Gemma Townley - When in Rome...

Still, at least he’s looking up from his food.

Nigel looks around, to check if anyone is listening. There is an old lady at the next door table muttering to herself. I kick Nigel under the table and look at her meaningfully. “D’you think she’s one of them?”

He looks round with a start, then turns back to me crossly. “You may not take this seriously, Georgie, but I think you will when you’ve heard what was in those files.”

I seriously doubt it, but Nigel is looking so excited I stop teasing him and listen attentively.

“HG, or, if we go back to the original company, Horowitz and Sons, has grown steadily for a number of years,” Nigel tells me. He is talking quietly, but the pace of his words suggests that he may have rehearsed this particular speech. “One hundred ten years to be precise,” he adds.

“However, in the past ten years, the company has taken over and/or merged with more than fifty smaller publishing companies, both in the U.S. and around the world.”

“So we’re being swallowed up by a giant?” I ask.

Nigel nods. “The thing is, in each of those mergers, within a year of the deal being done, every single employee of the original firm has been fired or made redundant.”

“What? Every single one? That’s ridiculous—I mean, it must cost loads to get in a whole new team.” In spite of myself, I am actually interested.

“Precisely. The point is, they don’t get in a new team. They take over the companies, and they close them down. All they keep is the customer base and the local brand. They just exchange the existing products for their own.”

“Yikes. So why would Leary want to go ahead?”

“Why indeed.”

“You think they know?”

“Someone must know. But I don’t think everyone does.”

“What about Guy? Does he know?”

“I’m, well, I’m currently in the planning stages on how to best communicate this piece of information to him. If he doesn’t know already, I think he should be informed.”

“He can’t know. If he did, he’d never be so excited about the merger! Nigel, you’ve got to just tell him. He won’t want this any more than the rest of us.”

Nigel concentrates hard on his plate. He looks apprehensive. Poor old Nigel is actually scared about getting into trouble.

“Let’s think of a way in which you could have got those papers without breaking the law,” I suggest.

This obviously doesn’t help. Nigel looks more scared than before. “Breaking the law” may not have been the best choice of words.

“Or you could give them to him anonymously?”

“Anonymously?

“Yes, you know, put them in a blank envelope and leave it on his desk. Or even send it to him.”

“I could send it to him,” agrees Nigel. “I could photocopy the pages wearing gloves so there aren’t any fingerprints on them, put them in an envelope and send it to him from the other side of London,” he continues, but his voice is definitely faltering.

“Definitely. Nigel, you’ll be doing the right thing. All you’re doing is making sure Guy has all the information before he makes a huge mistake.”

“Yes, yes, you’re right. It’s my duty,” says Nigel. “And don’t worry,” he adds, “if I do get caught, I will tell them that I worked alone.”

I look at Nigel with what I hope looks like a smile of relief.

When I get back to my desk there’s an e-mail waiting for me from Mike. I’m about to open it when the phone rings.

“Hello, Georgie Beauchamp.”

“Georgie, it’s me.”

There’s a long pause. It’s David.

“Are you still there?”

“Yes,” I say quietly.

“Georgie, I’m so sorry about yesterday. Look, I need to explain properly. I would have called last night—I mean, I wanted to, but I couldn’t. We just didn’t stop until really late. Look, I’ve got to drop in on the Paris office today, but I’m back tomorrow. Are you around in the evening? I need to see you. I need to explain . . .”

His voice sounds so confident and trustworthy I can’t believe he’s the same person who was so dismissive in the hotel reception yesterday. I can feel myself melting. I want to forget all about the horrible brunette and have David come over and sweep me off my feet.

“You just didn’t stop?” Well, I want to forget her, but I can’t actually do it. I beg myself to play it cool, but my voice is tinged with bitterness.

“Georgie, don’t. We were working. Just working. Please don’t overreact.”

“Overreact?” I hiss. “Oh, I’m so sorry. You’re right, I really should be more understanding. I mean, it’s absolutely fine for you to tell me you came to Rome to see me when actually it was for work. It’s perfectly acceptable for you to say you love me and then to leave me on my own while you bugger off with some sneering bitch.”

Okay, so I’m not going to play it cool. I’m going to play it extremely bloody hot under the collar.

Too late I realize I’m talking rather loudly. Nigel is looking up at me with wide eyes. As soon as he sees me look at him, he hunches back over his computer.

“So Vanessa is a sneering bitch?”

I realize David is chuckling. How dare he not take this seriously.

“It’s not Vanessa I’m cross with,” I lie. “I’m sure she’s perfectly nice. But you . . . you wouldn’t even introduce me as your girlfriend. How do you think that made me feel?”

“Georgie, my darling, I’m really sorry. Vanessa is working with me on a particular case. She had to work on her own on Saturday because I was with you—we actually owe her one, okay? I was hoping she wouldn’t find out I was with you all day; I had made some excuse about being ill and told her that the maid had answered the phone. Then you turned up and started shouting at us!”

“Really?” I start to feel a bit silly.

“Yes, gorgeous.” David’s laughing now. “I am now the butt of a million jokes in the office. But that’s okay—you, and our night together, are absolutely worth it. But don’t read anything sinister into the fact that I had to work on Sunday, okay?”

“Okay,” I agree. “But you could have said you were in Rome to work. And not told me you were going to Geneva,” I say pointedly.

“I know. Georgie, I was a fool. I didn’t want to tell you I was going to Rome because I knew you’d want me to take you. In the event, it turns out that I could have done—and I’m so glad you were there—but I didn’t want our first trip to Rome together to be a business trip so I told you I was going to Switzerland instead. And then I was just so shocked to bump into you that I wasn’t thinking straight. Look, don’t be cross with me. I’ll make it up to you. How about we go out tomorrow night? I’ll take you out dancing again and if I even look at another woman you can get into a jealous rage and wallop me on the behind and—”

“Okay,” I giggle, “enough! I forgive you. But less of the touchy-feely stuff in future.”

“You don’t like me touching and feeling you?”

“Not me,her .”

“Okay, no touching. And certainly no feeling. I promise. So what do you say, shall we go out tomorrow for a night on the town?”

“We could . . .” To be honest I’m not really in the mood for going out.

“I hear hesitation. What’s the matter?”

“No, I’d love to, it’s just . . . I mean, I love dancing and everything, but it might be nice to, you know, stay in, just this once . . .”

Now David is laughing. “My darling, whatever you want. Why don’t you come round and I’ll cook?”

I agree gratefully and put the phone down. I know I thought I wanted a glamorous boyfriend who goes out all the time, but when it comes to it, I don’t actually. I want David, who I like being at home with.