and had to resign.57 Some people thought it was unfair, but the new chairman of the board apparently has “zero tolerance for inappropriate behaviour.”58
6. Sir Nicholas is currently advising the prime minister on a new special “happiness and well-being’ committee, which all the newspapers have been rude about. One even described Sir Nicholas as past his prime and had a cartoon of him as a flower with straggly petals. (I won’t mention that to Sam.)
7. They won an award for their paper recycling program last year.
“Well done on the recycling, by the way,” I add, eager to display my knowledge. “I saw your statement that
“What?” Sam seems taken aback, even suspicious. “How did you see that?”
“Google search. It’s not against the law!” I add, at his expression. “I was
“Oh, you did, did you?” Sam shoots me a dubious look. “Double tall cappuccino, please.”
“So, Sir Nicholas is advising the prime minister! That’s really cool!”
This time, Sam doesn’t even answer. Honestly. He’s not exactly a great ambassador.
“Have
“They’re waiting for your coffee order.” Sam gestures at the barista.
Obviously he’s going to give away absolutely nothing. Typical. You’d think he’d be
“Skinny latte for me.” I haul out my purse. “And a chocolate chip muffin. You want a muffin?”
“No, thanks.” Sam shakes his head.
“Probably for the best.” I nod wisely. “Since you refuse to go to the dentist.”
Sam gives me a blank look, which could mean, “Don’t go there,’ or “I’m not listening,’ or, again, “What do you mean, the dentist?”
I’m beginning to learn how he works. It’s like he has an
I click on my browser, search for another revolting picture of manky teeth, and forward it to him silently.
“This Savoy reception, by the way,” I say as we go to pick up our drinks. “You need to send your acceptance.”
“Oh, I’m not going to that,” he says, as though it’s obvious.
“Why not?” I stare at him.
“I have no particular reason to.” He shrugs. “And it’s a heavy week for social events.”
I don’t believe this. How can he not want to go to the Savoy? God, it’s all right for top businessmen, isn’t it? Free champagne, yawn, yawn. Goody bags, yet another party, yawn, how tedious and dull.
“Well, you should let them know, then.” I barely hide my disapproval. “In fact, I’ll do it right now.
“You don’t have to do that.” Sam is staring at me, bemused. “One of the PAs at the office is helping me out now. Girl called Jane Ellis. She can do that.”
Yes, but
“It’s OK.” I shrug. “It’s been really bugging me.” Our coffees have arrived on the counter and I hand him his. “So … thanks again.”
“No trouble.” He holds the door open for me. “Hope you find the ring. As soon as you’ve finished with the phone—”
“I know.” I cut him off. “I’ll bike it round. The same nanosecond.”
“Fine.” He allows me a half smile. “Well, I hope everything goes well for you.” He extends a hand and I shake it politely.
“Hope everything goes well for you too.”
I haven’t even asked him when his wedding is. Perhaps it’s a week from tomorrow, like ours. In the same church, even. I’ll arrive and see him on the steps with Willow the Witch on his arm, telling him he’s toxic.
He strides away and I hurry off toward the bus stop. There’s a 45 bus disgorging passengers, and I climb on board. It’ll take me to Streatham Hill, and I can walk from there.
As I take my seat, I look out and see Sam walking swiftly along the pavement, his face impassive, almost stony. I don’t know if it’s the wind or he’s been knocked by a passerby, but somehow his tie has gone skew-whiff, and he doesn’t even seem to have noticed. Now
Your tie’s crooked.
I wait about thirty seconds, then watch his face jolt in surprise. As he’s looking around, searching the pedestrians on the pavement, I text again: