?No he bloody isn?t,? says James. ?Get out of there quickly!?
The phone goes dead and I look at my mother with alarm. ?He?s here. James says he?s outside!? Mum looks up with alarm. I sneak up to the window to have a peek, and sure enough a cross-looking Mike is reaching for his keys. Only he can?t find them. Of course he can?t, I realize with relief. I have his keys.
He walks away from the door and I think we?re safe. But then he kneels down, and starts digging into a flower bed. He can?t have hidden a spare set of keys there, surely? He has. Oh my God. He?s coming in!
This is not looking good. If Mike comes in, it isn?t going to be easy to explain ourselves. We have broken into his house, and are stealing his papers. Mike will be in his rights to call the police, they will lock us up, and David will go to prison because he never got the information and . . .
Suddenly I hear a terrible crashing noise. Mike hears it, too, and turns away from the house. ?Quick! Hide!? I hiss, and my mother and I dive behind the sofa next to the window. On the floor I see a postcard with a flamenco dancer on the front. I pick it up. The postmark is just two days ago, from London. ?Can?t wait to dance the night away in Spain. See you in Malaga! Vanessa x.?
Malaga? Vanessa? So Mike isn?t going on his own? I rack my brain to think of a Vanessa Mike has mentioned, but I draw a blank.
And then I hear a familiar voice.
?I?m dreadfully sorry, but I think I may have driven into your car. Terrible shame. Probably going to cost the pair of us a fortune!?
It?s James! Out of the window I see the Mini crumpled into the back of Mike?s BMW, and James is bumbling around pretending to look for his insurance details while Mike stares at the damage, aghast.
My mother looks furious. ?He?s been looking for an excuse to get rid of that car for ages,? she says crossly. ?It?s a perfectly good run-around.?
?Mum,? I hiss, ?he did it to help us out. For God?s sake!?
?Us?? Mike is shouting. ?I am not paying for any fucking damage. You stupid fat bastard!?
?How dare he!? exclaims Mum. ?James is not fat. He is just carrying a little excess weight, and if that insolent young man thinks he can shout abuse at James, at my husband, well, he?s got another think coming.?
She gets up as if to jump to James?s defense and I have to pull her back.
?He?ll recognize you,? I hiss. ?Come on, let?s get out of here.?
Stuffing the papers under my shirt, we creep out the front door and down the stairs. As James demonstrates to Mike that the damage to his car is not significant by showing how easy it is to dislodge his number plate (?See? These BMWs just don?t have the craftsmanship of other cars. Your bumper would have fallen off on its own.?), we quickly slip out the back door.
I need to get to David quickly. I kiss my mother and jump in a cab. I have never been to David?s offices before and as the taxi draws up in front of a huge building that seems to take up an entire road, I check the address again. ?Are you sure this is the right place??
I know that David works for one of the ?Big? accounting firms, but I hadn?t really expected the offices to be this big. The firm has offices all over the country, and all over the world, so I thought each one would be pretty small really.
The taxi driver grunts at me, and drives off, leaving me at the main door. The reception itself is as big as a nightclub, with paintings everywhere and clusters of leather chairs and sofas where people are sitting and having intense conversations. I walk hesitantly up to the reception desk.
?Is David Bradley here??
One of the receptionists looks up. ?Do you have an appointment with Mr. Bradley??
?Um, no, not really,? I reply. ?But if you tell him Georgie is here, I?m sure he won?t mind.?
The girl looks uncertain, but she dials a number anyway.
?Hello, this is reception. We have a Georgie downstairs for David Bradley.? There is a long pause. ?I see. Okay, thank you.?
She smiles at me. ?Mr. Bradley can?t see you, I?m afraid.?
?No, you don?t understand. I?m his girlfriend, Georgie Beauchamp, I really have to see him very urgently. Please call him again.?
The receptionist calls again. ?Oh hello, it?s reception here again. We have a Georgie Beauchamp down here very keen to see Mr. Bradley. Ah. Okay, well, thank you.?
She looks up at me sympathetically. ?I?m afraid he doesn?t want to see you,? she says softly.
My eyes start to well up. I can?t believe this. I?m being dumped by a receptionist. David hates me so much he can?t even bear to set eyes on me.
I go over to one of the leather chairs and sit down, unsure what to do next. I can?t just go, not until David has the disk. But if he won?t see me, I?m scuppered. I decide to wait. At some point David will have to leave the building, and when he does I will grab him and make him listen to me. I look at my watch. It?s two-thirty. I pick up a copy of theFT from a table in front of me and begin to read.
I?m in the middle of the TV review section when I sense someone coming toward me. I look up to see David?s glamorous partner from Rome approaching.
?Hi!? she says with a big smile. ?I work with David, and I understand you wanted to see him? I?m afraid he?s a bit tied up at the moment but I could give him a message for you if you want??
At last, someone who can actually help me!
?The thing is,? I say, ?I?ve got some information here that I need to get to him. I?d really appreciate it if you?d make sure he gets it.?
