‘I expect so.’ I nod wisely. I secreted it out of the room earlier and stuffed it behind the bottles at the back of the detergent cupboard in the utility room. Then I propped an ironing board and overflowing basket of laundry in front of the cupboard door. He’ll never find it.
‘I need to get in touch with Bonnie and explain the situation …’ He’s searching the room with more energy. ‘Where the hell is it? I had it last night! I must be going fucking demented. Can I use your BlackBerry?’
‘Out of power,’ I lie smoothly. ‘I forgot to charge it.’
‘I’ll use your parents’ computer, then—’
‘They’ve changed the password,’ I say hastily. ‘You won’t be able to get in. More coffee, darling?’
The phone on the bedside table rings and I pick it up as naturally as possible.
‘Hello? Oh, it’s for you, Luke!’ I muster tones of surprise. ‘It’s Gary!’
‘Hi Gary.’ Luke takes the receiver. ‘Sorry, my BlackBerry’s bust—’ He breaks off and gapes at the phone. ‘What?’ he exclaims at last. ‘But Gary …’
I sip my coffee demurely, watching Luke and trying not to smile. At last Luke puts down the phone, looking shaken.
‘Bloody hell.’ He sinks down on the bed. ‘That was Gary. I think he’s having a nervous breakdown.’
‘No way!’ I exclaim theatrically.
Good old Gary. I knew he wouldn’t let me down.
‘He said he needs to see me urgently, talk about the company, talk about his life, get away from the pressure. He sounded absolutely on the edge. Gary, of all people!’ Luke looks staggered. ‘I mean, he’s the last person I would expect to crack up. He’s always been so steady. He said he can’t face London, he wants to meet me at some remote place in the New Forest, for fuck’s sake.’
It’s a holiday lodge Gary goes to with his family. It’s got no phone signal, no internet and no TV. Gary and I had a little chat early this morning. He said he reckons he can keep up his nervous-breakdown act for the morning, and meanwhile we’ll come up with more plans.
‘You must make Gary a priority,’ I say seriously. ‘After all, he’s your right-hand man. I think you should go to wherever he says and hear him out. He might do something stupid otherwise,’ I quickly add as Luke seems to hesitate. ‘You don’t want to risk that, do you? Call Bonnie and see if she can rearrange your appointments.’
Automatically Luke claps his hand to his pocket for his BlackBerry – then remembers.
‘Oh, this is a bloody joke.’ Cursing under his breath, he reaches for the landline phone. ‘I don’t even know her direct line.’
‘It’s—’ I bite my lip just in time. Shit. I’m getting careless. ‘It’s probably more sensible to go via the switchboard,’ I hastily cover. ‘Look!’ I proffer an old Brandon Communications notepad, and laboriously Luke taps in the number, a deep scowl on his face.
I have to bite my lip hard so I don’t smile. He’s so ratty.
‘Hi, Maureen. It’s Luke. Can you put me through to Bonnie?’ He takes a slug of coffee. ‘Bonnie. Thank God. You will not believe the fiasco this end. I haven’t got my BlackBerry or my laptop, I’ve just had a crazy call from Gary, I have no idea what I’m doing—’ He breaks off, and I can see the ripples gradually calm on his face.
‘Well, thanks, Bonnie,’ he says at last. ‘That would be great. Talk to you soon. Have you got this number? OK. And … thanks.’ He puts the phone down and looks at me. ‘Bonnie’s going to bike another laptop over here while I’m seeing Gary. If you take delivery, I can pick it up on my way back to the office.’
‘What a good idea!’ I exclaim, as though this is news to me and I haven’t already exchanged about fifty emails on the subject. ‘Good thing Bonnie’s so efficient, isn’t it?’ I can’t resist adding.
Bonnie’s sending over a specially modified laptop which will be unable to access the internet due to a ‘server flaw’. The tech department have also disabled Luke’s email account and set up a dummy one. Bonnie’s going to fill it with enough emails to keep him busy and unsuspicious – but nothing else. Basically, we’re cutting him off from virtual civilization.
‘And she’s sorting out a car to take me to wherever the hell Gary is. It should be here in about twenty minutes.’ Luke looks around the room yet again, his brow furrowing. ‘I’m sure I brought my laptop back last night. I’m sure I did.’
