“Okay, then,” I said, standing up. “I’ll … Well, I guess I’ll go to work.”
I waited for her to say something, but she was already looking down at one of the piles on her desk, so I walked out and made my way to the living room. Greta was still there with her hostile expression. I made my way to the other side of the room, where two men were sitting side by side.
I sat opposite them. “Hello!” I said.
One of them ignored me; the other grunted, then looked blankly ahead. I smiled as brightly as I could. “You want to talk?” I asked. “Because if you do, I’m here to listen. Whatever you want to say, you go right ahead.”
Neither man said a word.
“Or I could read, if you want?” I looked around for a book or a magazine but found nothing. “Maybe next time I’ll bring a book,” I said. “Is there anything you particularly like? Any favorite authors?”
I was met by a wall of silence, and I sighed inwardly. This wasn’t a job. This was nothing. Christina had simply taken pity on me. I was useless. Completely useless.
“Maybe a thriller,” I said to no one in particular. “Or maybe a romance. Or, you know, we could just sit here.” I crossed my legs and tried not to think of all the other more useful things I could be doing—developing strategic alliances with supermarkets or lobbying city firms for funds to buy new premises. Instead, I was sitting around in a waiting room, achieving nothing. “Yes, sitting here sounds like the best plan. Just sitting here and not saying a thing,” I said miserably. And two hours later, having listened to no one and read zip to anyone, I picked up my bag and made my way home.
Chapter 9
THE FOLLOWING MORNING I got out of bed, had breakfast, and got dressed, as if everything was fine. Sure, Max was in the hospital, my attempts to be the perfect wife having backfired spectacularly; sure, I was going to have to somehow cover Max’s work while he was out; and, sure, I’d had a horrible dream in which Nurse Emily had barred me from the hospital so she could seduce “Maxy.” But, apart from that, everything was just hunky-dory.
I sighed as I printed out Max’s schedule for the day. He was right about having a million and one things to do: 9:00 A.M., go through accounts and get salaries processed; 9:30 A.M., call Chester to get update on Internet-bank advertising campaign; 10:00 A.M., prepare desk for Eric Sandler (arrives Tuesday, 10:00 A.M.); 10:30 A.M., discussion with HR manager about pensions; 11:30 A.M…. I folded the schedule and put it in my bag. That was enough for now. I’d find out what 11:30 A.M. held for me once I got through the first few things.
I wouldn’t let Max down, I thought firmly. I may have burned the lasagna, but business I could do; business was what I was good at.
As I got into my car to drive to the office, my phone rang and I flipped it open immediately. It would be Max, I figured; he’d have woken up, the painkillers would have worn off again, and he’d be worrying about work. I would tell him calmly that everything was under control and that all he had to do was concentrate on getting better.
“Darling! It’s me.”
“Oh, Mum, hi,” I said, trying not to sound disappointed. “How are you?”
“You mean, how am I coping with desertion by my fiancé?”
“He hasn’t deserted you, Mum. He just had to go to the United States.”
“You always take his side, Jessica, when it’s absolutely clear that he’s been very unreasonable. But that’s not why I called. I need to talk to you, darling. It’s about my Facebooking.”
“Facebook isn’t a verb, Mum,” I said tersely. “To be honest, now isn’t a great time to talk, I’m afraid. Max had a—”
“It’s never a good time with you,” Mum interrupted. “And this is really very important. I was hoping we might have coffee this morning. I could take the nine-thirty train and be in London by eleven.”
“This morning?” I sighed; I was fairly sure that my idea of important and her idea of important were probably a long way apart. “No, Mum, this morning isn’t going to be possible at all.”
“Well, then, maybe you could come down to the house this evening?”
“This evening? No,” I said, exasperated. “I mean, I’d love to, but I can’t see you today. Or this week, actually. You see, Max is—”
“You’re busy all week?”
