure?"
"As sure as I can be. American schools, as you probably know, do year books. A couple of IT people have scoured every Alex Anderson in every school picture from every school in the state over the relevant time period. None of them are her. And she's not on Twitter or Facebook."
"I hate fucking Facebook and Twitter, too - doesn't make me a bad person."
"Yes but she must ha
ve some friends in America – and she has a sister - and they'd be good for keeping in touch this side of the pond. But her only social network presence is her company stuff."
"So why might it be that she is not who she says she is?" Nick asked.
"Your guess is as good as mine," he replied. "But you have to be careful. Their computers are linked to yours and you tell me they have a genius techie working for them. I wouldn't want you to wake up one morning and see your clients' money has disappeared into cyberspace."
"You really don't think that, do you?"
"No I don't," said Tavis. "But I'm quite convinced she has a false identity, and I fear you are mixing up your business and personal lives. I mean why are you spending so much time on this small contract?"
He answered the question himself. "I could tell you were besotted the moment you saw her photo. Then you've met her at the races and have taken her to lunch and now you are behaving like a teenager in love for the first time."
"You know what, Tavis? I really don't care," he said, showing his annoyance.
"You don't care about what?"
"I don't care about her hiding her true identity. Maybe just family problems or maybe for immigration to the UK. I'm not stupid, I'm a reasonable judge of personality and she, I'm sure, is not interested in stealing the company's money.
"There was nothing in her behaviour either at the races or at lunch today that set any alarm bells off. And as you know my alarm settings are necessarily very sensitive."
"You know what," said Tavis. "I'm going to give it a few days and invite her for our drinks binge. You'll be back from America by then and we'll have a meeting and I'll let you know what I have found out."
"I don't care what you find out, Tavis," said Nick. "I don't want to know."
"Sure, you don't want to be disappointed," remarked Tavis. "I can understand that. It's why my wife's ex-husband, despite all his suspicions, never looked at her her personal stuff because he was scared what he might find out.
"It's the same reason that people all over the world don't like to open their credit card statements or their utility bills. Not looking doesn't make the bills go away. But everyone finds out eventually and undoubtedly it's usually in their interest to find out sooner rather than later."
He got up and asked Nick whether he had a car on standby.
"Ask Katherine, or get a cab...you are pissing me off."
"Enjoy America," laughed Tavis as he left.
In Shoreditch, Alex and Kerry had ordered a delivery of Chinese food and both were happy to be together for their 'girls' night in', and also to have the chance to talk about the events of the last few days.
Alex was still full from lunch and nibbled at dry spare ribs while Kerry, who had been running around looking after her and who hadn't eaten since breakfast, tucked in to the special meal for two.
"You know, I totally forgot about tomorrow's pitch," said Alex. "I hope you are well prepared."
"Got everything. Laptop with PowerPoint ready to go and a brilliant script if I say so myself," Kerry reassured her.
Alex put the TV on.
"Friends?" she asked, flicking through the channels.
"Yeah, definitely something light," Kerry replied. "And we can ogle at Matt LeBlanc. "
She then asked whether Alex's mobile was on and charged.
"All set up for mystery texter," she replied.
After coffee, Alex related the tale of how she almost pulled in the local pub the day after the races.
"Oh, please tell all, what was he like?"
"Good enough to look at, but the type who wanted to tell me his life story and propose marriage or at least moving in together. As you know I don't do relationships with men, I just wanted a shag," said Alex.
"What are you like!"
They giggled while Alex cleaned up the leftover Chinese.
"Babe, you can't go on like this you know," Kerry said after the laughter had subdued.
"I can and I will because the torment is never going to end. And it's what I vowed."
Tears started rolling down Alex's face and Kerry gave her a hug.
"Come on, let's not talk about dreadful things. Let's chill."
She wiped away her tears. "Sorry, I've been such a nuisance today."
"You are a nuisance every day," Kerry replied.
They smiled at each other.
"Now, sleeping arrangements," said Alex, composing herself. "One of us can have the sofa and one of us the bed or we can share the bed.
"I promise that I've never tried girl-on-girl action and don't intend to, as lovely as you are."
"Oh I'll share, no worries. Wait till we tell Adrian!"
Alex was now laughing again.
"Shall we also forget about Hensen and stuff, and just chat about meaningless things? What you Yanks call a 'time out'?"
"Good fucking idea," said Alex.
