When in Rome

When in Rome Page 20

by Gemma Townley

  “Candy, I’m sure Mike isn’t having an affair,” I manage to say eventually. “Why don’t you talk to him later?”

  “That’s the point. I don’t know if there’s going to be a later. I’ve been looking through his wardrobe and half his clothes are gone.”

  Gone?

  “Are you at his flat now?” There’s a pause.

  “His flat? He doesn’t have a flat. He lives with me.”

  “But what about his flat in St. John’s Wood?”

  “Georgie, what are you talking about,” says Candy, sounding exasperated. “Why would Mike have a flat in St. John’s Wood? He lives in my flat in Notting Hill.”

  Why would he indeed? Something tells me not to press the point on the flat. If Candy doesn’t know about it, there’s probably a good reason for it. And I’m not sure Candy is in any state to find out about it from me.

  “Sorry Candy, I thought he said something about having a flat. I must have made a mistake. Look, I’m sure everything’s fine. Why would Mike have an affair?”

  “I know, you’re right,” says Candy, her voice still breaking up every so often. “It’s just that he’s out all the time at the moment, and today there was a message on our phone confirming his flight to Malaga tomorrow, and he hasn’t said anything about us going on holiday. And anyway, he’s meant to be coming down to Hampshire this weekend to see Mummy and Daddy. To talk about the wedding and stuff. And Daddy keeps asking me about his stupid business and about his money and . . .” she breaks into sobs again.

  “His money?”

  “His investments. He’s one of the investors in Mike’s company.”

  Of course he is. All Mike’s talk about how difficult it was to raise the money. How could I have believed that he’d be capable of getting investment on his own?

  Much as I hate Candy for lying to me, I can’t help feeling sorry for her. And to be honest, I’m almost relieved that she and Mike are together. It means that our little trip to Rome is unlikely ever to get out—Mike would have too much to lose.

  “Candy, I’m sure it’s a business trip, or they’ve got the dates wrong or something. Look, everything will be fine.” I want to end this conversation now. I can’t take in any more information, can’t issue any more platitudes.

  “Georgie?”

  “Yes?”

  “You promise nothing happened between you and Mike?”

  I pause. I could tell her that Mike was all over me like a rash, that her scheming to get him off me in the first place has backfired. But it wouldn’t make either of us feel much better.

  “God no, nothing. We met for a couple of drinks, that’s all. Actually, we didn’t have much to say to each other.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Okay, look, I’ve got to go now. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?” I hang up, take the phone off the hook, and lie back down on the sofa. Poor stupid Candy. And poor stupid me.

  I want to speak to David. I want some reassuring words about how everything is going to be fine. I want him to tell me about the whole Mike fiasco so we can laugh about it and put it behind us. I want to bury my head in his shoulder.

  I dial his office number and he picks up immediately.

  “David Bradley.”

  “Hi darling, it’s me. Still at work at this time?”

  “Oh, Georgie, hi.” He sounds strained.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about Mike and Candy?”

  David sighs audibly. “How did you find out?”

  “Candy just told me. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

  “I thought you’d be upset,” he says in a low voice. “I didn’t think you were still in touch with Candy, so I thought it didn’t matter.”

  “Did you know that Candy’s father invested in Mike’s company?” As I say the words I realize how stupid I’m being; of course David will know. He probably knows everything about Mike’s company.

  “He’s not the only one. Mike convinced half of our old schoolmasters to invest their pensions in his stupid company,” he says bitterly. “Look, I’m sorry Georgie, but I’m going to have to call you back, okay?”

  “Okay, but I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me about Candy and M—”

  “Georgie,” David interrupts. “I’m in the middle of something here.” His voice sounds strangled. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to go. Look, I need to talk to you, but not now. Can you meet me for lunch tomorrow? Langhan’s at one?”

  I agree and he puts the phone down. David sounded terrible.

