But I had an answer and a back-up plan for every problem and was able to face off every glitch before it could hurt us. Sporadically, I would catch John watching me proudly and feel a warm, rather naughty glow. Last night had been even more spectacular than Wednesday. John’s fascination with my body gave me a confidence I’d never realized I had. ‘Dear God, Lambert,’ he’d gasped at one point. ‘You’ve set my testicles on fire, young lady! Why did we wait so long for this?’
I’d had four orgasms between one and three o’clock this morning. It was an all-time personal best.
In the lobby at Broadcasting House we bumped into Margot and the leader of a patient group, fresh from an interview with Radio 2. ‘Went absolutely brilliantly,’ Margot told us happily. ‘No problems at all.’ She smiled warmly at me and I shuddered. I still didn’t trust her.
We agreed to share a taxi to Shepherd’s Bush where we would split up to cover various BBC assignments. John sat between Margot and me in the back of the taxi, two of our researchers chattering away on the fold-down seats. His thigh was pressed firmly against mine. I tingled all over with excitement. At last, at last, at last!
As we passed through Notting Hill, I pulled out my phone to listen to my backlog of voicemails. There were five messages from the media, two from Cassie and one, rather annoyingly, from Sam. ‘Hey, Chas, hope it’s going well. I had a message from a new client last night asking you to call her urgently. She insisted on talking to a woman … She didn’t give her name but here’s her number …’
Not without irritation, I copied the number down as my phone started to ring again.
‘Charley Lambert?’ I answered.
‘Hi, Charley, it’s Cassie. The Mail wondered if someone could do a phone chat later today. Here’s the number. The journalist is on a mobile.’
I scribbled it down and gave John an unobtrusive pinch on the bottom. He responded with a schoolmasterly shake of his head and a look that made me feel even naughtier.
Stop flirting and get back to the Mail, I told myself sternly.
I dialled the journalist’s number and leaned my head against the taxi window while it connected.
‘Hello?’ a woman’s voice answered. Margot was talking to someone on her phone too and I covered my ear to drown her out.
‘Hi, it’s Charley Lambert, you wanted me to call about the piece in the Mail?’
There was a pause.
‘I beg your pardon?’ the woman said. She sounded oddly familiar; I wondered if I’d spoken to her before. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Er …’ I stopped, confused. Oh, shit, I thought suddenly. I pulled my book back out and realized I’d made a fairly substantial error: I’d called the new First Date Aid client rather than the Mail journalist.
I lowered my voice to something barely more audible than a whisper. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said. ‘I got my businesses a little mixed up. It’s Charlotte from First Date Aid. I was given a message to call you. Although actually now isn’t a great time to –’
‘What?’ the woman said.
‘What?’ Margot barked into her phone.
And then my heart stopped. Slowly, I looked up from my phone call, just as Margot looked up from hers. I looked at my phone screen, which said, Margot: active call.
‘I’ll have to leave you here. The rest of Wood Lane’s closed,’ the taxi driver said.
Margot stared at me and fear rolled in.
It was Margot who’d contacted First Date Aid. And it was Margot I’d called back.
In a state of shock I got out of the taxi and stood on the pavement outside Wood Lane tube, frozen. John followed me, digging out his own phone, which was ringing. ‘Two minutes,’ he said, walking a little way up the road. The researchers were deep in conversation, leaving me with Margot, who was emerging from the taxi with a face of pure evil.
She walked up to me with a glint in her eye. ‘I might have known it,’ she said softly. ‘With an ego like yours … Of course you’d set up a pathetic little business on the side. One big job not enough for you, eh, Charley?’
‘What are you talking about?’ I faltered.
‘Shut up, Charley. Don’t you dare patronize me now.’ The eerie smile Margot had worn for the last week had gone. In its place was someone who terrified me. If she told anyone about this, I would be in more than a compromising position. I’d be totally rogered.
‘Well, this is a nice little surprise,’ she remarked, folding her arms. ‘There I am, innocently seeking some help with my love life – because I’m humble, unlike you, Charley. I know there’re some things I’m not so good at – and look what I found.’
