Something bothered him – he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, just an uneasy feeling that wouldn’t go away. He stared at the small ring that Helen had left behind. For weeks now he’d twisted it around and around the top of his thumb as if it would give him a magic answer. What the question was, he didn’t know.
One thing he did know though, the ring meant a lot to Helen, a link with her father, and he had to get it back to her.
Jack rang his old office, in Dubai. “Bill, it’s Jack Taylor.”
“Jack, my lad. How are you? Have you started in LA already?” Bill Redmond sounded surprised to hear from him.
“I’m good, Bill, thanks – actually I’m on the East Coast.”
“Is everything all right, Jack?” Bill had already received a call from the New York office, looking for a reference for Jack, so something was afoot.
Jack cut to the chase. “Bill, this is going to sound like an odd request and I know I technically don’t work for you any more but I need some information.”
“I see,” Bill said, pausing.
“I don’t have time to explain and I’m not sure you’d believe me anyway, but I need the cell number for Helen Devine, the Irishwoman who was purchasing in The Palm Development.” He was hoping Bill wouldn’t question him.
“You’re not going rogue on me, are you, Jack? Going to a competitor or something? It’s just I got a phone call a few days ago from the New York office asking for a reference for you – why would they want that if you’re going to work in LA?”
Amy. I’ll damn well kill her, Jack thought, as he realised his ex-girlfriend must be giving fate a helping hand by using her family connections to get him a job in New York.
“No, nothing like that, Bill. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important – and personal.”
“Okay then, Jack, but if I find out different, I’ll come over there and strangle you myself.”
“The Boston Strangler, suits you, Bill.”
“Right, let me see,” Bill tapped on his computer. “Helen Devine, yes, here it is. Oh.”
“What?”
“I remember now, she pulled out of the sale. Her solicitor contacted us, said there was a family emergency. He was trying to get the deposit back. Bloody disappointing – can’t shift any of them these days.”
Family emergency – is that why she left so suddenly?
“She won’t get a nickel of course – our legal team will probably try to force the sale.”
“Her contact details, Bill?” Jack urged.
“You sure you’re not working for the competition – you wouldn’t be stealing a client from us now, would you, Jack?” Bill was still feeling uneasy. With the property market collapse, people were doing unscrupulous things to recoup some money.
“Bill, it’s Jack you’re talking to.” He was frustrated at Boston Bill’s suspicion.
“Alright, alright, keep your hair on. Robert Lawless Solicitors, it’s a Dublin number – have you got a pen?”
“You don’t have a cell number or home address for Helen?”
“Says here, all contact is to be made through her solicitor Robert Lawless and Company,” he said. “Look, Jack, I’ve stuck my neck out giving you that much, especially when I don’t know what the hell you want to know for.”
Jack sighed. Bill was right but he was disappointed that after such a short time, his months of hard work and long hours, over and above the call of duty, counted for nothing. Not to mention the personal relationship he thought he and Bill shared.
“So, tell me the truth, are you considering staying on the East Coast, forgetting about the Californian sunshine?”
“No. I don’t know who got the New York office to call you.”
“Hmm.” He still sounded sceptical. “Well, you’ve got the number you wanted. I hope she’s worth it, Jack, whoever she is.”
Jack scribbled down the solicitor’s phone number and said his goodbyes to Bill. Then he started to dial the Dublin number but hung up.
“Eden design office – Sarah Ross speaking.” The young woman’s voice was melodic.
“Helen Devine, please.” Jack took a deep breath to steady his voice – why was he shaking? Because she’ll think you’re a freaking stalker, Jack, that’s why.
After Jack had got Eden’s phone number from international directories, he’d paced his room, bracing himself to hear Helen’s voice. He reasoned that he was doing her a favour, returning a family heirloom that she treasured.
“I’m sorry, Helen no longer works here, may I help you?” Sarah tripped off the message she’d said so often in the past week. I’m the kingpin now, oh yeah, baby! But she’d managed to keep that bit to herself – so far.
Jack felt deflated – he had his speech prepared. But he hadn’t prepared for that.
Sarah was getting impatient. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“Sorry, I’m surprised, that’s all.” Think, Jack, think. “I’m an old friend, Jack Taylor. I lost my cell, with all my contacts. I meant to back up, but you know how it is.” He tried to engage her. “Do you have a contact number for her?”
Jack Taylor, the name rang a bell but she couldn’t quite place from where – although his voice sounded familiar too. Maybe he’d rung for Helen before.
“I couldn’t possibly give out contact details.” Sarah paused. “Even under the circumstances . . .” her voice trailed off.
“Circumstances?”
“You know – the accident?” She lowered her voice, even though she was alone in the office now Helen was gone. “I really shouldn’t discuss it over the phone,” she sniffed, leaving an opening. People loved hearing about the misery of others.
“I’m sorry, I haven’t spoken to Helen in a few weeks, not since she was in Vietnam.” Jack hoped that bit of information would loosen Sarah’s tongue. He was right.
“Tragic. Poor Helen, on her first holiday in years – when she gets a call telling her that her only living relative is a vegetable, after a car crash.” She paused for added effect.