  Usually he’s so calm and collected. I wonder what could have got him so rattled. He has never spoken so sharply to me; it’s as if he’s cross with me or something. Which is silly—I mean, why would he be? Unless . . . oh God, he must have just found out about me and Mike. Why else would he be so short with me? He probably thought it was a complete coincidence that I was in Rome when he was, and now Mike must have told him after all. Probably because I sent the disk instead of taking it round. My heart pounding, I turn on the television, scan a few channels, and then turn it off again. I need to concentrate. I pour myself a large glass of wine and try to focus. Somehow I’ve got to figure out what to say to David before oneP.M. tomorrow to make everything okay again. But how can I explain away a trip to Rome? How can I admit I’ve been lying to him?

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  The menu is in front of David, but his eyes are darting around unable to focus on any one thing. I take his hand. I look around the packed West End restaurant, which is full of men in pin-striped suits talking loudly.

  “Is everything okay?”

  David looks at me, distracted. I am waiting for him to tell me that he knows all about Rome, all about my flirtation with Mike. I am waiting for him to ask why, so that I can answer and tell him how stupid I was and that I’ll never do it again, ever.

  But instead we’re just sitting here in silence, his eyes darting around the room like he thinks he’s being followed or something. I want to reassure him, but what can I say?

  “David, look, about the whole Candy and Mike thing. It’s really not a big deal. I know why you didn’t tell me: you were trying to protect me. But I’m so over Mike . . .”

  David is looking at me as if I’m completely mad.

  “Right, right, of course.”

  Is he trying to make me suffer?

  “David, what’s the matter?” I’ve never seen him like this. He walks everywhere purposefully, knows exactly what he thinks about everything. He doesn’t do stress or anxiety; he’s always the one who tells other people that everything will be okay.

  He focuses on the menu for a minute, as if he’s trying to collect his thoughts, then looks up at me.

  “I think I’m about to lose my job,” he says flatly. I’m filled with relief. So that’s all! David doesn’t know about me and Mike; it’s just a work thing. Maybe they’ve found out about the Mike saga being made up. Which is also bad, but not as bad as him finding out about Mike and me. I mean, there are other jobs.

  I try to look concerned and surprised. “David, I’m sure it’s not that bad, is it?”

  His eyes are darting around again.

  “Georgie, if I tell you something, will you promise, and I mean really promise, not to tell another living soul?”

  I nod. This is going to be great. David will confide in me, I can be all understanding and supportive and we’ll get through it together. It’ll just make us stronger as a couple. And one day we’ll look back and laugh at how serious it all seemed at the time.

  “I’m working on a case that’s, well, a bit close to home. I didn’t want to do it, but I couldn’t get out of it.”

  I’m not sure where he is going, but I squeeze his hand and wait for him to continue.

  “It’s about Mike . . .” David looks up at me, as if he needs to check my reaction.

  Here we go. I nod again, but inside I’m feeling quite excited. Just wait till I tell him that I know all about it and have totally saved his bacon!

  “What about Mike?”

  “He has been unde
r surveillance for several months.”

  David looks down and then up again. Like he can’t focus on anything, even me, for too long.

  “He’s been defrauding his company’s investors and the bands he’s signed.”

  I can’t help feeling disappointed. I thought David was going to tell me the truth, and instead he’s telling me the false story. Why can’t he just admit that he was jealous and that he screwed up?

  “His investors,” I say with a sigh. “You mean Candy’s father?” I ask.

  “And the rest. At least Candy’s father can probably afford it. Mike got people to invest their last penny in his bloody record label. He got people who should have known better investing their pensions—theirpensions , for crying out loud. He managed to get about a million together by convincing friends of his parents, friends of my parents, and people we both knew when we were growing up, to give him their last bit of cash.”

  “But they’ll get their money back, won’t they? I mean the business is doing really well, isn’t it?” I’m a bit unsettled. This conversation isn’t going the way I thought it would.