‘Don’t worry about your laptop,’ I say soothingly, as though he’s a psychotic patient. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you get Minnie dressed?’
My BlackBerry has been vibrating with incoming calls, and as soon as Luke’s out of earshot, I grab it and answer without even checking the screen.
‘Hi, Bonnie?’
‘No, it’s Davina.’
I’m so focused on this morning’s events, it takes me a nanosecond to realize who it is.
‘Davina?’ I can’t hide my surprise. ‘Hi! How are you?’
‘Becky! You poor thing! This is terrible!’ For one mad moment I think she means about the party nearly coming out. Then I realize what she’s talking about.
‘Oh, that.’ I wince. ‘Yes, I know.’
‘What happened?’
I really could do without going over the whole thing again. I’d kind of managed to forget about it for now.
‘Well, my boss found out about the Shop in Private service.’ I keep my voice low. ‘And he didn’t like it. So I’m suspended and they’re going to do an investigation.’ To be honest, I’ve been so frantic over the last few days I’ve barely given the investigation a thought.
‘But you saved our lives!’ Davina sounds impassioned. ‘We’re all agreed, we’re not standing for it. We had a meeting yesterday, a few of your regular clients. Jasmine was the one who spread the word, then we all got on a group email …’
‘Jasmine?’ I’m quite taken aback at the idea of Jasmine rallying the troops.
‘We’re not letting this go. We’re going to take action. And that boss of yours will wish he never messed with you.’
She’s so fierce, I feel touched. By Jasmine, too. Although, to be honest, what on earth can any of them do? Maybe they’re all going to write a joint letter of complaint.
‘Well … thanks, Davina. I really appreciate it.’
‘I’ll keep you posted. But what I wanted to ask is, are you OK, Becky? Is there anything I can do? Anything at all? I’ve got the whole day off, so if you need to talk, if you want cheering up …’
I feel a wash of gratitude. Davina’s such a sweetheart.
‘Thanks, but not really.’ Not unless you can somehow distract my husband—
Ooh. My thoughts have stopped abruptly in their tracks. Davina’s a doctor, isn’t she? So she could maybe …
No. I can’t ask that. It’s too big a favour.
But it would save my life, and she did offer …
‘Actually, there is something that would really help me out,’ I say cautiously. ‘But it’s really massive …’
‘Anything! Just tell me!’
Davina is a star. By the time Luke comes back into the room with Minnie, the plan is in place. Both Davina and I have texted Bonnie; everything’s set. I hastily whip my BlackBerry back under the duvet and smile at Luke, just as the phone rings on cue.
‘Oh, hi Bonnie!’ I say innocently. ‘Yes, Luke’s here. Did you want him for something?’
I hand over the receiver – and this time I have to bite my lip even harder as Luke’s face becomes more and more aghast.
‘An emergency medical?’ he expostulates at last.
Oh God, I mustn’t laugh. I mustn’t.
‘You can’t be serious!’ he’s exclaiming. ‘How can it be an emergency, for fuck’s sake? Well, tell them I can’t.’ I can see him getting frustrated. ‘Well, tell the insurance company to sod off. Well …’
Good for Bonnie. She must be acting absolutely implacably at the other end.
‘Jesus Christ.’ At last he crashes the phone down. ‘Apparen
tly I have to have a full medical this afternoon. Some sort of insurance cock-up.’
‘What a pain!’ I say sympathetically.
Davina’s promised to give Luke the most full-on medical going. It’ll last at least six hours, he’ll be in a hospital gown, unable to use his laptop or a mobile phone and no one will be able to get to him.
‘This is the most fucking ludicrous day …’ He thrusts two hands through his hair, looking totally beleaguered.
Luke really isn’t used to things being out of his control. I’d almost feel sorry for him, if I didn’t want to giggle.
‘Never mind.’ I squeeze his hand fondly. ‘Just go with it.’ I glance at my watch. ‘Won’t your car be here any moment? Shouldn’t you get ready?’
As Luke is putting on his jacket, a text buzzes through on my BlackBerry and I surreptitiously click on it. It’s from Bonnie and it’s very short and to the point.
Becky. Have you seen YouTube?
OK. Just as I think everything’s happened that possibly can, something else does.
The marketing department at Foreland Investments have made a video in which everyone says ‘Happy Birthday Luke!’ to the camera and they’ve posted it on YouTube under the heading ‘Happy Birthday Luke Brandon!’
