in front of me, trying not to look too smug.
“You really went to the Guggenheim!” says Luke, leafing through the book incredulously.
“Erm… yes,” I say. “Of course I did!”
OK, I know you shouldn’t lie to your boyfriend. But it’s kind of true, isn’t it? I did go to the Guggenheim. In the broadest sense of the word.
“This is really interesting,” Luke’s saying. “Did you see that famous sculpture by Brancusi?”
“Erm… well…” I squint over his shoulder, trying to see what he’s talking about. “Well, I was more concentrating on the… um…”
“What’s that on your cheek?” says Luke, suddenly staring at me. I put a hand up in surprise and feel a trace of silver glitter. I’d forgotten all about that.
“It was… a piece of installation art,” I hear myself saying. “Entitled Constellations. They had all this, um… glitter, and they smeared it on you…”
“Here comes Michael now,” interrupts Luke. He closes the book and I quickly put it back in its carrier bag. Thank God for that. I look up interestedly to see what this famous Michael looks like — and nearly choke on my drink.
I don’t believe it. It’s him. Michael Ellis is the balding guy from the gym. Last time he saw me, I was dying at his feet.
“Hi!” says Luke, standing up. “Becky, meet Michael Ellis, my new associate.”
“Hi again,” I say, trying to smile composedly. “How are you?”
Oh, this shouldn’t be allowed. There should be a rule which says that people you’ve met in the gym should never meet you in real life.
“We’ve already had the pleasure of meeting,” says Michael Ellis, shaking my hand with a twinkle and sitting down opposite. “Becky and I worked out together at the hotel gym. Didn’t catch you there this morning, though.”
“This morning?” says Luke, giving me a puzzled look as he sits down again. “I thought you said the gym was closed, Becky.”
Shit.
“Oh. Um, well…” I take a deep gulp of my drink and clear my throat. “When I said it was closed, what I really meant was… was…” I tail away feebly into silence.
And I so wanted to make a good impression.
“What am I thinking of?” exclaims Michael suddenly. “I must be going crazy! It wasn’t this morning. The gym was closed this morning. Due to vital repair work, I believe.” He grins broadly and I feel myself blushing.
“So, anyway,” I say, hurriedly changing the subject. “You’re… you’re doing a deal with Luke. That’s great! How’s it all going?”
I only really ask to be polite, and steer attention away from my gym activities. I’m expecting them both to start explaining it to me at great length, and I can nod my head at intervals and enjoy my drink. But to my surprise, there’s an awkward pause.
“Good question,” says Luke at last, and looks at Michael. “What did Clark say?”
“We had a long conversation,” says Michael. “Not entirely satisfactory.”
I look from face to face, feeling disconcerted.
“Is something going wrong?”
“That all depends,” says Michael.
He starts to tell Luke about his phone call with whoever Clark is, and I try to listen intelligently to their conversation. But the trouble is, I’m starting to feel quite giddy. How much have I drunk today? I don’t even want to think about it, to be honest. I loll against the leather backrest, my eyes closed, listening to their voices chatting what seems far above my head.
“… some sort of paranoia…”
“… think they can change the goalposts…”
“… overheads… cost reduction… with Alicia Billington heading up the London office…”
“Alicia?” I struggle to an upright position. “Alicia’s going to run the London office?”
“Almost definitely,” says Luke, stopping midsentence. “Why?”
“But—”
“But what?” says Michael, looking at me with interest. “Why shouldn’t she run the London office? She’s bright, ambitious…”
“Oh. Well… no reason,” I say feebly.
I can’t very well say, “Because she’s a complete cow.”
“You’ve heard she’s just got engaged, by the way?” says Luke. “To Ed Collins at Hill Hanson.”
“Really?” I say in surprise. “I thought she was having an affair with… whassisname.”
“With who?” says Michael.
“Erm… thingy.” I take a sip of gimlet to clear my head. “She was having secret lunches with him, and everything!”
What’s his name again? I really am pissed.
“Becky likes to keep abreast of the office gossip,” says Luke with an easy laugh. “Unfortunately one can’t always vouch for its accuracy.”
I stare at him crossly. What’s he trying to say? That I’m some kind of rumormonger?
“Nothing wrong with a bit of office gossip,” says Michael with a warm smile. “Keeps the wheels turning.”
“Absolutely!” I say emphatically. “I couldn’t agree more. I always say to Luke, you should be interested in the people who work for you. It’s like when I give financial advice on my TV show. You can’t just look at the numbers, you have to talk to them. Like… like Enid from Northampton!” I look at Michael expectantly, before remembering that he doesn’t know who Enid is. “On paper she was ready to retire,” I explain. “Pension and everything. But in real life…”
“She… wasn’t ready?” suggests Michael.
“Exactly! She was really enjoying work and it was only her stupid husband who wanted her to give up. She was only fifty-five!” I gesture randomly with my glass. “I mean, don’t they say life begins at fifty-five?”
“I’m not sure they do,” says Michael, smiling. “But maybe they should.” He gives me an interested look. “I’d like to catch your show one day. Is it shown in the States?”
“No, it isn’t,” I say regretfully. “But I’ll be doing the same thing on American TV soon, so you’ll be able to watch it then!”
“I look forward to that.” Michael looks at his watch and drains his glass. “I have to go, I’m afraid. We’ll speak later, Luke. And very nice to meet you, Becky. If I ever need financial advice, I’ll know where to come.”
As he leaves the bar, I lean back against my squashy seat and turn to look at Luke. His easy demeanor has vanished, and he’s staring tensely into space while his fingers methodically tear a matchbook into small pieces.
“Michael seems really nice!” I say. “Really friendly.”
“Yes,” says Luke distantly. “Yes, he is.”
I take a sip of gimlet and look at Luke more carefully. He’s got exactly the same expression he had last month, when one of his staff cocked up a press release and some confidential figures were made public by mistake. My mind spools back over the conversation I was half-listening to — and as I watch his face I start to feel a bit worried.
“Luke,” I say at last. “What’s going on? Is there some kind of hitch with your deal?”
“No,” says Luke without moving.
“So what did Michael mean when he said, ‘That all depends’? And all that stuff about them changing the goalposts?”
I lean forward and try to take his hand, but Luke doesn’t respond. As I gaze at him in anxious silence, I gradually become aware of the background chatter and music all around us in the dim bar. At the next table a woman’s opening a little box from Tiffany’s and gasping — something which would normally have me throwing my napkin onto the floor and sidling over to see what she’s got. But this time I’m too concerned.
“Luke?” I lean forward. “Come on, tell me. Is there a problem?”