  “Get it back?” David laughs sarcastically. “Get what back? There’s nothing left. Mike took every last penny out of the company to buy himself a flat, and has been faking invoices to sell to a factoring company. He even got into some sort of money laundering for a gang in Rome. He is in very deep trouble. But not as much trouble as he’s going to be in with me for ripping off my parents’ friends. I am never going to let him get away with that.”

  I’m really confused now. And maybe a little bit scared.

  “We got a tip-off from one of his employees who gave us this disk with a lot of incriminating evidence on it,” continues David. “Apparently their salary checks have been bouncing, and none of the bands or DJs have been paid for the past four months. The employee in question got sacked soon after. Since then I’ve been gathering evidence . . .”

  He looks at me and I can see his forehead twitch with tension. “That’s why I had to go to Rome—I was following Mike. He’s been moving funds into Spain via Italy and Switzerland. He took a whole load of money in with him to Rome, but we don’t know how; his bags were checked at the airport and nothing was found.”

  David sighs, and carries on in a deadpan voice. “My contacts there confirmed his links with an organized crime group in Italy. He’s a fucking liability.

  “Anyway,” he continues with a sigh, “we had enough evidence to swoop today. We’ve been working with the police and they were all ready to arrest him. Except that I was looking after the vital piece of evidence. And now it’s gone missing.”

  Okay, this is not the way it was meant to go. I’m getting a really nasty feeling here. When is David going to admit that the whole thing was made up because he was jealous?

  “It went missing?” I ask in as casual a manner as I can muster.

  “Yes. I just can’t understand it. I had it, and now it’s gone. But it’s worse than that. I think someone’s trying to set me up. Someone has actually been searching through my files—when I started to boot up my computer this morning, it had already been turned on and not shut down properly. And now my firm suspects that I’m trying to bury evidence. They got a tip yesterday that I’d been blackmailing Mike and demanding money in return for “losing” the disk. And money’s been appearing in my account. I didn’t even notice. My firm thinks I’m a criminal, Georgie. This morning they had the police in.”

  He looks like he’s going to cry. “It’s looking really bad. I’m not sure how I’m going to get out of this.”

  The waiter comes over to take our order and David stops talking. He stares out of the window, trying to compose himself. I ask if we can have a few more minutes. Seeing the state David’s in, the waiter backs away quickly.

  Everything has gone hideously pear-shaped. If what David says is true, then Mike has been lying to me. Which would be nothing particularly new. But if Mike has been lying to me, then what I have done is . . . more terrible than anything in the world. Suddenly I start to feel sick and now I’m the one who’s sweating as I piece together the events of the past month.

  “How . . . how long did you say you’ve been following Mike?” I’m trying to sound perfectly normal, but my voice is cracking.

  “About six months in all, I think. I’ve been on the case for about a month.”

  “So, what, you joined the case about the time we bumped into Mike?”

  “A couple of weeks before.”

  “And he would have known, he would have been aware, that you were on to him when we bumped into each other.”

  “Yes, yes. Look, that isn’t important. The thing is, I think someone I know may be trying to frame me. Someone must be working with Mike. I just can’t work it out.”

  I think I might be about to faint. All I can think about is the package Mike gave me to carry to Rome; the disk I stole from David; the phone call in Italy from Mike’s “family.” Everything is going black. But I’m not fainting. I’m just realizing how stupid, how utterly stupid and horrible I’ve been. I want the ground to swallow me up.

  “It was me.”

  I say it quietly. All my muscles are tense as I wait for David’s reaction.

  He looks at me strangely.

  “What do you mean, it was you?”

  I am very hot and uncomfortable.

  “It was me who took the disk.” I’ll leave the money issue to one side for now. I mean, David doesn’t need to know that, right?

  David’s face is deathly white. I can feel my skin go all prickly and I feel like I’m somewhere else watching this episode played out by a body double. It’s far too awful to be really happening.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he says in a strangled voice. “How could it be you?”

