I've Got Your Number

As I’m bending down, I see a woman in a smart black trouser suit in the mirror, and I jump. It takes me a moment to realize I’ve got a reflected view of the whole office, and she’s actually approaching Sam’s glass door. She’s tall and imposing-looking, in her forties, maybe, and is holding a piece of paper.

Her expression is fairly grim. Ooh, maybe she’s the CEO with bad personal hygiene.

No. Surely not. Look at that perfectly crisp white shirt.

Oh my God, is this Willow?

I suddenly feel even more embarrassed about my soup stain. It hasn’t come off at all; I’ve just got a big wet patch on my T-shirt. In fact, I look hideous. Should I tell Sam I can’t come to the meeting after all? Or maybe he has a spare shirt I could borrow. Don’t businessmen always keep spare shirts at the office?

No, Poppy. Don’t be ridiculous. And, anyway, there’s no time. The woman in the black suit is already rapping at his door and pushing it open. I watch in the mirror, on tenterhooks.

“Sam. I need a word.”

“Sure. What is it?” He looks up and frowns at her expression. “Vicks, what’s up?”

Vicks! Of course this is Vicks, head of PR. I should have realized at once.

I feel I already know her from all her emails, and she’s just as I imagined. Sharply cut sharp brunette hair, businesslike manner, sensible shoes, expensive watch. And right now a look of massive stress on her face.

“Only a handful of people know about this,” she says as she closes the door. “An hour ago I had a call from a mate of mine at ITN. They’ve got hold of an internal memo from Nick, which they’re planning to splash across the ten o’clock bulletin.” She winces. “It’s … it’s bad, Sam.”

“Memo?” He looks perplexed. “What memo?”

“A memo he apparently sent to you and Malcolm? Several months ago now? When you were doing that advisory work with BP? Here. Have a read.”

After about ten seconds, I peep round the side of the ajar bathroom door. I can see Sam reading a printed sheet, an expression of shock on his face.

“What the fuck—”

“I know.” Vicks lifts her hands. “I know.”

“This is … ” He seems speechless.

“It’s a disaster,” Vicks says calmly. “He’s basically talking about accepting bribes. Put that together with the fact he’s on a government committee right now … ” She hesitates. “You and Malcolm could be compromised too. We’ll need to look at that.”

“But … but I’ve never seen this memo in my life!” Sam finally has found his voice. “Nick didn’t send this to me! He didn’t write these things. He would never have written these things. I mean, he sent us a memo which began the same way, but—”

“Yes, that’s what I gather from Malcolm too. The memo he received wasn’t word for word the same as this one.”

“Not ‘word for word’?” echoes Sam impatiently. “It was totally fucking different! Yes, it may have been about BP, yes, it may have raised the same issues, but it did not say these things.” He hits the page. “I don’t know where the hell this has come from. Have you spoken to Nick?

“Of course. He says the same thing. He didn’t send this memo, he’s never seen it before, he’s as baffled as we are.”

“So!” Sam exclaims impatiently. “Head this off! Find the original memo, phone your friend at ITN, tell them they’ve been sold a pup. The IT guys will be able to prove what was written when; they’re good at that stuff—” He breaks off. “What?”

“We’ve tried.” She exhales. “We’ve looked. We can’t find an original version of the memo anywhere.”

“What?’ He stares at her. “But … that’s crazy. Nick must have saved it.”

“They’re searching. Here and at his Berkshire office. So far, this is the only version they’ve managed to find on the system.” She taps the paper.

“Bullshit!” Sam gives an incredulous laugh. “Wait—I have it myself!”

He sits down and opens up a file. “I would have put it …” He clicks a few more times. “Here we are! You see … here it is—” He breaks off, breathing hard. “What the—”

There’s silence. I can hardly breathe.

“No,” expostulates Sam suddenly. “No way. This is not the version I received.” He looks up, his face baffled. “What’s going on? I had it.”

“Not there?” Vicks’s voice is tight with disappointment.

Sam is clicking frantically at his computer again.

“This makes no bloody sense,” he’s saying, almost to himself. “The memo was emailed over. It came to Malcolm and me on the system. I had it. I read it with my own eyes. It has to be here.” He glowers at his screen. “Where the fuck is that fucking email?”

“Did you print it out? Did you keep it? Do you still have that original version?” I can see the hope in Vicks’s eyes.

There’s a long silence.

“No.” Sam exhales. “I read it online. Malcolm?”