A Chance Encounter

by Rae Shaw

  Mark mentioned the incident to Julianna that morning in his office. She was collating the spreadsheets on the interim report for Haynes' latest acquisition.

  She paused, her fingers curling around a paper clip. ‘Seen it before?’ she asked sharply. ‘The car?’

  ‘I don't know. Why would I remember one car?’

  ‘Private number plate?’ Bent over the table with her eyes down, she stiffened.

  ‘It had four doors and dark windows, okay, that's the sum total of what I remember. I was agreeing about the speed bumps. Somebody got knocked over a week ago.’

  ‘Where?’ The paper clip flew across the table.

  The punch bag had failed her that morning. ‘Outside the shop. What's with the third degree?’

  She shrugged and retrieved the paper clip. ‘Just that you should be careful, that's all.’

  He touched the back of her hand, leaned over and kissed her cheek in a rare show of affection. ‘You're very sweet. But I'm a big boy and can take care of myself when it comes to crossing the road.’ At work, they were strictly professional and maintained a cool distance from each other. But that approach would become harder once his project was finished; she would be assigned to something else, which was probably for the best.

  Her cheeks were pink. The poor paper clip was twisted out of shape. ‘I hope so,’ she murmured.

  ‘Let's review where we're up to,’ he said.

  ‘To sum up: small subsidiary owned by larger company who look more profitable than they should. We could spend time digging up further issues but to my mind this acquisition looks rocky.’

  He agreed. ‘I’m not convinced that their cash flow projections are accurate. We need more time to determine what’s going on.’

  ‘You suspect fraud, don’t you? Fiduciary fraud. They’re making false tax returns. Ring Neil.’ Neil, the chief negotiator, was in charge of the project.

  Neil had been quick with his decision: the acquisition shouldn’t go ahead. He contacted Diana, Jackson's PA for an appointment. Later that day, five of them, including Mark, but not Julianna, trooped up to the top floor and presented themselves at Diana’s desk.

  ‘You’ll have to wait,’ she said, tapping her watch. ‘He hasn’t finished the last meeting. You’re early anyway.’

  ‘Better to be on time, isn’t it?’ Neil said. The meeting had been arranged at short notice. Neil hadn’t expected to be seen so quickly.

  ‘Probably, given the mood he is in. Definitely not a day for bringing him bad news.’

  Neil went slightly pale. ‘We don’t exactly have good news. Any reason why he’s being irritable?’

  Another PA perked up from his desk behind Diane's. ‘Obvious. Something this long.’ He indicated a short distance between his hands, ‘And she screams a lot in the night.’

  ‘Ah, not his wife I take it,’ Neil said, cheekily. Mark smirked.

  ‘Doesn’t he have two houses?’ asked Paolo, an intern with freckles and a tight-fitting suit that wouldn't impress Jackson. ‘Can’t he simply sleep at the other one?’

  ‘Some father you’ll make,’ Diana muttered. ‘Go and wait over there.’ She waved them away to the seating area of the lobby.

  Mark settled himself next to Neil on the sofa.

  ‘I’ve never been up here before,’ said Darren, Neil's protégé, a likeable man with a goatee beard and a crooked nose. Mark found it hard not to look at his nose.

  ‘That’s what happens when you’re promoted,’ said Neil. ‘You get to find out if you have a head for heights.’

  ‘I’ve never met him either,’ said Darren, ‘in the flesh.’

  ‘Do you think you’re going to become his friend or something?’ Neil rolled his eyes. Mark kept his head down.

  Darren fidgeted. Paolo preened his hair back and Duncan, who hadn’t said a word, was reading through the documents, internalising everything as if he was about to be tested on his numbers. All of them, barring Mark, were lawyers and contract specialists. They weren’t surprised that Neil was recommending pulling the plug on the deal.

  ‘Oi, you’re wanted.’ Diana jerked her head toward the double doors.

  Mr Haynes was by the window, looking down at the street. The sun, shining through the tinted glass, was low in the sky. He drew the blinds back across. He was without a jacket or tie, and he wore a wireless headset. He removed it, sat at the head of the table and drummed his fingers as he waited for them to join him.

  Neil adjusted his tie before speaking. ‘Mr Haynes, we’ve reviewed everything, especially Mark’s input and we can’t recommend going ahead with this acquisition. Too many discrepancies in several areas of operations.’ Neil handed over the summary sheet he had compiled with Mark’s help.

  There was a pause while Jackson ran his finger down the bullet points. ‘Okay. I agree, will end the due diligence and call off our interest. I don’t want to waste any further time on this.’

  There was a collective sigh of relief around the table.

  Time meant money in Jackson’s world. He spent a few minutes running through their findings. Darren continued to fidget, and Paolo had developed a stutter. Mark wanted to laugh. Jackson wasn't that intimidating, not when you knew him, but then Mark had had a privileged start at the company. He crossed his legs and settled back in his seat.

  ‘You don’t agree, Mark?’ Jackson said sharply, his eyebrows bunched together above his nose.

  ‘With pulling the acquisition? I agree whole-heartedly,’ he said, uncrossing his legs. ‘I would like to know what they’re hiding and why. I don't think we've fully answered why things don't add up.’

  ‘That’s not our job, Mark. However, if you think you’re close to finding the truth, you have to the end of the week. Then we walk away.’

  Neil gasped and shot a glare across the table at Mark.

  ‘Problem, Neil?’ asked Jackson.

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘This is just for Mark to deal with. Your team can bow out. I want a final report though. That it’s, gentlemen. I have other things to deal with today.’ He rose and so did everyone else.

  Mark waited by the table as the room emptied. ‘Mr Haynes?’

  ‘Yes?’ Jackson was back at his desk.

  ‘I could do with Julianna’s help still, on this.’

  Jackson leaned back and his leather chair creaked. ‘Could you now?’ He grinned. ‘All right. I'll speak to Chris Moran. Keep her freed up for you.’

  Mark blushed; a stupid response and immature.

  ‘Is that all, Mark? Because I haven’t the time to arrange opportunities for you to meet your girlfriend.’

  Mark stepped backwards, stumbling against a chair. He knew! The man had eyes everywhere. Had Julianna told Hettie? Possibly. Did it matter? Probably not, as long as he kept his head down and held on to his position in Jackson's inner circle.

  ‘No. Just that I wanted to say your brother has been very helpful. And Sophia, too. They're a lovely couple and... my sister and I had a good time the other week and...’

  Jackson picked up a pen. ‘I’m glad. Now clear off, Mark.’ Jackson’s lip curled slightly as he delivered his dismissal.

  Mark hurried out of the office, head down and clutching the report.

  He was late home. Having delegated himself an additional piece of work – digging up the dirt on the failed acquisition – he would have to burn the midnight oil. Dropping his briefcase by the front door, he removed his overcoat and kicked off his shoes. In the bathroom, he washed the city grime off his face. Looking up, he caught his reflection in the shaving mirror. He saw somebody else looking back at him; somebody he rarely met these days. A man, who from the other side of a protective glass, had begged Mark to help relieve his mother’s suffering and to find a way for him to gain his freedom. A lying, devious man and Mark hated him, hated that they shared the same features – the bold eyes and narrow nose.

  He sat at the kitchen table, fired up his laptop and ploughed through the figures one more time. Outside, t
he rain pelleted on the windows and car horns blasted. He rose to shut the blinds and, looking down, he spied a biker and his pillion rider perched on a motorcycle outside the building. The pillion passenger was looking right up at his window.

  A shiver went down Mark's spine as he snapped the blinds shut. After the incident with the car, he was on edge with everyone around him, just as he had been before leaving Manchester. Everyone thought he was a crook because of his father. He would prove them wrong. He would champion the righteous and become a scrutiniser of facts and figures. Jackson had employed him to maintain his business ethics and Mark would uphold them.

  Ellen would have to take a back seat while he cemented his friendship with Haynes. Possibly Julianna, too. She was showing a progression of behaviours he had not experienced with his previous transient girlfriends: an interest in his family, which wasn’t unusual, but for Mark it was unnecessary. She might be an ex-copper and bodyguard, but it wasn't her job to protect him. He shouldn't have let things get that serious between them. She deserved someone better than him and not the liar who had told his mother there was no news. Perhaps that was why the man in the mirror haunted him.

  He turned away from the window, stormed into the bathroom, picked up the mirror and smashed it on the floor. A pointless exercise as there were other mirrors in the house. However, it was amazingly satisfying seeing the shards ricochet off the tiles; some of his anger was captured in those slithers of glass. A calmness washed over him and he fetched the dustpan and brush. He should have a go at Julianna's punch bag. He laughed softly to himself – it was a good enough reason to stay with Julianna. It would do for now.

  20

  Ellen

  MONDAY

  Ellen scrutinised the charity pile one last time. She didn't need all those towels. Or a fruit bowl. Or the backgammon set she had bought at a flea market because it looked pretty. Those impulsive purchases had proved themselves inconsequential or unnecessary. Abandoned on the roadside, they received their eviction notice; the van would arrive to take the bags away later that day.

  Preparations sped along. She had resigned from her job the previous week and by utilising outstanding holidays, she entered the last week of work. To her embarrassment, her colleagues immediately set about organising farewell coffee and cakes for Friday morning, which she didn't want. Her boss walked past her desk without saying a word.

  Pangs of anxiety hit her hourly as she continued to clear her flat. Packed, emptied and repacked, the suitcase bulged. She couldn't decide which significant objects of life should be squished into the cheapest, biggest suitcase that fell within the airline's weight allowance, which wasn't generous. According to Freddie, there was a washing machine in the hostel and a fully equipped kitchen. She imagined the place would be like the student accommodation she had never lived in, but still might one day, if her plans achieved fruition. Little steps, she reminded herself, rather than giant leaps.

  She had texted Nicky and suggested a morning run on Wednesday to help with the nervous energy that kept her awake at night. She still hadn’t told him about her change of plans – the one that had begun with living with big brother, and now involved going abroad. His reply was tardy. He was out of town, taking a small vacation with his new friend. The apology was sweet. Their paths hadn't crossed recently, and she felt his presence slipping away through her fingers. As she paved her future with concrete actions, her past crumbled into dust. She abandoned the idea of a run.

  Her dreams had to lay elsewhere, fashioned by her own ambitions and decisions, and free from the influence of her family. But still, she slept fitfully and questioned her judgement, especially her rejection of Mark and his connections, and the few friends she had who might offer a neutral opinion. Instead, she had searched for information about the dig and, like Derek, she unearthed nothing.

  Hello. The word echoed into the digital void and she waited. No response, so she carried on typing. I can't find the location of this dig? Why? Is it not registered?

  Freddie was an owl and the reply appeared later in the evening.

  It's not publicly listed because the landowner doesn't want people crawling over his fields with metal detectors. Sorry don't know any more. Not my area of expertise. I'm sure everything will be explained when you arrive. Remember to bring your passport and banker's card, so we can set up an account for your pay and have you bought the ticket?

  Yes, and yes. Heathrow to Dublin. Friday evening.

  It was already Wednesday – two nights to go. The level of excitement ratcheted up every time she chatted with Freddie. His enthusiasm bolstered her nerves. If she couldn't sleep tonight, she would have to drink herself there just for medicinal purposes. She hadn’t drunk alcohol since the dinner at Luke’s.

  Garth will meet you. He's a good friend and I trust him. He'll come with Alicia, the archaeology student I told you about. They'll come to your room at the hostel, so don't go wandering off when you arrive. Alicia is keen to meet you and tell you more about the project. I'll take you out for a meal once you've settled. Something to celebrate your arrival.

  Freddie included an email address for Garth. Ask him for more details. Thanks for the photograph you sent. I know this is the first time I've seen you, and I'm honoured by your faith in me.

  You, too. You're younger than I thought. I had this idea you were an old catholic priest.