‘Please don’t do this,’ I said quietly. ‘I don’t even work on the company any more. I handed it over to a friend … Can we not just let it go?’
Margot started to laugh again. ‘Oh, no, Charley, I’m afraid we can’t. After all, you’re a stickler for putting Salutech first, aren’t you? Isn’t it you who likes the communications department to be run with one hundred per cent dedication? Eh?’
I gaped at her.
Margot folded her arms across her chest. ‘So. The press conference later,’ she continued. ‘I should run it. I don’t think you’re in a position to be representing the company on such an important day.’
I shook my head dumbly. ‘No,’ I began. ‘No, Margot, you know I can’t –’
She held up a hand. ‘Oh, but you can, Charley. Because not only do I now have proof that you’re not giving Salutech your full attention, but I also have proof that …’
She stopped talking as John arrived. ‘Right, ladies, time to go.’ He strode off ahead with the researchers, throwing me a fleeting smile.
Margot snorted derisively. ‘That’s the second thing for which I have proof,’ she said lightly.
‘What?’ I asked.
‘Your affair with John,’ she explained, as if talking a child through an arithmetic problem. I stopped walking.
‘You slept with him finally on Wednesday night after your “business meeting” in town. Now, Charley, I’m not sure that’s a sackable offence but we both know Bradley Chambers in Washington has a soft spot for you. And we both know he’d be none too pleased if he found out that John was fucking you.’
My phone started to ring. ‘Sorry, Charley, but there’s problems with Sky News,’ Cassie said. ‘Can you call them?’
‘OK,’ I said dully. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Thanks. And I’m afraid that animal-rights group launched a huge viral campaign against us this morning. I need you to get online ASAP.’
‘Right,’ I said. ‘Will do.’ I ended the call and felt my precious world crumbling around me once again.
I had not made it. Nothing was perfect. Last night’s euphoria felt suddenly absurd and embarrassing, a pathetic little self-indulgent celebration. Margot despised me and now had me in her power and, depending on how evil she was feeling, I could lose Salutech, John and even First Date Aid by the end of today. There would be no mercy.
‘OK, take the press conference,’ I said desperately. We were nearing the entrance to Television Centre, a place that normally filled me with excitement but now filled me with despair. Would this placate her for now?
She smiled politely. ‘I also want to do all major interviews. And the round-up video conference with Washington at the end of the day.’ I stared at her. ‘I want your job,’ she explained kindly. ‘And I’ll get your job. But I won’t get it by behaving like a whore around John MacAllister. I’ll get it because now you’re going to get the fuck out of my way and let me demonstrate how well I can do it.’
‘OK?’ she added, when I failed to respond.
I looked ahead at John and the researchers, marching into Reception full of excitement and bravado. Our best patient advocate, who’d been waiting on a sofa, jumped up and shook their hands warmly. Everyone was laughing and smiling.
This was their day, not mine. ‘John,’ I called. He turned round.
‘Be very
fucking careful,’ Margot whispered, her plastic smile unmoving. We walked into Reception together.
‘John, I, er, feel very faint. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m going to have to hand over to Margot for the next hour or so,’ I said. I sat down sharply on a coloured bench, realizing that, as far as the nearly fainting bit went, I was actually telling the truth. ‘I’ll come and find you when I feel better,’ I added weakly.
‘Lambert?’ John said, crouching in front of me. ‘What’s wrong? Shall I get a doctor?’
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Margot scowling. ‘No, no,’ I said. ‘I’ll be fine. Probably just all that caffeine on an empty stomach. Margot’ll look after it.’
John looked over his shoulder at Margot, who flashed him her most capable, businesslike smile. He looked back at me. ‘OK,’ he said eventually. As he strode off into the bowels of Television Centre with Margot, he glanced back, confused and concerned.
I slumped on my bench and despaired.
An hour later, having responded to all the messages on my BlackBerry, I signed in to go and find something to eat in the canteen. ‘She can’t do this,’ I muttered to myself, as I gnawed listlessly at a starchy bagel. Oh, but she can, my head replied quickly. She’s got enough on you to have your desk cleared in twenty minutes.