She didn’t need to – her words were powerful enough to knock the wind out of Jack.
“I’d no idea.”
“Shocking. As you know, her father was murdered – I guess that makes her an orphan. Between you and me, I think she had a nervous breakdown because apparently she just rang up and quit – in this economy and after Eden had arranged for her to get back from Vietnam within hours. I mean, that’s no way to thank them, is it?” She checked her manicure as she waited for a reaction.
“Very out of character for Helen. Wow, I don’t know what to say. Sarah, was it?” Jack asked, his tone one of camaraderie.
“Yes, Sarah Ross, head designer.” Sarah’s cheeks flushed with pride, despite getting Helen’s job in less than ideal circumstances.
“May I have her number? I need to call her immediately – under the circumstances, you understand.”
“I don’t have it, I’m afraid, I only had her company mobile number and that’s been disconnected.”
“Oh lord, what am I going to do now? I have her father’s ring, you see . . . she left it behind in a hotel.”
“Really, that beautiful vintage one? Oh my God, she never takes that off, she must be doubly devastated.” Sarah was wide-eyed. Debbie in Accounts would love this. She had to get off the phone.
“I know. I’m in the US at the moment, I was hoping to Fed Ex it to her, but now . . .” Jack stopped short.
Sarah took the bait. “Actually, I do have her home address – I got it from personnel so I could send a condolence card.” She looked at the card, which still remained on her desk, waiting for a stamp. She called the address out to Jack, adding, “Could you do something for me when you get in touch with Helen?”
“Sure.”
“Will you tell her I’m sorry, I mean really sorry. She always looked out for me, she’s a good person – she doesn’t deserve any of this.” She took a stamp from her drawer and stuck it on the overdue card.
“I will,” Jack said, eager to get off the phone now. He felt sick at the news – he couldn’t imagine how Helen must be feeling. His chest tightened at the thought of her pain. But he couldn’t help but take some consolation in the fact that she hadn’t deserted him lightly in Hanoi. There had been a genuine emergency.
He started pacing again. He could write a letter to Helen expressing his sympathy and include his phone number – that way she could contact him if she wanted to. If she didn’t, he could put the whole thing behind him and be rid of this karma nonsense that he’d gotten into his head. Helen’s mother’s accident was all that mattered now. And what about Amy in all of this? Was she too late in coming back to him – or did he still have some feelings for her? He felt his head was bursting with questions as he sat to write the letter.
Dear Helen, Enclosed please find . . . Too formal.
Dear Helen, It’s Jack from Hanoi here. You sound like a Jack-off.
Dear Helen . . .
Dear Helen . . .
Jack sat and looked at the blank piece of paper. An hour had passed and all he had written was ‘Dear Helen’.
There was nothing for it: he’d just have to tell her in person.
Chapter 62
Fred Giltrap viewed his daily agenda. It was late in the day but he still had one more potential supplier to see. When the full extent of Helen’s mother’s injuries became apparent, he had told Helen to take as much time as she needed, Eden was managing fine without her. The truth was he’d worked around the clock, taking on as much of her role as possible with Sarah Ross getting a baptism of fire in the design room.
He put his elbows on the desk and rested his head in his hands. It was time he swallowed a bitter pill. Eden’s London office would suffer with both himself and Helen gone.
On top of that, his wife June had thrown another spanner in the works when he announced his transfer to Hong Kong.
“I’ll go with you! It’ll be like starting over again – a new beginning!” she’d said.
“But what about the kids, the tennis club, your friends here?”
“Oh, Fred, the kids have grown up, they’ve moved on. I’m lonely in this old house without them – without you.” Her face looked lost. She didn’t mention the club or her mixed-doubles chum who Fred reckoned had done more than bounce his tennis balls with June over the years. But then she had brightened. “Do you remember when we were just a couple of kids starting our married life together? Everything felt like an adventure!”
Fred had nodded. “We couldn’t afford heating so we’d go to bed with a bottle of Blue Nun and bonk for the evening to stay warm!”
How he’d laughed as he reminisced about their youth!
“You still make me laugh, Fred, you’re my best friend. Thirty years of marriage and we’re still standing. Maybe Hong Kong can be our new adventure, to help us find each other again now we don’t have youngsters to tend to or a mortgage to pay . . .”
“Thirty years! Blimey, if I’d murdered someone they’d have let me out by now!” he’d joked but that night he’d made love to his wife and Helen Devine never so much as crossed his mind.
He picked up the phone and rang through to the design room.
“Sarah, come to my office please. I want you to sit in on a meeting – you have to start sometime – it might as well be now.” He replaced the handset.
Fred sighed heavily. When Helen had rung to say she couldn’t move to Hong Kong, that she wanted to give him the heads-up first before contacting the Board, he’d nearly blown a gasket. Then she’d even asked him if he could put in a good word for her, see if the Board would reinstate her London position. He shook his head as he thought of those damn come-to-bed eyes of hers – they’d always been his downfall. And herein lay his quandary. He’d thought he’d wanted Helen by his side in Hong Kong – give him another crack of the whip – but what now?