“Yes, Mum. If you’d just listen to me? Max had a—”
“Max, Max, Max. Darling, there is more to your life than your husband. There is more to all of us than our husbands. Or fiancés. We have to be independent, you know. But I do need to talk to you. You’re going to have to make some time in your busy week, I’m afraid.”
I rolled my eyes. “If it’s to do with the bridesmaid dresses, don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll wear whatever you want me to.”
“It’s not the bridesmaid dresses,” Mum said. “I told you. It’s about my Facebook …”
Facebook? I took a deep breath. No doubt she needed help uploading some photographs or something equally ridiculous. “Fine. I’ll help with whatever it is,” I said quickly. “Just not now. I’ve really got to go, okay?”
I didn’t wait for her response. I knew she’d be angry, but right now Mum was not my priority. I shut my phone, then started the engine. Immediately my phone started to ring again. Irritably, I looked at the number, then blanched and flipped it open.
“Chester!” I exclaimed. “How are you? How’s it going in the States?”
“Hey, Jess. Things are great. I was just wondering how your mother is. We weren’t on very good terms after I told her about my trip.”
“Mum? Oh, she’s … fine,” I lied.
“You’re sure? Well, that’s a relief, because I haven’t heard from her since I left. I keep leaving messages, but she hasn’t called back. So you say she’s okay? She’s not mad?”
I bit my lip awkwardly. “Well, maybe a little,” I said. “But—”
“But nothing you can’t handle. Right?”
“Right,” I said immediately, then smiled to myself. God, he was good, I thought. Delegating his dirty work and then making you feel grateful that he thought you could handle it. No wonder he was running a huge bank.
“I knew I could rely on you, Jess. You know your mother listens to you, don’t you? She really values your opinions on things.”
“She does?” I asked, feeling slightly guilty about cutting her off so harshly. “I’m going to call her later,” I said. Then I remembered something. “Actually, I was going to call you later, too. Max wanted to talk to you about the Internet-bank campaign. Getting some dates in the diary for the launch, that sort of thing.”
“Okay, I’ll call him later, shall I?”
“Well, he’s had an accident,” I said soberly.
“An accident?” Chester sounded concerned. “What kind of accident?”
“He broke his leg.” I sighed. “He’s in the hospital.”
“Jeez. Poor Max.”
“Yeah. So, look, about this campaign? Max’ll be bugging me for information later, I know he will.”
“You tell him to focus on getting better. I think we’re going to hold off on any new campaigns until this ethical audit is done. It’ll give us something new to shout about, wouldn’t you say?”
I bit my lip, harder this time. “But … you’re going to do it, anyway, aren’t you? So shouldn’t we—”
“I’d feel better if the audit is done first. So when we launch we can talk up the audit as well as everything else,” Chester cut in. “Don’t you agree?”
“Of course,” I said hesitantly, realizing that Max had been right about the significance of the audit. We couldn’t afford for there to be any problems. “I mean, yes. It makes perfect sense.”
“Great. Well, send my best to Max.”
“I will,” I said. “See you, Chester.”
I shut off my phone and reversed out of the garage, driving just over the speed limit all the way to work.
“Excuse me?” As I walked toward my desk, a tall, thin man approa
ched me. I looked over at Gillie’s desk but it was empty—our receptionist often arrived late on Monday.
“Hi,” I said distractedly, wondering if I could palm him off on someone else. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m here to see Max Wainwright,” the man said.
I dug out the schedule—there was nothing about a 9:30 A.M. meeting. If I didn’t get the salaries confirmed by 10:00 A.M., they wouldn’t hit everyone’s bank accounts in time, and there was nothing like not getting paid to create a mutiny.
“Um, well, I’m afraid he won’t be in today,” I apologized. “Perhaps you could come back another time, or give me your card, or …”
The man nodded interestedly and took out a notebook, then started to scribble. “There appears to be no one at this reception desk,” he said.
“No,” I said, smiling. “That’s Gillie, our receptionist, for you. She’s a bit of a party girl, so Monday mornings aren’t really her best time, I’m afraid.” I hoped that my friendly approach would be reciprocated and that he would leave me to get on with Max’s long to-do list.
