Sophie Kinsella - I've Got Your Number

“OK.”

I wait as Vicks walks away, then casually raise my head. Sure enough, Willow is fixated on me, like a cobra.

“So,” she says.

“So.” I smile back pleasantly, just as Willow’s eyes land on my left hand. Her mouth opens. For an instant she seems incapable of speech.

“Who gave you that ring?” she utters at last.

What bloody business is it of hers?

“A girl called Lucinda,” I say, to wind her up. “I’d lost it, you see. She gave it back.”

Willow draws breath and I swear she’s about to launch her fangs into me, when Vicks’s voice comes blasting through the PA system at top volume.

“I’m sorry to interrupt the party, but I have an important announcement to make. All employees of White Globe Consulting, please make your way back into the main conference hall immediately. That’s back into the main conference hall, immediately. Thank you.”

There’s an outbreak of chatter around us, and all the clusters of people start moving toward the double doors, some quickly refilling their glasses.

“Looks like my cue to leave,” says David, getting to his feet. “You’ll be needing to go. Give my regards to Sam.”

“I’m not actually an employee,” I say, for accuracy’s sake. “But, yes, I do need to go. Sorry about that.”

“Really?” David shakes his head, looking mystified. “Then she’s got a point.” He jerks his head at Willow. “You’re not Sam’s girlfriend and you don’t work for this company. Who the hell are you and what have you got to do with Sam?”

“Like I said.” I can’t help smiling at his quizzical expression. “It’s … complicated.”

“I can believe it.” He raises his eyebrows, then produces a business card and presses it into my hand. “Tell Sam. Exotic mini-pets. I’ve got a great opportunity for him.”

“I’ll tell him.” I nod seriously. “Thanks.” I watch him disappear toward the exit, then carefully put his card away for Sam.

“So.” Willow looms in front of me again, arms folded. “Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

“Are you serious ?” I can’t hide my exasperation. “Isn’t there something else you need to be doing right now?” I gesture at the crowds surging into the conference room.

“Oh, nice try.” She doesn’t even flicker. “I’m hardly going to make some tedious corporate announcement my priority.”

“Believe me, this tedious corporate announcement is one you’re going to want to hear.”

“You know all about it, I suppose,” Willow shoots back sarcastically.

“Yes.” I nod, suddenly feeling despondent. “I know all about it. And … I think I’m going to get a drink.”

I stalk away to the bar. I can see Willow in the mirror, and after a few seconds she turns and heads toward the conference room, her expression mutinous. I feel drained just from talking to her.

No, I feel drained by the whole day. I order myself a large glass of wine, then slowly walk toward the conference room. Vicks is standing on the stage, talking to a rapt, shocked audience. Behind her, the massive screen is on silent TV.

“ … as I say, we don’t know exactly what shape the report will take, but we have made our response, and that’s the only thing we can do at the present time. Are there any questions? Nihal?”

“Where’s Sir Nicholas now?” comes Nihal’s voice from the crowd.

“He’s in Berkshire. We’ll have to see what happens about the rest of the conference. As soon as any decisions have been made, obviously you will all be informed.”

I’m looking around at the faces. Justin is a few feet away from me, gazing up at Vicks in a pantomime of shock and concern. Now he raises his hand.

“Justin?” says Vicks reluctantly.

“Vicks, bravo.” His smooth voice travels through the room. “I can only imagine how difficult these last few hours have been for you. As a member of the senior management team, I’d like to thank you for your sterling efforts. Whatever Sir Nicholas may or may not have said, whatever the truth of the matter—and of course none of us can really know that—your loyalty to the company is what we value. Well done, Vicks!” He leads a round of applause.

Ooh. Snake. Clearly I’m not the only one to think this, because another hand shoots straight up.

“Malcolm!” says Vicks in plain relief.

“I’d like to make it clear to all employees that Sir Nicholas did not make these remarks.” Unfortunately, Malcolm’s voice is a bit rumbly and I’m not sure everyone can hear. “I received the original memo he sent, and it was completely different—”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to interrupt you now,” Vicks chimes in. “The bulletin’s starting. Volume up, please.”

Where’s Sam? He should be here. He should be replying to Justin and crushing him. He should be watching the bulletin. I just don’t get it.

The familiar ITN News at Ten music begins, and the swirling graphics fill the massive screen onstage. I’m feeling ridiculously nervous, even though it doesn’t have anything to do with me. Maybe they won’t run the story, I keep thinking. You hear about items being bumped all the time… .

Big Ben’s chimes have begun. Any second they’ll start announcing the headlines. My stomach clenches with nerves, and I take a swig of wine. Watching the news is a completely different experience when it’s something to do with you. This is what prime ministers must feel like all the time. God, I wouldn’t be them for anything. They must spend every evening hiding behind the sofa, peering through their fingers.

Bong! “Fresh attacks in the Middle East lead to fears of instability.” Bong! “House prices make a surprise recovery—but will it last?” Bong! “A leaked memo casts doubts on the integrity of a top government adviser.”

There it is. They’re running it.

There’s an almost eerie silence in the room. No one has gasped or even reacted. I think everyone’s holding their breath, waiting for the full item. The Middle Eastern report has started and there are pictures of gunfire in a dusty street, but I’m barely taking it in. I’ve pulled out my phone and am texting Sam.

Are you watching? Everyone is in conference room. P

My phone remains silent. What’s he doing? Why isn’t he in here with everyone else?

I stare fixedly at the screen as the footage changes to house-price graphs and an interview with a family trying to move to Thaxted, wherever that is. I’m willing the presenters to speak more quickly, to get through it. Never have I been less interested in house prices in my life. 85

And then both the first two items are done and we’re back in the studio and the newsreader is saying, with her grave face on:

“Tonight, doubts were cast on the integrity of Sir Nicholas Murray, the founder of White Globe Consulting and government adviser. In a confidential memo obtained exclusively by ITN, he refers to corrupt practices and the soliciting of bribes, apparently condoning them.”

There are a few gasps and whispers around the room. I glance at Vicks. Her face is amazingly composed as she watches the screen. I suppose she knew what to expect.

“But in a new twist, within the last few minutes ITN has discovered that another staff member at White Globe Consulting may in fact have written the words credited to Sir Nicholas, something which official company sources deny all knowledge of. Our reporter Damian Standforth asks: Is Sir Nicholas a villain—or the victim of a smear attempt?”

“ What? ’ Vicks’s voice rips across the room. “What the fuck —”

A babble has broken out, interspersed with “Shh!” and “Listen!” and “Shut up!” Someone has ramped the sound to top volume. I stare at the screen, utterly confused.