telling me.” There’s an edge to my voice, and Luke flinches.
“Becky—”
“Window or aisle seat?” interrupts the checkin girl.
“Window, please.”
“Becky—”
His mobile phone gives a shrill ring, and he switches it off irritably. “Becky… I want to talk.”
“Now you want to talk?” I echo disbelievingly. “Great. Perfect timing. Just as I’m checking in.” I hit the FT with the back of my hand. “And what about this crisis meeting?”
“It can wait.”
“The future of your company can wait?” I raise my eyebrows. “Isn’t that a little… irresponsible, Luke?”
“My company wouldn’t have a fucking future if it weren’t for you,” he exclaims, almost angrily, and in spite of myself I feel a tingling all over my body. “I’ve just been on the phone to Michael. He told me what you did. How you cottoned on to Alicia. How you warned him, how you sussed the whole thing.” He shakes his head. “I had no idea. Jesus, if it hadn’t been for you, Becky…”
“He shouldn’t have told you,” I mutter furiously. “I told him not to. He promised.”
“Well, he did tell me! And now…” Luke breaks off. “And now I don’t know what to say,” he says more quietly. “ ‘Thank you’ doesn’t even come close.”
We stare at each other in silence for a few moments.
“You don’t have to say anything,” I say at last, looking away. “I only did it because I can’t stand Alicia. No other reason.”
“So… I’ve put you on row thirty-two,” says the checkin girl brightly. “Boarding should be at four thirty…” She takes one further look at my passport and her expression changes. “Hey! You’re the one off Morning Coffee, aren’t you?”
“I used to be,” I say with a polite smile.
“Oh right,” she says puzzledly. As she hands over my passport and boarding card, her eye runs over my FT, and stops at Luke’s photograph. She looks up at Luke, and down again.
“Hang on. Are you him?” she says, jabbing at the picture.
“I used to be,” says Luke after a pause. “Come on, Becky. Let me buy you a drink, at least.”
We sit down at a little table with glasses of Pernod. I can see the light on Luke’s phone lighting up every five seconds, indicating that someone’s trying to call him. But he doesn’t even seem to notice.
“I wanted to ring you,” he says, staring into his drink. “Every single day, I wanted to ring. But… it’s been so crazy since I got back. And what you said about me not having time for a real relationship? That really stuck with me. Plus…” He breaks off into silence.
“Plus what?” I say at last.
“I wasn’t sure,” he says, and looks up with frank brown eyes. “The truth is, I didn’t know whether we could make it work. It seemed in New York that we suddenly split apart, and started going in different directions. It was as though we didn’t understand each other anymore.”
I should be able to hear this without reacting. But for some reason the back of my throat feels tight all over again.
“So — what happened?” I say, forcing myself to sound matter-of-fact. “Why are you here? The day when all your investors have flown in to see you.”
“Not ideal. I’ll give you that.” A flicker of amusement passes briefly across his face. “But how was I to know you were planning to skip the country? Michael’s been a secretive bastard. And when I heard you were leaving…” He meets my eyes. “I suddenly realized.”
“Realized… what?” I manage.
“That I’d been a fucking… stupid…”
He pushes his glass around the table abstractly, as though searching for something, and I stare at him apprehensively. “You were right,” he says suddenly. “I was obsessed with making it in New York. It was a kind of madness. I couldn’t see anything else. Jesus, I’ve fucked everything up, haven’t I? You… us… the business…”
“Come on, Luke,” I say awkwardly. “You can’t take credit for everything. I fucked up a good few things for you…” I stop as Luke shakes his head. He drains his glass and gives me a frank look.
“There’s something you need to know. Becky — how do you think The Daily World got hold of your financial details?”
I look at him in surprise.
“It… it was the council tax girl. The girl who came to the flat and snooped around while Suze was…” I tail away as he shakes his head again.
“It was Alicia.”
For a moment I’m too taken aback to speak.
“Alicia?” I manage at last. “How do you… why would she…”
“When we searched her office we found some bank statements of yours in her desk. Some letters, too. Christ alone knows how she got hold of them.” He exhales sharply. “This morning, I finally got a guy at The Daily World to admit she was the source. They just followed up what she gave them.”
I stare at him, feeling rather cold. Remembering that day I visited his office. The Conran bag with all my letters in it. Alicia standing by Mel’s desk, looking like a cat with a mouse.
I knew I’d left something behind. Oh God, how could I have been so stupid?
“You weren’t her real target,” Luke’s saying. “She did it to discredit me and the company — and distract my attention from what she was up to. They won’t confirm it, but I’m sure she was also the ‘inside source’ giving all those quotes about me.” He takes a deep breath. “The point is, Becky — I got it all wrong. My deal wasn’t ruined because of you.” He looks at me matter-of-factly. “Yours was ruined because of me.”
I sit still for a few moments, unable to speak. It’s as though something heavy is slowly lifting from me. I’m not sure what to think or feel.
“I’m just so sorry,” Luke’s saying. “For everything you’ve been through…”
“No.” I take a deep, shaky breath. “Luke, it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t even Alicia’s fault. Maybe she fed them the details. But I mean, if I hadn’t got myself into debt in the first place, and if I hadn’t gone crazy shopping in New York — they wouldn’t have had anything to write about, would they?” I rub my dry face. “It was horrible and humiliating. But in a funny way, seeing that article was a good thing for me. It made me realize a few things about myself, at least.”
I pick up my glass, see that it’s empty, and put it down again.
“Do you want another one?” says Luke.
“No. No, thanks.”
There’s silence between us. In the distance, a voice is telling passengers on flight BA 2340 for San Francisco to please proceed to Gate 29.
“I know Michael offered you a job,” said Luke. He gestures to my case. “I assume this means you accepted it.” He pauses, and I stare at him, trembling slightly, saying nothing. “Becky — don’t go to Washington. Come and work for me.”
“Work for you?” I say, startled.
“Come and work for Brandon Communications.”
“Are you mad?”
He pushes his hair back off his face — and suddenly he looks young and vulnerable. Like someone who needs a break.
“I’m not mad. My staff’s been decimated. I need someone like you at a senior level. You know about finance. You’ve been a journalist. You’re good with people, you already know the company…”
“Luke, you’ll easily find someone else like me,” I chip in. “You’ll find someone better! Someone with PR experience, someone who’s worked in—”
“OK, I’m lying,” Luke interrupts. “I’m lying.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t just need someone like you. I need you.”
He meets my eyes candidly — and with a jolt I realize he’s not just talking about Brandon Communications.
