Burial

'That's not what I'm worried about. I think I got us out of it. I'm worried about you.'

But Justin hadn't got them out of it: he'd just made a bumbling, mendacious spectacle of himself. Justin was often doing that, and only Justin didn't know it.

Nathan hadn't been paying attention during the meeting, because he was thinking about Holly Fox and, unintentionally, he'd contradicted one of Justin's lies. The lie concerned a chain of newsagents based in the north- east of England. The chain was usually a reliable source of revenue, particularly for the meat-and-potatoes novelty range.

In fact, the large stock returns were a consequence of Justin's failure to complete a renewed terms negotiation with the customer's chief buyer.

The returns were slow-moving stock that, ordinarily, the retailer might have held on to or sold off cheaply. But, as a signal of intent, they had been returned, still shrink-wrapped, to the Norfolk warehouse -- from which point, business between the two companies had been suspended. Justin was trying to keep all this from the board of directors.

The episode had nearly driven Justin to a nervous breakdown.

But now he was saying, 'I'm just worried about you, mate. It's not like you to drop the ball.'

'Really,' said Nathan. 'Don't worry about me.' Then he said, 'How are things with Georgia?'

Georgia was the buyer for the north-eastern chain. If negotiations with Hermes weren't restarted quickly, she'd allocate Hermes' shelf space to their bigger competitors. Getting it back would be humiliating and costly.

Justin said, 'Georgia will come on-line shortly.'

'I think you'd better drive up there to see her, mate. Have a faceto-face meeting.'

'I'll leave her for a few more days,' said Justin. 'To sweat.'

Nathan tried to hide his amusement by turning away and lifting a random sheet of paper from his desk; he pretended to scan it with a distracted frown. He said, 'I'll go up to see her, if you like. See if I can calm things down a bit.'

Unutterable panic flitted across Justin's big baby face.

Then he said, 'I can't let you do that. Not in your state.'

'In what state?'

'Look at you. You're on the edge.'

'Why don't you talk to me about it?'

'There's nothing to talk about.'

'I can't let you see Georgia. Not in your present condition. There's too much at stake. She's an important customer.'

'Okay. Fine. Whatever.'

'Is it a woman?'

'Is what a woman?'

'It.'

'It's not a woman. It's not an anything. I'm fine.'

Justin said: 'What are you doing for lunch?'

This was the question Nathan dreaded above all others.

Justin took lunch in one of a number of local pubs. For the sake of appearances, he'd order a square of lasagne, then ignore it while he worked his way through six pints of lager and a packet of cigarettes.

Often, lunch was followed by an afternoon 'meeting' or two, in the same venue.

He'd return to the office with his tie loose and his shirt untucked and his shoelaces untied.

'I'm sorry,' said Nathan. 'I'm really, really busy. Really busy.'

'Busy with what?'

'I have lunch with marketing.'

'The marketing lunch is tomorrow.'

'This is a pre-lunch lunch. We want to finesse the agenda for tomorrow's meeting.'

'Okay. Let's do that, then.'

Nathan gave up. He said, 'Give me five minutes', then hurried upstairs to the marketing department.

He found Amrita at her desk, eating a Pret a Manger sandwich and typing an email one-handed. Otherwise the floor was empty.

Nathan sat, telling her: 'I'm in trouble.'

Amrita turned on her swivel chair. 'God. I've been meaning to call you. I thought Justin was going to die. The fat lying bastard.'

'The fat lying bastard has invited himself to lunch.'

Amrita laughed, spitting a mouthful of damp breadcrumbs. She tutted and brushed them from her keyboard.

She said, 'That'll be nice for you.'

'Lunch with me and you. I used you as an excuse. Sorry.'

'I'm not having lunch with Justin. I have a sandwich.'

'Please.'

'Last time, he came back from the toilet with a wet patch on his trousers. I nearly threw up.'

'I know. Really.'

'And he touches my knee.'

'I know.'

'What did you think you were doing, saying yes?'

'He trapped me with his cunning.'

Amrita took another, pointed bite of BUT and said, 'You're not really on top form, are you?'

'What does that mean?'

'You sat through the meeting like this . . .'

She made a dreamy face and rolled her head round on a loose neck.

'. . . like you were somewhere else. You took about ten minutes to answer a question. And you called Justin a liar.'

'I didn't.'

'Good as.'

'He is a liar.'

Amrita crossed her legs, brushed crumbs away. 'Tough tits, I'm afraid. I'm busy.'

'Please.'

'No.'

'Please please.'

'No.'

'PI--'

'No.'

She returned, sandwich in hand, to whatever she was typing.

Nathan wondered how long Justin would keep him this time. Two and a half hours was about average. But Justin was upset, so it would probably be longer.

On Wednesday night, he met Holly in a blue-lit cocktail bar for a pre-dinner drink.

Nathan hadn't known what to wear. In the end, he'd asked Amrita's advice and they'd sneaked out after the marketing meeting to buy him some new shoes and what she called a funky shirt.

Holly sat on a chrome bar stool, stirring a drink set down on the radiant glass bar. She was wearing a little black dress. He sat next to her.

'Hello.'

He wasn't sure if he was expected to kiss her cheek, or what?

Helpfully, she glanced back into her drink and stirred it with a complimentary plastic swizzle stick.

Nathan said, 'Am I late?'

She said, 'Probably not,' and he knew something was wrong.

He set his coat, folded, on the empty stool next to him and ordered a margarita.

She said, 'I'm really sorry. I'm early for everything. I get it from my dad. He's got this punctuality thing.'