  “Mike told me you were trying to frame him because you were jealous. I thought you might get into trouble. Mike told me that you’d do anything to stop him being a success, and I didn’t want your firm to find out . . .”

  David takes in a sharp breath and doesn’t say anything for a couple of minutes. Then his eyes narrow. He looks up at the ceiling as if he’s trying to count to ten before saying anything.

  “You took the disk?”

  I nod glumly.

  “And you still have it?”

  I shake my head, even more glumly.

  “Where the fuck is it?

  “I sent it to him.”

  “You sent it to him.” I don’t think it’s a question, so I don’t answer. It’s like when I used to be bollocked by a teacher at school. Saying anything just works against you. Better to stay silent and stare at the floor. I look up quickly to see David’s expression. His face has blackened. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so angry.

  “You stupid, stupid girl.”

  He is almost shuddering with rage. My nails are digging into my palms as I fight to remain calm.

  “You do realize what you’ve done?”

  I look back down at my plate.

  “Mike said you were fabricating evidence against him, said you were jealous of him . . .” I trail off. It all sounds so implausible now. I can’t believe I was stupid enough to believe him.

  “He said I was jealous of him.”

  I almost think David is going to start laughing, that we can start joking about how stupid I’ve been, but then I see that his eyes are still flashing with anger.

  “I told you not to talk to him. I asked you not to have any contact with him. And instead, you merrily let him feed you a whole load of bullshit, which you believed. You believed that fucking prick and thought that you would wreck the bloody case, wreck my career, and probably wreck my entire life. Just who the fuck do you think you are, Georgie?”

  I fight hard to keep tears from pricking my eyes.

  “It’ll be okay, though, won’t it?” I look beseechingly at David, desperately hoping that there will be a solution, a way out. “I’ll tell your employers what I did. They’ll understand, won’t they?”

  David’s eyes are cold and hard.

  “You do realize what you’ve done, don’t you? It’s called aiding and abetting. It�
�s illegal, you know. If you tell the police that you stole a disk from me, they probably won’t believe you, and if they do, you’ll be the one with a criminal record.”

  He puts his head in his hands.

  “Of all the people. I just can’t believe it was you.”

  A huge lump has been developing in my throat for the past ten minutes and I know that within about thirty seconds big fat tears will be cascading down my cheeks. I can’t bear to cry in front of David, can’t bear for him to see how utterly pathetic I am. I have doubted and betrayed him and he might even go to prison, and it is all completely my fault. Everything.

  Grabbing my bag, I stand up and run out of the restaurant. Outside, I crumple on the pavement, ignoring concerned passersby as I bawl my eyes out. My throat is hurting, my eyes are red and raw, and still the tears come. David is right. I am a stupid, stupid girl and I don’t deserve him. I suppose there is some justice in the world after all—after what I’ve done, he’ll never want to see me again.

  I manage to stand up and start walking down the street toward Green Park Tube station. The last thing I want now is for David to leave the restaurant and find me wailing on the pavement. I can barely walk straight, but I need to get home and work out a plan. Somehow I have got to get David out of trouble. And somehow I have got to make sure that Mike pays for what he has done. My mind racing, I hail a cab. Once I’m sitting down, I have another thought, and I reach for my mobile phone.

  My mother is waiting for me at the door as the cab pulls up. “You look a mess,” she says matter-of-factly as she gives me a perfunctory hug and leads me into the kitchen where a hot cup of tea is waiting. “I would have preferred wine, but I know what you and David are like when it comes to tea,” she explains.

  At the mention of his name I nearly start crying again, but I don’t seem to have any tears left. I sit down, and wait for her to join me. And then I tell her everything.

  I tell her about Rome, about seeing David with his colleague and how I thought he might have been having an affair. I tell her about Mike, about Candy and the baby. I tell her about David at the restaurant, about the police. It takes about an hour, and by the end I feel almost purged.

 

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