After two episodes of Friends, Kerry volunteered to go to the nearby shop to get a bottle of wine to help them sleep. But when she got back, Alex held up her mobile to show her the text message: "Alex, there's no such thing as a free lunch."
"What the fuck?" said Kerry. "Listen, let's get out of this contract. You are right, they are all fucking mad."
Alex suggested that in light of the text it would have been better to get two bottles of wine.
They sat on the sofa, in shocked silence, before Kerry said: "You've got to tell Nick. He might have an idea who sent them. And if the texts have any substance maybe he isn't a man we should be dealing with."
"But I do like him, he seems the perfect gentleman. He is clever, smart, down-to-earth, basically seems a really nice guy. I am sure the texts are just malicious, but for what reason I don't know."
"Or he might be just too good to be true?" questioned Kerry.
"What are we so worried about?" asked Alex. "Text messages can't hurt."
"But Nick Hensen can," Kerry replied.
Worn out by the day's food, drink and events, the two of them just after midnight decided to sleep.
They gigged like schoolgirls as they undressed and climbed into bed.
"I usually listen to the radio till I nod off," said Alex.
"Put it on babe," said Kerry, snuggling under the sheet before quickly falling into a deep sleep.
Alex turned over to lay on her back and stayed awake for several more hours, thinking of the past and the present, which had quickly been taken over by Hensen and mysterious texts. She didn't even want to think about the future.
The last thing she heard on the radio was a report about gun crime in America. Finally, thankfully, she succumbed to her tiredness and joined Kerry in a trouble-free world of unconsciousness.
In the morning, as the radio announcer read the 8 am news, Kerry mumbled, "You awake, babe?"
"Sort of," said Alex, rubbing her eyes.
"Pitch is at eleven, we need to sort ourselves."
"Oh Christ, can't we do it on Skype?"
Kerry got out of her bed, took off her shorts and put them in her holdall.
"You've got twenty minutes, I'll be out of the shower by then," she said, throwing a pillow at Alex.
Soon they were eating toast in the kitchen with Kerry briefing her about the pitch. She showed her the laptop presentation and spoke as if she was delivering the words to the client.
"It's great. I'll try to stay in the background as much as possible but you might need to help me out if they put any awkward questions my way," she said. "I'm not very well prepared for this one."
While waiting for the cab, Alex discussed the three weird texts, the latest showing that the source knew she'd lunched with Nick Hensen yesterday. They agreed it must be someone at his company, and probably someone close to him, unless his every move was logged on their office computers.
"Couldn't be him, himself, could it?" asked Kerry.
"For why? I do think he likes me, he certainly flirts a lot. Not saying he wants to marry me or anything, maybe just get into my pa
nts. But acting like a psycho is hardly the way to woo a girl... or maybe I just read him wrong."
A couple of bleeps from outside signalled their taxi had arrived.
Kerry delivered the pitch flawlessly which was just as well as there were fully ten representatives from the company present - enough to even deliver a round of applause at the end.
They were both in a brighter mood as they took the cab back to the office.
"Thanks Kels, that went really well," Alex said.
"It did, didn't it? I couldn't believe the clapping at the end...usually we are pitching to some guy who drew the short straw and who's only there to make his company look polite."
"Well, fingers crossed," said Alex.
In the office, Adrian was busy doing what he did, in a T-shirt that read: 'Don't grow up...it's a trap!" He told them that all was good and replied "great" with little enthusiasm when they told him how well the pitch had gone.
"We'll need more staff soon, he remarked."
"Don't need more staff when we've got a genius at work," said Alex, playfully wrapping her arms around him.
"Stop it, I'll get a hard on," he said.
"I'll have you fired for sexual harassment if you are not careful, Mr Wilson."
"It was you who started the physical stuff," he said, still writing his computer code. "I could get fifty grand for that in any court in the land."
"But you'd only blow it on computer games," she said, ruffling his long hair.
Kerry started writing an email to the company they had seen earlier, thanking them for spending the time and if they had any further questions, etcetera. Suzanne was splitting her time between preparing invoices and checking her Facebook.
Alex sat at her desk, pretending to sort papers, and thought about Nick and his trip to New York the next day. She wondered if he'd remember the blueberry cheesecake and, if he did, whether he really would get it himself. She realised she didn't even know when he'd be returning.
Then, she opened her Moleskin and started to write down main suspects for the mystery texter.
Writing three columns, 'Person, motive and likelihood," she didn't list one name before thinking the whole thing was just so bizarre that there was no way she could work it out. I just don't know enough, she thought.
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