Nicci French - Secret Smile

'Into your head?'

'And now here I am. He's living in my fucking flat and I'm sitting here pissed in this bar.'

There was quite a long silence now. I felt like a comedian who was doing his act and nobody was laughing. There was just silence out there in the audience.

'I can't do this,' Nick said, finally.

'What do you mean?' I said, except I knew.

'Do you mind if I'm honest?'

'No,' I said, knowing that when someone said they were going to be honest they never meant they were going to be extra specially nice.

'Do you know what I think?'

'No, I don't.'

'I don't think,' said Nick. 'I know. You're still in love with Brendan.'

'What?' I said. This I really hadn't expected.

'You're obsessed with him. He's all you talk about.'

'Of course I'm obsessed with him,' I said. 'He's like a worm that's infesting me. He's tormenting me.'

'Exactly. It was lovely, Miranda.'

'Was,' I said dully.

Now, finally, he took a sip of wine.

I'm sorry,' he said.

I wanted to shout at him. I wanted to hit him. And then suddenly I didn't. I fumbled in my purse and found a twenty-pound note and put it by my empty glass. I leaned over, a bit unsteadily, and kissed him.

'Bye-bye, Nick,' I said. 'It was really the wrong time.'

I walked out of the bar. Another of these sudden exits. I was meant to be staying the night with Nick. That was what I had promised Laura. Another broken promise.

The next day, I lay for a while on Laura's sofa before making myself get up and face the morning. Outside, it was windy and still half-dark. I was cold, I was tired, my hair needed washing. My tongue felt too thick in my mouth. I hadn't run for days now and my limbs felt stiff with disuse. I shut my eyes and listened to the companionable murmurs coming from Laura's bedroom and felt as if I were on a slope, and sliding down it, unable to stop myself. Anything I grabbed hold of came away in my hands. I thought about the day ahead. I had to go to the bloody house in Hampstead again and paint a red wall green. In my lunch hour I had to collect Kerry from her work and look at yet another overpriced flat. And I'd come back here as late as possible, so Laura and Tony didn't start getting irritated by my presence. I sighed and with an immense effort threw off the duvet.

I got to Journey's End, the travel agent's where Kerry worked, a bit early and shouldered the door open, grateful to be out of the blustery weather. Kerry's boss, Malcolm, was at the nearest desk, trying to persuade an overweight man in a loud suit that it was safe to travel to Egypt, and a couple of other customers milled around by the brochure stand, looking at pictures of sun and sea and laughing young people with white teeth and blond hair. Kerry was at the far end of the room talking to another man in a long overcoat, and although he had his back turned to me I saw it was Brendan and stopped in my tracks, a few feet from them.

'I'm overdrawn already,' Kerry was saying, pleadingly.

'Forty quid should see me through.'

'But…'

'Kerry.' His voice was soft and heavy. It made me shudder just to hear it. 'Do you begrudge me? After everything I've done.'

'You know it's not that, Bren.' And she started fishing around in her purse for money.

'No? I'm surprised, Kerry. Disappointed.'

'Don't say that. Here. This is all I've got.'

'How can I, now?'

'Please, Bren. Take it.' Kerry held out a handful of notes and at the same time looked up and saw I was there. Her cheeks flushed and she looked away, back at Brendan.

'I must say, you look a bit washed out today,' he said as he took the money and stuffed it into his pocket. 'Mmm?'

I saw Kerry flinch as if he'd slapped her. She put a hand half across her face, wanting to hide.

'You look lovely in that coat,' I said.

Forty-five minutes later, and Kerry and I were drinking coffee in a shabby little cafe in Finsbury Park.

'Do I?' She fiddled with the collar self-consciously. 'You don't think it makes me look pasty?'

'It's November. We're all a bit pale. You look great.' I spoke cheerily, as if she were a convalescent in a hospital ward.

'Thanks,' she said with a humility that made me want to shake her.

'Anyway, you'll soon be on your honeymoon, soaking up the sun – where is it? Fiji?'

'Yes.' She made herself smile with an effort.

'Fabulous.'

There was a pause and I picked up my empty coffee cup and pretended to drink the dregs.

'Has Brendan decided what he's going to do?'

'You mean, what kind of job?'

'Yes.'

'He says he's going to put Troy right first.'

'That sounds like a really, really bad idea to me.'

'I don't know, really.' She sounded listless.

'Even Troy wants to be left to himself more,' I said. 'That's why he's moved out.

'I know.' She bit her lip nervously. 'I told Brendan that, more or less.'

'Are you two all right?'

'Of course,' she said curtly. 'Why shouldn't we be?'

'Anyway, he should start thinking of you two; that's where his first priorities lie. What's he done before?'

'Well,' said Kerry. 'Lots of things, really.' She chewed the corner of a nail. 'He studied psychology for a bit, and then he did some kind of job connected with that which didn't work out. He's too much of a maverick. And he was involved in various business ventures; you know. He takes risks with things. And he travelled of course.'

'Of course,' I said. 'I see.'

I tried to remember things he had said. And out of memory's darkness came a name, spoken over a barbecue in my parents' garden. I held on to it: Vermont. That was it. Harry Vermont and the dotcom company. When Kerry had left, I picked up my mobile and dialled directory enquiries.

At half past eight the next morning I was sitting in a large, warm office with huge windows that would have overlooked the Thames if they had been on the other side of the building. Instead, the view was of a council estate with doors and windows boarded up. If 'boarded up' is the right term for those huge sheets of metal. Harry Vermont offered me coffee, but we were both in a hurry – and anyway, when it came down to it, it didn't take very long. I told him that I knew Brendan Block.

'Oh, yeah?'

'You and Brendan set up a dotcom business, didn't you?'

'What?'

'I wanted to find out about the work you did together.'

He took a cigarette from a packet on his desk and lit it. He took a drag from it.

'The work we did together?' he said sarcastically.

'Is there a problem?' I said. 'Can you talk about it?'

'Yeah,' he said. 'I can talk about it.'

'Did you lose much money when your dotcom business collapsed?' I asked brightly, then popped a piece of crumbly Stilton into my mouth. It was Bill's birthday and we were all round at his house for lunch. Outside, it was misty and cold, but inside it was beautifully warm, and a large fire burned in the hearth. Judy and Bill are good cooks, much better than my parents, and they'd produced a vast game pie, lots of red wine, and now cheese and biscuits. Kerry was at the other end of the table, trying to persuade Sasha to be her bridesmaid, and Sasha, who's twelve but looks twenty-one and only wears hugely flared jeans and hooded tops, was saying that she wasn't going to wear a peach satin dress for anyone. But Dad and Bill were listening to me, and Troy was sitting opposite Brendan. I couldn't tell if he were listening or not because he was in one of his unreadable moods.

'Too much,' said Brendan and laughed ruefully, a man of the world.

'What about the others?' I said. I drained my glass and plonked it back on the table. I raised my voice so that Kerry and Judy looked across at us. 'Did everyone lose money? Like that Harry person you told us about once, what was his name?'