I’m torn between being really, really touched, and really, really climbing the walls. I mean, YouTube, for God’s sake! Could they have done anything less discreet? Couldn’t they have waited till tomorrow evening to post it? Every time I watch it I have to have a squirt of calming Rescue Remedy afterwards.
By ten o’clock it’s already had 145 hits, only about ten of which are me. By eleven o’clock, when Janice and Suze arrive, it’s up to 1,678 – and to my disbelief, two more videos have been posted. One is from Sacrum Asset Management, in which ‘Happy Birthday Luke Brandon’ has been spelled out in paperclips on someone’s desk. The other is from Wetherby’s, where the whole marketing department sings ‘Happy Birthday’ to the camera.
‘That’s so cool!’ Suze gapes at my laptop in disbelief.
‘I know.’ I can’t help feeling proud. I mean, all these people must really like Luke to bother to do a video for him. But I can’t help feeling jittery, too. ‘What if he sees it, though?’
‘He won’t see it,’ says Suze confidently. ‘Why would he search on YouTube? I bet he never goes on YouTube. He’s too busy. It’s only tragic cases like you and me who are always online.’
I’m about to object that I am not a tragic case, when the doorbell rings and we all start.
‘That’s not him, is it?’ says Janice in a gasped whisper, clapping a hand over her heart.
Honestly. Janice does overreact. I hardly spilled my coffee at all.
‘Of course not. It’ll be the marquee guys.’
But it’s not them, it’s Danny. He’s standing on the doorstep, wearing a battered leather coat over ripped jeans and silver Converse, and holding a pile of garment bags.
‘Costumes, anyone?’ he says, deadpan.
‘Danny, you star!’ I seize them. ‘I can’t believe you did this!’
I peek inside one of the bags and see a flash of gold brocade, trimmed with twinkling lace. Oh my God. These will be perfect.
‘Well, I had to. Jesus. That mother-in-law of yours is like Stalin. She’s the worst boss I ever had.’ He looks around, haunted. ‘She isn’t here, is she?’
‘Not right now,’ I say reassuringly. ‘But Suze is. So beware. She’s still really furious with you about that photoshoot.’
‘Oh.’ Danny looks uncomfortable and takes a step away. ‘The thing with that is, Suze just didn’t understand the aesthetic. You have to remember, she’s not a creative person.’
‘Yes she is! She’s an artist! Look at her photo frames!’
‘Right.’ Danny tries a different tack. ‘Well, OK, she is a creative person, but she totally didn’t get the look I was going for …’
‘Yes I did!’ Suze’s voice rings out scornfully behind me. ‘I got “the look” perfectly! You stitched Tarkie up, Danny! Admit it!’
Danny looks at her silently for a moment. He seems to be considering his next move. ‘If I admit it,’ he says finally, ‘will you forgive me instantly, no questions, move right on?’
‘I …’ Suze hesitates. ‘Well … I suppose so.’
‘OK, I stitched him up. Love you too.’ Danny plants a kiss on her cheek and heads past me into the house. ‘Do you have any coffee? Janice!’ He greets her flamboyantly. ‘My style icon! My muse! What is that fetching shade of lipstick?’
‘He’s … impossible!’
Suze looks so infuriated, I’m about to offer her a squirt of Rescue Remedy. But a noise from outside attracts my attention. A big lorry is pulling into Janice’s drive. Its reversers are bleeping and a guy in jeans is beckoning it in. That must be the marquee!
OK. This party really is starting.
By four o’clock, the marquee is up in Janice’s garden. It isn’t decorated yet, but it still looks fab, all big and billowy. (My little gazebo is up, too, at the side. Elinor’s marquee guys haven’t stopped teasing me about it.) I’ll have to make sure Luke doesn’t catch a glimpse – but by the time he gets back tonight it’ll be dark, anyway. Janice wanted me to sew all the curtains together, but I think that would just be weird.
Gary managed to spin out his nervous-breakdown act for three hours, and now Luke’s with Davina, doing his medical in some basement suite at her hospital. She’s just phoned to give me an update.
‘I’ve got him on the treadmill for an hour to assess his heart. He’s really not enjoying this,’ she adds cheerily. ‘So where will he go after me?’
‘I … don’t quite know,’ I admit. ‘I’ll call you back.’