“Party girl?” the man said, his forehead creasing as he continued to scribble. “That’s interesting. That’s very interesting.”
“Is it?” I said, then shook myself. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name. I’m sorry about Max. He’s broken his leg, you see. But if you’ll just—”
“Sandler,” the man said, holding out his hand, a thin smile on his lips. “Eric Sandler.”
I looked at him for a few seconds. The name rang a bell. A very loud bell. Then I felt the blood drain from my face.
“Eric Sandler? The auditor? But you’re not meant to be here until tomorrow.”
Eric looked very pleased with himself. “Yes, I like to arrive earlier than planned. See things as they really are, not as you’d have us see them,” he said, his beady eyes shining.
“Oh, right!” I said, reminding myself to breathe. “What a … great idea. Well, very nice to meet you, Mr. Sandler. I’m Jessica Wild. Max’s wife. He’s … really sorry he isn’t here, but I’m going to be deputizing for him, so anything I can do …”
“You can get me an office,” Eric said. “I’ll need somewhere to work.”
“Of course,” I said quickly, gulping as I looked around. The only empty office was Max’s, and there was no way I was putting him in there. My eyes rested on the door next to Max’s. It was risky, but …
“I’ll put you in Anthony’s office. I’m sure he won’t mind,” I said, knowing that he would mind very much. “Although I’ll have to clear it out first. If you could wait just a few minutes?” I had a smile fixed on my face, and my cheeks were beginning to hurt. “And, in the meantime, can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Muffin? There’s a great café around the corner that does the best muffins this side of the river.”
Eric shook his head. “We don’t accept anything but water from our auditees,” he said. “Otherwise we could be accused of accepting bribes.”
“Muffins as bribes? I thought bribes involved suitcases of cash,” I joked, immediately regretting it when Eric looked at me suspiciously. “Or maybe this is post-credit-crunch bribery,” I found myself saying. What was I, a comedian all of a sudden?
Eric didn’t smile back. “I’ll wait here,” he said pointedly, and looked at his watch. “Let me know when my office is ready.”
He sat down, and I turned away in relief. Okay. This was not a disaster. Not yet. Things were going to be fine. They had to be. I rushed into Anthony’s office and started to clear things into piles—then, when I realized that most of the stuff in there wasn’t in any way work-related, I opened his cupboard and chucked the whole lot in. For good measure, I grabbed a spare laptop computer that was used for pitches and put it on the desk.
“It’s ready,” I panted, rushing back out to Eric. “There’s a computer on the desk if you need it. Anything else, just let me know.”
“Thank you,” Eric said curtly, and disappeared into the office. “I think my time here is going to be very productive. Very productive indeed.”
“Who’s that?” Caroline whispered as I collapsed at my desk twenty minutes later. I’d just told everyone about Max’s accident (being pretty vague about how it had happened, of course) and reassured them that everything was perfectly under control.
Caroline was referring to Eric, who was standing in the doorway to Anthony’s office, looking around. I shuddered. “He’s the ethical auditor,” I said, trying not to make eye contact with him. He kept doing that—coming out and looking around. And whenever I asked him if he needed anything, he just shot me his supercilious smile and told me that he’d let me know in due course.
Caroline’s eyes widened. “Gosh. The ethical auditor. I’ve never met an ethical auditor before. He must be really interesting.”
I opened my mouth to say that frankly I thought he was the least interesting person I’d met in a long time, then decided against it. “I guess,” I said instead. “Anyway, it means we have to all be on our best behavior. Let’s knock him dead with the intensity of our ethics, shall we?”
Caroline nodded again. “Intensive ethics,” she said thoughtfully. “That sounds like a pitch for a campaign.”
I found myself grinning. “Nice idea,” I said. “Look, can you keep an eye on him? Eric, I mean?”
“Of course,” Caroline said seriously. “It would be an honor. So are you, like, the chief executive until Max gets back?”
