Cecelia Ahern - The Gift

“Bruce Archer has that very same bug,” Alfred smirked, and he winked at Mr. Patterson.

The switch was flicked, and Lou’s blood began to heat up, expecting any minute for a loud whistling to drift from his nose as he reached boiling point. He sat quietly through the meeting, though fighting flushes and nausea while the vein in his forehead pulsated at full force.

“And so, tonight is an important night, lads.” Mr, Patterson turned to Lou, and Lou zoned in on the conversation.

“Yes, I have the audiovisual conference call with Arthur Lynch,” Lou spoke up. “That’s at seven thirty, and I’m sure it will all go without a hitch. I’ve come up with a great number of responses to his concerns, which we all went through last week. I don’t think we need to go through them again — ”

“Hold on, hold on.” Mr. Patterson lifted a finger to stall him, and it was only then that Lou noticed that Alfred’s cheeks had lifted into a great big smile.

Lou stared at Alfred to catch his eye, hoping for a hint, a giveaway, but Alfred avoided him.

“No, Lou, you and Alfred have a dinner with Thomas Crooke and his partner. This is the meeting we’ve been trying to get all year,” Mr. Patterson said, looking concerned.

Crumble, crumble, crumble. It was all coming tumbling down. Lou shuffled through his schedule and ran shaky fingers through his hair. He pointed his finger along the freshly printed schedule, his tired eyes finding it hard to focus, his clammy forefinger smudging the words as he moved it along the page. There it was, the audiovisual conference call with Arthur Lynch. No mention of a dinner. No damn mention of a damn dinner.

“Mr. Patterson, I’m well aware of the long-hoped-for meeting with Thomas Crooke.” Lou cleared his throat. “But nobody confirmed a dinner with me, and I made it known to Alfred last week that I have a meeting with Arthur Lynch at seven thirty tonight.” He looked at Alfred with confusion. “Alfred? Do you know about this dinner meeting?”

“Well, yeah, Lou,” Alfred said in a mocking tone with a shrug that went with it. “Of course I do. I cleared my schedule as soon as they confirmed it. It’s the biggest chance we’ve got to make the Manhattan development work. We’ve all been talking about this for months.”

The others around the table squirmed uncomfortably in their seats, though there were some, Lou was certain, who were enjoying this moment profusely, documenting every sigh, look, and word to rehash it with others as soon as they were out of the room.

“Everybody, you can all get back to work,” Mr. Patterson said, looking forward. “We need to deal with this rather urgently.”

The others emptied the room and left Lou, Alfred, and Mr. Patterson at the table; Lou instantly knew by Alfred’s stance and the look on his face, by his stubby fingers pressed together in prayer below his chin, that Alfred had already taken the higher moral ground on this one. Alfred was in his favorite mode, his most comfortable position of attack.

“Alfred, how long have you known about this dinner and why didn’t you tell me?” Lou immediately went on the offensive.

“I told you, Lou,” Alfred responded calmly.

With Lou a sweaty, unshaven mess and Alfred appearing so cool, Lou knew he wasn’t coming out of this looking the best. He removed his shaky fingers from the schedule and clasped his hands together.

“It’s a mess, a bloody mess.” Mr. Patterson rubbed his chin roughly with his hands. “I needed both of you at that dinner, but I can’t have you missing the call with Arthur. The dinner can’t be changed; it took us too long to get it in the first place. How about the call with Arthur?”

Lou swallowed. “I’ll work on it.”

“If not, there’s nothing we can do, except for Alfred to begin the dinner, and Lou, as soon as you’ve finished your meeting, you make your way as quickly as you can to join Alfred.”

“Lou has serious negotiations to discuss with Arthur, so he’ll be lucky if he makes it to the restaurant for after-dinner mints. But I’ll be well able to manage it, Laurence.” Alfred spoke from the side of his mouth with his usual smirk. “I’m capable of doing it alone.”

“Yes, well, let’s hope Lou negotiates fast and that he’s successful; otherwise this entire day will have been a waste of time. This is the second time this week there’s been a mix-up with meetings, isn’t it?” Mr. Patterson asked.

“No, no, this is the first. Alfred scheduled the other meeting after I told him I wasn’t available.” Lou felt drips of perspiration rolling down his back. His shirt clung to him, his tie choked his neck, and his hair felt matted to his head. He hoped neither of them could smell, like black coffee, the stench emanating from his underarms.

Alfred turned to Lou in surprise. It wasn’t like Lou to throw something like that at Alfred in front of Mr. Patterson. But the accusation was like blood to a shark, and Alfred was done with circling and was ready to bite. The corner of his lip turned up in a snarl as he said, “I know, Lou, and I apologize for that, but it was a development deal worth one hundred million euros. I couldn’t hold back on that just because you needed to take the morning off.”

Mr. Patterson looked to Lou.

“I didn’t take the morning off.” Lou leaned in, his voice breaking as it rose in pitch. He realized he sounded like a teenager standing up to his parents, but he couldn’t help it. He wiped the sweat from his lip with the back of his hand. “It was an hour. Just to collect my mother from the hospital. Then I was straight back in. You could have waited. That was the first hour I’ve taken off in five years working here.”

“Wow.” Alfred smiled. “Then you really know how to choose your hours. You could have picked a lunch break or something. Anyway, I closed the deal, Lou,” Alfred said, taking that first bite into Lou’s flesh. “I did it alone. So there’s no need to worry.”

Lou, trembling with rage, looked from one man to the other. He wanted to punch Alfred. Alfred wanted him to punch him. Lou looked to the water jug filled at the center of the table and thought about flinging it at Alfred’s head. Alfred’s eyes followed Lou’s gaze. He smiled knowingly.

“Do you need a glass of water, Lou?” Alfred asked. “You don’t look well.”

Mr. Patterson finally spoke up, “Is something the matter, Lou? You do look — ”

“No,” Lou interrupted Mr. Patterson, cutting him off far more rudely than intended. “I’m fine. All is fine. In fact, I’m feeling better than usual.” He tried to perk himself up but felt a bead of sweat drip down his forehead. He quickly brushed it away. “I’m ready to go, ready for two important meetings this evening, both of which will be an absolute success.”

Mr. Patterson frowned. “Lou.” He was silent for a moment. “Are you sure you’ll be able to — ”

“Absolutely,” he interrupted again. “I have never let you down before, Mr. Patterson, and I don’t intend on doing it now.” Not when so much was at stake.

Mr. Patterson looked at him with concern, then grumbled something inaudible, gathered his papers, and stood up. Meeting adjourned.

Lou felt like he was in the middle of a nightmare; everything was falling apart, all his good work was being sabotaged. He stormed out of the meeting room, ignoring Alfred’s faux-concerned voice calling to have a private word with him. Lou headed straight to Alison’s desk, where he threw the details of that evening’s dinner on her keyboard, stopping her acrylic nails midtap. She narrowed her eyes and scanned the brief.

“What’s this?”

“A dinner tonight. A very important one. At eight p.m. That I have to be at.” He paced the area in front of her while she read it more carefully.