Hailey, I thought. Hailey was my first port of call during a crisis. But as soon as she picked up the phone I knew it was a mistake: for whatever reason she’d gone back to being weird and slightly distant. ‘Just tell Margot to shove her BlackBerry up her arse,’ she said distractedly.
I was on my own.
I sat down again on the bench just as Margot swept into Reception, chatting and laughing with John and the others. She swung a BBC pass between her fingers and I was rigid with fear once more. I stood up and straightened my suit jacket nervously as John led me away from the group.
‘Are you better, Lambert?’ he asked, genuinely concerned. But as I tried to formulate the response, Margot arrived at his side.
‘The press interviews start at Claridges in twenty-five minutes,’ she said. ‘Our car’s waiting. We have to go.’
‘I’ll come when I’m ready,’ John said, not breaking eye contact with me. Then the chief researcher plucked at his sleeve and John had to turn away, leaving me with Margot.
‘One email to Bradley Chambers telling him where your attention’s been recently,’ Margot whispered brightly to me. ‘Just one, that’s all I need. I think it’d be best if you throw the towel in for today, Charley.’
John turned back to us. ‘Well, Charley? Are you OK?’
I hung my head. ‘No,’ I said. ‘I … need to go back to the hotel, I think. I’m so sorry.’
There was a stunned silence. ‘But,’ John began, ‘we have the press conference in two hours. I – Charley, we need you!’ His eyes searched mine for the usual spark, for the die-hard director of comms who was always ready for battle, but he found nothing.
He walked me over to the bench and made me sit down. His thumb moved over my forearm gently. ‘Lambert?’
I had no more fight in me. Tears were sliding out of my eyes; the sight clearly stunned him.
‘Oh, my God,’ he said. ‘You really are sick.’
I nodded, not even trusting myself to speak. ‘Go on,’ I whispered. ‘Go get ’em. Margot’s got it covered. She’ll do a grand job.’
Chapter Fourteen
I woke up the next morning with no idea what day of the week it was and, for a few blissful seconds, I existed in a pleasant no man’s land: no blackmail, no fear, no shame.
But it didn’t take long for it all to come flooding back. I felt my whole body tense as I relived yesterday. Every awful moment, from that phone call to Margot through to my early flight back to Edinburgh. What would Margot do next? However I tried to talk it up in my head, the fact of the matter was that I had plummeted from senior director to sitting duck in a mere twenty-four hours. I was entirely at her mercy.
John had emailed late last night to say that everyone at the press conference was disappointed that I was ill. Margot had done ‘a reasonable job’ but he had rejected her plans to do the round-up chat with Bradley Chambers in Washington, opting instead to do it himself. I wasn’t surprised: John let very few people near the super-holy Chambers. PS, he wrote. I struggled to think about anything today beyond the sight of you wrapped around me like a smooth peachy monkey. I am enthralled by you, Lambert. Enslaved. Enchanted. X
I managed a grim smile. At least I had the boss onside.
But the smile faded as soon as I remembered that that was part of the problem. And if John found out I’d been running a business he’d probably despatch me quicker than you could say ‘smooth peachy monkey’.
My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a bass-baritone voice starting up in the shower with a rousing chorus of (rather surprisingly) ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’. I couldn’t help but grin. Apart from that girl last weekend – who appeared to have been a one-off – Sam had changed beyond all recognition. Gone was the slob I’d lived with for so many years and in his place was a hard-working, confident and inspiring chap, who was shaving regularly, remembering to put the bins out and making some quite outstanding middle-class salads.
The shower stopped and with it Sam’s singing, much to my disappointment. ‘CHAS?’ he yelled, exiting the bathroom and marching into the kitchen. ‘You awake yet? I’m making breakfast!’
‘Hello, weird-healthy-morning Bowes,’ I said, shuffling into the kitchen a few minutes later.
Sam was getting fresh berries and some very posh yoghurt out of the fridge. ‘Organic,’ he announced casually.
I signalled my approval and sat down at the breakfast bar. He served me fruit and yoghurt and then got some amazing granola out of a glass jar. ‘Coffee? I’ve got some lovely Colombian.’