I laughed. “Me? Chief exec? No. No, I’m just filling in. You know, steering the ship.”
“Then you’re the captain?” Caroline asked, uncertain.
“Think of me as an account director,” I said sagely.
“An account director,” Caroline mused. Then she frowned. “But that’s what you are. Were, I mean.”
“Exactly. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a to-do list to get back to,” I said, standing up so I could finally get into Max’s office. Before I could, though, Anthony appeared at my desk, his face furious.
“What the hell is some bloke doing in my office?” he demanded. “And what’s this I hear about Max?”
“Max has broken his leg,” I said, looking at my watch and raising my eyebrows. “The bloke in your office is the ethical auditor. And have you ever heard of getting in to work before ten A.M.?”
“I decide my own hours,” Anthony said dismissively. “And why isn’t the auditor in Max’s office if Max can’t be bothered to come in? Anyway, I thought he was starting tomorrow.”
“He likes to surprise auditees,” I said tightly. “And Max can be bothered; he can’t physically get in. He’s in the hospital.”
“So who’s running the place in his absence?” Anthony asked curiously. “Me, presumably. This used to be my firm, after all.”
“Yes, and Max bought it from you when you plunged it into debt,” I reminded him. “Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll just keep on top of everything, if it’s all right with you.”
“It’s all right with me.” Anthony shrugged. “But does Max really want you in charge? Particularly if we’ve got an ethics audit going on? Bit risky, isn’t it?”
I looked at him uncertainly. “I’m not sure what you mean. To be honest, I was thinking about asking you to stay away for a week until it’s all over. If anyone poses a risk, it’s you.”
Anthony smiled sweetly. “How thoughtful,” he said. “But, lest we forget, it was you who thought it was perfectly reasonable to marry for money. To jilt me at the altar. To seduce an old lady into leaving her entire inheritance to you instead of her own family. Frankly, you’re a liability.”
My eyes narrowed. “You are totally twisting the facts, Anthony, and you know it. I didn’t get Grace’s entire inheritance. You got your money,” I said levelly. “If you blew it, that’s not my problem.”
“And the audit is apparently not my problem,” Anthony retorted. “Luckily for me.” He was looking at something behind me; I turned to see what it was a
nd gasped. Eric was standing a few feet away, scribbling furiously in his notebook. How long had he been listening? What was he writing?
“Eric!” I said, as cheerfully as I could manage. “Um, this is Anthony Milton. The Anthony whose office you’re using. He and I were just … um … joshing. You know, office banter.”
Eric smiled thinly. “Indeed.”
“Yes,” I continued, seemingly unable to stop talking. “Yes. We do all like to joke around here. Don’t we, Anthony?”
Anthony rolled his eyes, then walked over toward Eric. “So how long are you going to need my office?” he asked. “A day? Two?”
Eric finished scribbling in his notebook, then looked at Anthony, his face giving nothing away. “I think I could be here for a little longer than that,” he said. “Quite a bit longer, in fact.”
“Quite a bit longer?” I asked, swallowing uncomfortably. “How much longer? I thought you only needed to interview a selection of our—”
“I take my job very seriously,” Eric said. His voice had a horrible nasal twang to it that made me recoil. “And where I feel there is evidence of … how shall I put this … unethical tendencies, then it is my duty to root them out, to explore them, to analyze how they fit into the organization’s culture.”
“Unethical tendencies?” I gulped. “But there’s nothing like that here. I mean, there really isn’t …”
“No?” Eric looked at his notebook, flicking back through the pages. He smiled silkily. “Let me see,” he said, licking his lips. “We have nepotism—”
“Nepotism?” I asked.
“Your husband is Mr. Wainwright, is he not? And you are an account director?”
I nodded.
“And it is you whom he left in charge?”
I nodded again.
“I see,” Eric said thoughtfully. “The account-director job was advertised externally, was it?”
“No, I was promoted,” I said uncomfortably.
“It was advertised internally, at least?”
“No,” I said, feeling rather hot all of a sudden. “But—”
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