I've Got Your Number

“What happened?”

God, this soup is good. I’m ladling it down as though I haven’t eaten for weeks.

“You’re really interested?” He appears to be amused.

“Yes! Of course!”

“A member of personnel left the company. For the better, in my opinion. But not in Justin’s.” He takes a bite of baguette and reaches for his water.

That’s it? That’s all he’s going to tell me? A member of personnel left the company?

“You mean John Gregson?” I suddenly remember my Google search.

“What?” He looks taken aback. “How do you know about John Gregson?”

“Daily Mail online, of course.” I roll my eyes. What does he think, that he works in a secret, private bubble?

“Oh. I see.” Sam seems to digest this. “Well … no. That was something different.”

“Who was this one, then? C’mon,” I wheedle as he hesitates. “You can tell me. I’m best friends with Sir Nicholas Murray, you know. We have drinks at the Savoy together. We’re like this.” I cross my fingers, and Sam gives a reluctant snort of laughter.

“OK. I don’t suppose it’s any great secret.” He hesitates and lowers his voice. “It was a guy called Ed Exton. Finance director. The truth is, he was fired. Turned out he’d been defrauding the company for a while. Nick wouldn’t press charges, but that was a big mistake. Now Ed’s suing for wrongful dismissal.”

“Yes!” I nearly squeak. “I knew it! And that’s why he was worse for wear in the Groucho.”

Sam gives a short, incredulous laugh. “You know about that. Of course you do.”

“And … Justin was angry when Ed was fired?” I’m trying to get this clear.

“Justin was gunning for Ed to take over as CEO, with himself as right-hand man,” says Sam wryly. “So, yes, you could say he was fairly angry.”

“CEO?” I say in astonishment. “But … what about Sir Nicholas?”

“Oh, they would have ousted Nick if they’d got enough support,” says Sam matter-of-factly. “There’s a faction in this company that’s more interested in creaming off short term profits and dressing in Paul Smith than anything else. Nick’s all about playing the long game. Not always the most popular position.”

I finish my soup, digesting all this. Honestly, these office politics are all so complicated. How does anyone get any work done? It’s bad enough when Annalise has one of her hissy fits about whose turn it is to buy the coffee and we all get distracted and forget to write up our reports.

If I worked at White Globe Consulting, I wouldn’t be able to do my job. I would spend all day texting the other people in the office, asking them what was going on today and had they heard anything new and what did they think was going to happen.

Hmm. Maybe it’s a good thing I’m not in an office job.

“I can’t believe Sir Nicholas Murray used to live in Balham,” I say, suddenly remembering. “I mean, Balham!”

“Nick hasn’t always been grand, by any means.” Sam shoots me a curious look. “Didn’t you come across his background story during your little Googlefest? He was an orphan. Brought up in a children’s home. Everything he’s got, he’s worked his socks off for. Not a snobbish bone in his body. Not like some of these pretentious tossers trying to get rid of him.” He scowls and stuffs a bundle of rocket into his mouth.

“Fabian Taylor must be in Justin’s camp,” I observe thoughtfully. “He’s so sarcastic with you. I always wondered why.” I look up to see Sam regarding me with a lowered, furrowed brow.

“Poppy, be honest. How many of my emails have you read?”

I can’t believe he’s asking that.

“All of them, of course. What did you think?” His expression is so funny, I get the giggles. “The minute I got my hands on that phone, I started snooping on you. Emails from colleagues, emails from Willow … ” I can’t resist throwing out the name casually to see if he bites.

Sure enough, he blanks the reference completely. It’s as though the name Willow means nothing to him.

But this is our farewell lunch. It’s my last chance. I’m going to perservere.

“So, does Willow work on a different floor from you?” I say conversationally.

“Same floor.”

“Oh, right. And … you two met through work?”

He just nods. This is like getting blood out of a stone.

A waiter comes to clear my bowl and we order coffees. As the waiter moves away, I see Sam studying me thoughtfully. I’m about to ask another question about Willow, but he gets in first.

“Poppy, slight change of subject. Can I say something to you? As a friend?”

“Are we friends?” I reply dubiously.

“A disinterested spectator, then.”

Great. First of all, he’s dodging the Willow conversation. Secondly, what now? A speech on why you shouldn’t