She had denied any spark between them all those months ago, when everything was different. She said it was just years of banter they’d shared, nothing more. The night in Hong Kong was just a drunken mistake. Deep down, he reckoned, she did fancy him, despite her words.
He straightened himself, perking up. He made his decision then and there. He’d ring Helen first thing in the morning to break the news.
There was a rap on his door.
“Come in!” he shouted.
“There’s a man outside waiting to see you, Fred,” Sarah said as she walked in.
“Ah, Sarah, sit down. Helen usually helps me with these things but let’s see how you get on. As you know, we’ve space for only one new supplier. I liked that chap, David Strong, that Helen found in Vietnam. Have you received anything from him yet?”
“Yes, I gave him the sketches and measurement as you told me to. His counter samples arrived last week. They’re nicely finished and the fits are spot on.”
“Good, that’s what I like to hear and the fact Helen already inspected his plant saved us time and money. Plus, I like this Ethical Sourcing Campaign idea that she’s suggesting – what do you think?”
Sarah looked off into the distance. “It can’t do any harm, I suppose. Perhaps it’ll feel good knowing we’re having a positive impact through our trading?”
“Huh,” Fred rubbed his mouth, “right. We’ll see what this next chap has to offer – the one waiting outside. He’s slightly cheaper than David Strong, but we’ll have to ask about his ethics stance before we make a final decision. Call him in, will you?”
She stood but paused before opening the door. “I like David Strong’s company but I think it’s time I was given the opportunity to decide who I want to work with.”
“Slow down, young lady. Prove yourself first but remember you have very large shoes to fill.”
Sarah’s cheeks burned but she kept her expression passive. She was eager to stamp her own mark in the Eden design room and the sooner the better. Fred had asked for her advice and if this next guy was better than David Strong, well, then so be it. Helen wasn’t here, she was. She opened the door.
The salesman walked in. He was short, stocky and wore a pinstripe suit with a flamboyant tie. He made a beeline for Fred, shaking his hand vigorously. He barely acknowledged Sarah. Making small talk about England’s great rugby win at Twickenham the previous weekend, he hung his polyurethane garment bags on a wheelie rail.
As Sarah watched him, she felt she’d met him somewhere before. What was it about today? First, there was that American caller for Helen who had sounded familiar. Now this sales rep. It was giving her that weird déjà vu feeling. She opened her eyes wide and subtly shook her head as though dissipating dark spots after staring at a light bulb for too long.
“Our sales team are here in London, we’re at your beck and call and within your time zone.” The rep had started to talk shop. This appeared to please Fred. “The factories we use are in Guangzhou, China. We’ve an office in Hong Kong also. I go back and forth all the time so you are assured I’ll catch any problems before they are shipped to you.”
That’s it – Hong Kong! Sarah realised. The sales guy was one of the men with the prostitutes in the bar! When Sarah had brought the conversation up with Helen later in the week she’d mentioned the short stocky one had threatened her in the ladies’ loo.
Bastard.
She walked over to Fred and whispered in his ear. His expression darkened. The rep continued to talk with his back to them as he fixed his samples. When he turned around, he saw an arm-folded Sarah Ross and a stern-looking Fred Giltrap.
“Were you in Hong Kong, September just past?” Fred asked.
“That’s right, I’m going back again next month,” the man replied, then waited to see where Fred’s question was leading.
“In Abbey Road, specifically, I saw you!” Sarah jumped in, unable to restrain herself.
The salesman’s knitted his brow in confusion but a barely perceptible flicker of realisation showed on his face. He smirked. He’d seen the likes of these young
pretty ones before, thought they were God’s gift to mankind. Give them an education and they even start to think they’re as good as men. Put her back on her leash for fuck sake, man!
Fred touched Sarah’s arm lightly. “Would you excuse us, please, Sarah?”
“But . . . I . . .” Sarah exhaled heavily, grabbed up her notebook and shot the salesman one final filthy look before turning on her heel to walk out.
He smirked at her as he rocked back and forth on his feet, his hand clasped just under his belly as though in line to receive Communion.
“I’ll handle it,” Fred muttered to her as she walked past him.
She paused briefly and looked at him. He winked at her and nodded towards the door. Fred had high standing in the trade and it looked as though this sales guy was going to find out all about it. Still, she closed the door loudly behind her as she made a mental note to give David Strong and his team a big helping hand to work successfully with Eden.
“Now where were we?” the salesman asked, looking as though he’d just swatted a buzzing fly.
“Abbey Road,” Fred said. A stale silence hung in the air. “I believe it was you who met Eden’s design director there in the ladies’ bathroom of all places.”
“Huh, is that who she was?” He tried to laugh it off but his breath had became shallow.
“Ah, so it was you.”
“Honestly, Mr Giltrap, I do apologise but she was nagging at me, you know how women can be. I thought she was just another stuck-up cow. I was well tanked up I can’t be held accountable – I barely even remember the night.” He held his hands up. “It’s not like it happened here in London.”
“Sometimes though, old chap, our actions have a nasty tendency to follow us home.”
The Lingerie Designer Page 35