  The photo he had sent earlier in the week was a head shot of a bearded man with red hair and black framed glasses that betrayed his myopic vision. He wasn't a looker. What had she expected? Another suave Nicky with body builder muscles.

  Seriously? Me? I suppose I allow my religious persuasions to rise to the surface sometimes. Now I have to confess something to you.

  What? Her stomach churned.

  I trained as a social worker. I know you don't like us, so I kept it quiet. Can you forgive me?

  She laughed, her fingers racing over the keys to relieve him of his worries. I forgive you.

  Phew! So we're all set to meet this weekend. I hope you're excited.

  Yes, yes. A string of emojis animated the line of text.

  Her mood swung upwards.

  One more thing, Ellen. Tell your mother. She deserves to know that you're moving on. Finding happiness.

  Her hands slipped off the keyboard. The seconds trickled past. She hadn't spoken to Deidre in months. The last time, they had argued about visiting her father. Ellen had refused to make the journey.

  Ellen. Make peace.

  She closed the laptop lid. Freddie was keen on reconciliation, especially recently. If his long-term goal had been to reunite the family it was admirable, but unachievable. She would explain things when they met, fill him in on the missing details, then he would understand her bitterness and anger. For now, she would play along.

  ~ * ~

  The blocked number was listed in her contacts. A daughter shouldn't block her mother's numbers, but she had. Deidre had tried to trick her with new SIM cards. She had even used neighbour's numbers. After a few months she had given up the ruse.

  Tapping the screen of her mobile, Ellen dialled the home number, the landline. It rang and rang, and she heaved a sigh of relief. She was out.

  ‘Hello?’ her panic-stricken mother yelled out of the tiny speaker. ‘Who's there? Is that you, Bill? It's not your day for ringing. It’s very late. How have you managed—’

  ‘It's me. Mum.’

  ‘Ellie? Is that you?’

  ‘Yes.’ She gripped the phone tighter.

  ‘Ellie. Is there news?’

  ‘News?’ She moved into the kitchen with the phone still close to her mouth.

  ‘Yes. About the appeal. Mark hasn't contacted me in ages. Why is he so selfish? Eh? You must see him in London. The pair of you—’

  ‘Mum, please, shut up and listen.’

  ‘Oh, I see, like that is it?’

  ‘I'm going to Ireland for a few weeks. It's archaeological work and I'll have the chance—’

  �
��Ellen, I'm sure it's very exciting for you, but when is Mark going to call me about Dad? He's lost weight again. Do you know how hard it is to see him like that? Wasting away.’

  She poured the wine out of the bottle into the glass and it spilt over the rim. ‘Sure, Mum. He's going to slip between the bars and break out.’

  ‘This is why I don't speak to you.’

  The mobile shook in her hand. She couldn't hold the rage in. Mark should have done the deed, but he had missed the chance and had gifted Ellen the opportunity. She steadied her hand. ‘The feeling's mutual. Well, I do have news. The appeal is over.’

  ‘Over, what do you mean? Mark hasn't—’

  ‘He can't bring himself to tell you. He's a coward. So I'll tell you.’ She took a quick mouthful of wine to bolster her nerves. The room was hotter than ever. Winter had no impact on her horrible bedsit and she couldn't wait to leave it. ‘Dad's witness said nothing because he saw what Dad did with his own eyes and that was murder a man in cold-blood and try to make it look like self-defence. Dad took two knives.’

  ‘You're lying,’ Deidre said. ‘You wicked—’

  ‘Child, yes. I know. You shouted those words at me many times. But I'm not as wicked as Bill Clewer. I guess he didn't ask you to sew those extra pockets in his coat, did he? For gloves? Beer bottles. Knives?’

  The line clicked followed by the hum of a broken connection. ‘Goodbye, Mum,’ Ellen said, softly.

  Opening the laptop, she sent Freddie a message.

  It's done. I told her. We're fine. Everything's good. Now, tell me, what are the pubs like over there?

  Oh, sweetie, they're the best, but then I'm biased.