I put my spoon down. I couldn’t take any more of this. ‘Sam, what has happened to you?’
He laughed. ‘I feel great, that’s what’s happened!’
I watched him as he bustled round the kitchen with bowls of healthy fayre. ‘I’ve loved the last week, getting stuck in to our company. It’s going so well, Chas, and I think we could make it really big …’ He trailed off, sticking some yoghurt into his mouth. ‘Isn’t life great?’ he asked happily.
And without further ado I burst into tears.
‘Urgh,’ was Sam’s response to my tales of woe. ‘Messy.’
I nodded miserably and Sam covered my hand for a moment. ‘Don’t beat yourself up,’ he said. ‘I know what you’re like. There will be a solution.’
‘What, though? Even if I’d managed to remove my name from the First Date Aid website after handing it over to you – which I didn’t – she knows that I’ve been sleeping with John.’
Sam winced. ‘Well, it’s not great. But you’re not actually breaking your contract doing either of those things, are you?’
‘Oh, come on, Bowes! You know what Salutech’s like!’
There was an uncomfortable silence.
‘Maybe just try to forget about it for today, brother,’ he said uncertainly. ‘See how it all pans out on Monday.’
I stared morosely into my granola. Sam was useless in difficult situations. Why couldn’t he talk to me? Like, really talk, the way he did as William?
‘How’s about we cheer you up by calling William or Shelley to find out how the big date went?’ he said. ‘It was last night!’
After a pause I shrugged. I’d give anything a try. I got out my phone so that we could call Shelley first.
‘CHARLOTTE!’ Shelley hissed. ‘I’M IN HIS BEDROOM! HE’S MAKING KIPPERS!’
I smiled, in spite of myself. ‘It went well, then?’
‘YESSSSS. THE OPERA WAS BEAUTIFUL. THEN HE GOT ME DRUNK AND I … OOPS!’
Sam started laughing and had to put his hand over his mouth. I was grateful to Shelley for bringing comedy into my doom-filled morning.
‘I’m so pleased,’ I told her. ‘I�
�ll leave you to your breakfast. Enjoy!’
‘WOULD YOU LIKE A TESTIMONIAL FOR YOUR WEBSITE? I OWE YOU SO MUCH, CHARLOTTE.’
Sam nodded voraciously.
‘Actually, yes. That would be great.’
‘I’LL EMAIL IT TODAY. I CANNOT BELIEVE IT, CHARLOTTE, I WAS WEARING A DRESS THAT MADE ME LOOK REALLY FLAT-CHESTED BUT HE STILL SEEMED TO BE ATTRACTED TO ME!’ she hissed.
‘Went amazingly,’ William whispered, a few minutes later. We heard him pull the grill out to inspect the kippers. ‘She was wearing a stunning dress, Sam – made her cleave look bloody enormous!’
I shook my head despairingly.
‘Bonza.’ Sam chuckled. ‘So, what next?’
‘Well, mate, I was hoping you’d have some ideas. Is it OK to ask her round here for dinner?’
Sam looked surprised. ‘Of course! Nothing’d feel quite so special as having dinner cooked for me by someone I cared about.’
I, too, was surprised. I hadn’t expected to hear Sam say something like that. I’d thought his ideal date would be a naked sumo wrestle for two on his bed.
‘OK …’ William mused.
‘So, William, happy with services rendered?’ Sam had switched back to the new work voice I’d been hearing recently.
‘Couldn’t be happier, mate,’ William said. ‘Thank you.’
‘Well, feel free to email me a testimonial for the website. Just first name, obviously.’
‘You know what? I’ll do that,’ William whispered. He started rattling cutlery around.
‘I’ll let you get back to your kippers,’ Sam said. ‘Enjoy your morning. Cheers!’ He hung up and gave me a victory salute.
I didn’t return it. ‘Bowes, not again!’
Sam looked blankly at me. ‘What?’
‘Kippers! He didn’t tell you he was doing kippers, you twat!’
Sam was crestfallen. ‘I’m not very good at this, am I?’ he muttered.
Why, on top of all of my many other faults, was I horrible too? WHY?
A Passionate Love Affair with a Total Stranger Page 22