Michael Ridpath - Final Venture

But I was wary of corporate politics. Diane was drawing me in, trying to get me to support her. Against Art. That was OK. Against Gil wouldn't be.

'You're hesitating,' said Diane.

'Oh, sorry. It sounds a great opportunity. I was just thinking it through. I don't want to become involved in some coup against Gil. I owe that man a lot.'

'He is a good man,' said Diane. And he likes you too. Art is putting a lot of pressure on him to fire you. But Gil wants to keep you on. So do I, of course.'

So Art wanted to get rid of me? Somehow I wasn't surprised. During our conversation the previous weekend he had seemed to trust me. But after avoiding me for a couple of days he was back to his old self. I hadn't appreciated that crack about my memo.

'Don't worry,' she continued. 'Gil and I are on the same side.'

'What about the police investigation?' I asked. 'Do you really want to have a suspected murderer as a partner?'

'I know you didn't kill Frank,' said Diane smiling. 'Eventually, so will everyone else. It will blow away.'

I was impressed by her confidence although I didn't share it. I was also grateful. I had no right to expect such trust from her. Ruefully, I thought I had every right to expect it from Lisa. 'Thank you. In that case, thanks for the offer. What do I have to do?'

'Not much for now. Make good investments, avoid bad ones, sort out Net Cop…'

'And keep myself out of jail.'

Diane winced. 'That would be nice if you can manage it. The main thing is, I need to know I can count on your support when I need it.'

'You've got it.'

She gave me a smile that warmed my tired body.

'So who did kill Frank?' she asked. 'Do you have any idea?'

'No. The police still think I did it, and they're doing their best to put a case together against me.'

'I know,' Diane said. 'They seemed to think there was something going on between us.' Her eyes twinkled in amusement.

I tried to keep cool. 'Yes. That's what Frank suspected. We had a row about it before he died.'

The amusement left her face, to be replaced by sympathy. 'You must have had an awful time. Frank dying. The police on your back. Your wife leaving you.'

I glanced up quickly towards her.

'It hasn't been great.'

'I know this is none of my business,' Diane said, 'but how could she leave you when you are in so much trouble?'

I stuttered an excuse. 'She was under a lot of pressure. She thought I'd killed her father. I can understand what she did.'

It was all true, but as I was saying it I felt a surge of anger. Diane was right. Lisa should have stayed with me!

'You look miserable. Let me get you another drink.'

I should have protested, but I didn't. My guard was dropping. Lisa had pissed off to California; why shouldn't I have another drink with a beautiful woman who was listening to me?

Diane disappeared, and returned with another glass. Somehow she had put some music on, Mozart or something. She sat down next to me on the sofa.

'Cheers,' she said.

I swallowed my whisky.

'Relax, Simon. You need to relax.'

Slowly she leaned over and pulled at my tie, taking it off. She let her hand rest against my leg. Her presence next to me was overpowering. Her scent, which a moment ago had seemed so subtle, flowed over me. I could hear the rustle of her silk blouse next to me. I turned to look at her. Small delicate face, flawless skin, full lips slightly apart. She leaned over and kissed me. It was a soft gentle kiss, safe, yet promising much more. I responded. I wanted much more.

She stood up, and smiled at me. 'Come on,' she said, slowly moving towards a closed door off the hallway.

I stood up, and began to follow her. Then the muzzy feeling of warm relaxation snapped. I suddenly saw what I was doing with complete clarity.

'No,' I said.

She stopped and raised an eyebrow, the smile still on her lips.

'Look, I'm sorry, Diane. This isn't right. I've got to go. Now.'

I turned, grabbed my tie and searched for my jacket and briefcase.

Diane leaned against the wall. 'Stay, Simon,' she said quietly. 'You know you want to. Stay.'

'I'm sorry. I just can't. It's not you. It's…' I blurted, unable to string together a coherent explanation of why I wanted to go. But I knew I had to leave.

I found all my stuff, and rushed for the door. "Bye, Diane,' I said, and ran.

I was ten minutes late for the meeting. Everyone was as fresh as a daisy, except me. Diane treated me as though we hadn't been entwined on her sofa only a very few hours before.

I couldn't concentrate. I just wanted to get out of there and think. Once again I was following in my father's footsteps. I had meant my marriage vows when I had made them seven months before. Yet I had come very close to breaking them in less than a year.

The meeting ended at eleven to give the Tetracom people time to get to the airport for their flight back to Cincinnati. I didn't join Diane on the brief walk back to the office. Instead I headed for the Public Garden. I gave her no reason. I don't know what she thought.

It was a bright, brittle late-autumn day. A cool breeze brushed the trees, which tossed handfuls of yellow leaves to the ground in its wake. The sun was shining, but it scarcely warmed the air. Winter was not far off.

Had I really done anything wrong? Lisa had abandoned me to the police. She had rejected my support. She didn't deserve my loyalty. The marriage was over, she had implied that. Well, she could take the consequences if something did start between Diane and me.

I sat down on a bench by the lake, Boston's mini-Serpentine. Tufted ducks drifted through the fronds beneath the willow opposite me, cruising for breadcrumbs, while the upper floors of the Ritz-Carlton Hotel poked out above. I raised my face to the sun and closed my eyes.

I could feel my marriage slipping away. It wasn't surprising, it had happened to my parents, and to Lisa's, and to millions of people in Britain and America. I could quite easily let it slide: there was nothing to stop me sleeping with whomever I wished as often as I wished.

But what I really wanted was to get Lisa back. It would be difficult to do. I might receive no help from her, quite the opposite. I might have to swallow my pride, forgive her for walking out on me, forgive her for the things she had said and would say in the future. And I would have to make her believe that I hadn't murdered her father. All this would be difficult to do, maybe impossible.

Was she worth it?

I remembered her voice, her face, her laugh.

Yes, yes, yes!

I hadn't been back at my desk for more than five minutes when my phone rang. It was Diane. She wanted to see me.

I entered her office with trepidation. But she gave me a friendly smile, and immediately launched into a discussion about Tetracom. Gil had made two calls that morning to venture capitalists who backed up Hecht's story. They wouldn't touch Murray Redfearn with the proverbial ten-foot pole. One of them questioned Hecht's judgement for linking up with Redfearn in the first place. A fair point, but not enough to sink the deal. The remaining calls were to the West Coast, and they would have to wait a couple of hours, but Diane was now confident that Tetracom's cupboard was bare of skeletons. A deal was probably less than a week away.

Our conversation finished, I stood up to go. I was almost out of there, when Diane stopped me.

'Simon?'

'Yes.'

'About last night.'

'Um…'

She held up her hand. 'No, it's OK, I don't want to talk about it now. But why don't you buy me a drink sometime?'

'I'm not sure that's a good idea,' I said.

'Oh, come on,' Diane said, with a reasonable smile. 'You owe me at least that.'

She was right. I smiled quickly. 'Yes, of course.'