I haven’t yet formulated the next part of the Luke-containment plan, and it’s starting to worry me – especially as now there are thirteen ‘Happy Birthday Luke Brandon’ videos on YouTube. All day, Martin’s been going online to look, and shouting out ‘There’s a new one!’ And now someone’s created a web-page called happybirthdaylukebrandon.com, which has links to them all and invites people to post their funny/fond/rude stories about ‘The City’s King of Spin’, which is what they’re calling Luke.
The whole thing makes my mind boggle. Who’s done that? Danny’s theory is, no one in the City is doing any work at the moment and they’re all dead bored, so they’ve seized on this as a diversion.
‘Number fourteen’s just gone up,’ calls out Martin from his laptop as I put the phone down. ‘Some girls from Prestwick PR, singing ‘Happy Birthday’ like Marilyn Monroe. In the nude,’ he adds.
‘Nude?’ I hurry over to see, followed swiftly by Suze.
OK, so they’re not totally nude. Their crucial bits are hidden by office plants and files and corners of photocopiers. But honestly. Don’t they know Luke’s married? Especially that one with the dark curly hair and the swivelly hips. I hope she’s not coming to the party.
‘What are you going to do with Luke next?’ says Suze, who overheard me talking to Davina. ‘I mean, he can’t do a medical all day, can he? He must be spitting by now.’
‘I know.’ I bite my lip. ‘I thought I’d get Bonnie to send him loads of emails. Like, pages of really dense paperwork, saying it’s urgent and he’s got to read it all at once.’
‘And tomorrow?’ persists Suze.
‘Dunno. More paperwork, I suppose.’
Suze is shaking her head. ‘You need something bigger. What is the one thing that you can guarantee will grab his attention? Like with Tarkie I know exactly what I’d say. I’d say the Historical Society have phoned with evidence that Great-Great-Great-Uncle Albert didn’t fire the cannon, after all. He’d drop everything instantly.’
‘Wow.’ I stare at Suze in admiration. ‘That’s really specific. Who was Great-Great-Great-Uncle Albert?’
Suze makes a face. ‘It’s quite boring. Do you really want to know?’
Hmm. Maybe not.
‘The point is, I know what pre
sses Tarkie’s buttons,’ Suze is saying. ‘And you know Luke. So what will get him going?’
‘A work crisis,’ I say after a moment’s thought. ‘That’s all I can think of. He always jumps when some big client is in trouble.’
‘Can you invent a work crisis?’
‘Maybe.’ On impulse, I reach for my phone and call Bonnie.
‘Hey, Bonnie. Have you seen the latest YouTube?’
‘Oh Becky,’ begins Bonnie miserably. ‘I feel so wretched. If only I hadn’t sent that email—’
‘Don’t worry about that now,’ I say quickly. ‘But maybe we can use the fact that everyone knows. Could you email his clients and say we’re trying to distract him till tomorrow night and ask them to invent a crisis that will keep him busy?’
‘What sort of crisis?’ says Bonnie doubtfully.
‘I don’t know! They could pretend they’re going bust, or make up some sex scandal … anything! Just to keep him occupied for a few hours. Tell them that anyone who comes up with any ideas should call you and you can coordinate them.’
One of his clients will come up with something clever. I mean, if they can make videos then they can invent a crisis, surely?
Already my phone is ringing again and I glance at the ID as I answer, but it’s not a number I know.
‘Hello?’
‘Rebecca?’ booms a jolly voice.
‘Yes,’ I say cautiously. ‘Who’s this?’
‘Eric Foreman, Daily World. Remember me?’
‘Eric!’ I exclaim in delight. ‘How are you?’
Eric is a journalist at the Daily World and I first met him when I was a financial journalist. I use to write pieces for him, in fact, but then I gave that up and we lost touch. How come he’s tracked me down?
‘I’m good, my beauty. Just putting together a piece about your husband’s birthday for the City diary and I was after a quote from you. Or even better, him. Is he around?’
‘What?’ I stare at the phone, aghast. ‘Why are you doing a piece about his birthday?’
‘Are you joking? Prime bit of gossip like this? Have you seen YouTube? Have you seen how many hits he’s got?’
‘I know,’ I say desperately. ‘But that wasn’t supposed to happen. It was supposed to be a secret!’
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