Between You and Me (13 page)

Things take a slightly less perfect turn on our third day, and I begin to get a glimpse into the other side of you. You freak out at me for talking to someone on the beach, and I’m knocked sideways by the force of your rage – why are you angry with me? I’m pretty sure I haven’t done anything wrong. I tell you I just met the woman walking along the beach, that I barely really spoke to her; surely there’s nothing wrong with speaking to someone? I pull you close, wanting to give you a squeeze, but you push me roughly away and start shouting about how you don’t want to spend any time with other people, that this holiday should just be about you and me and no one else. I’m confused – I didn’t realise that spending time together on holiday meant I’m not allowed to even speak to anyone else. You are furious, and when you throw into the mix that I should have woken you up, I decide the best thing to do is be contrite and apologise. I’m not keen on confrontation at the best of times and I don’t want our first holiday to be spoilt by a huge row. I apologise, and promise not to speak to Amaryllis or her boyfriend in future.

This seems to appease you, even though a tiny part of me thinks your attitude is wrong, but when you go on to tell me how much you love me, and how it’s you and me against the world, I feel bad for feeling some animosity towards you. It must have been hard growing up in the environment you did and maybe I should cut you some slack – I know you do love me and perhaps I should feel flattered that you’re a bit jealous of my spending time with someone who isn’t you, even if it is just a two-minute exchange with someone on a beach. You don’t have anyone else important in your life; maybe I should feel flattered that you feel as strongly about me as you do.

Things go smoothly for the rest of the day. We snorkel, taking pictures with an underwater camera, but I am forever conscious of your temper, bubbling away under the surface, and think before I speak, something I’ve never felt I had to do with anyone before.

You are back to your normal self for the rest of the holiday, attentive and happy, making me crack up laughing at your ridiculous jokes. It’s as if you never freaked out at me, as if you never lost your temper as I’ve never seen you lose it before. I start to feel like maybe I was making a big deal about nothing – after all, everybody argues, don’t they? We do some more snorkelling, hire a speedboat, ride camels, and although I would have loved just a few days lying on a sunlounger reading, the exhilarating whirlwind of it all thrills me, draws me in and feeds my addiction to being with you. For the rest of the holiday this is, until our last night, when once again something sets you off and I am made to feel like a small child that has been disciplined. I make my way up to our room and get straight into bed, faking falling asleep immediately while you stand on the balcony and finish your drink so I don’t have to talk to you any further, your reasoning behind your outburst and the flimsy apology that followed not really cutting it. I lie there, eyes closed, thinking hard about what to do and feeling desperately unhappy. By the time we get back home, after a flight during which you don’t say a word to me, I am more or less convinced that the only option I have is to leave.

But of course I didn’t. Things reverted back to normal, you behaved as you always had before and, again, I thought it was a one-off. You were funny and affectionate, thoughtful and kind, and I let that push away the memories of how you treated me on holiday. I didn’t think it would become part of the cycle. I didn’t realise that that was the turning point, the first time I ever let you get away with speaking to me like that, the first time I didn’t call you out on it – the beginning of the cycle that we find ourselves trapped in now. The cycle I’m starting to think I need to escape from.

Chapter Twenty-Two

CHARLIE

I battle my way into work early on Monday morning. The tube is packed, dense with hot, sweaty bodies even this early in the morning. The heatwave that currently has Britain in its clutches is probably enjoyable to everybody else, all those people who don’t have to take the tube to work, but for those of us that do, it makes life unbearable. After spending the best part of an hour with my face crushed against someone’s armpit, by the time I reach the office I am not in the best of moods. This is not helped by the fact that, when I get to my office, after grabbing a quick coffee from the temperamental coffee machine outside the lifts (it claims to offer latte, macchiato, cappuccino, the works. It’s just a shame that whichever option you choose turns out to be the same dark-brown sludge, completely unrecognisable as the option selected. And that’s on the days when it actually works), Geoff is sitting at my desk, swivelling backwards and forwards on my chair and poking through my in-tray. I sigh, throwing my laptop bag onto the desk.

‘Morning, Geoff. To what do I owe the pleasure?’

‘Little bird tells me you had Hunter and his missus over for dinner Friday night. How did that go?’ Geoff is incurably nosey, and while he has no inclination to further his own career, I’m not always sure he’s happy to see me trying to further mine.

‘It went fine, Geoff. Nothing to report.’ I take a sip of my scalding coffee sludge and pointedly nod towards my chair. Geoff makes no effort to move.

‘So, Sal didn’t try and kill off old Hunter with a delicious seafood starter then?’ Geoff laughs a rumbling, deep laugh, made slightly breathless by the sheer number of cigarettes he smokes. ‘I knew you were ambitious, Charlie, but I didn’t think you’d resort to that to get your own way.’ Geoff quite plainly thinks that he is hilarious, and his big old belly heaves up and down as he chortles.
I am going to kill Sal for this.
I take a deep breath, in order to stop myself from launching across the desk and smacking Geoff in his big, wet mouth. Instead, I focus on the splotch of egg that stains Geoff’s tie and smile calmly, hoping that Geoff doesn’t realise my belly is swooping with butterflies and my pulse is thundering in my ears.
Please, God, don’t let everything be ruined.

‘Just a slight misunderstanding, Geoff. Sal pulled it back with an excellent baked Camembert, so no harm done. How did you find out anyway?’ I can’t resist asking, although I am dreading his response. I’ll be mortified if the entire office knows what happened on Friday night. I push at his arm, gesturing for him to move. He heaves his bulk out of my chair, and stands to one side to allow me to squeeze past him into my seat.

‘Saw Hunter this morning, so I asked him how it went, didn’t I? He said Sal tried to kill him.’ Geoff wheezes out another croaky laugh. I swear, if the guy doesn’t change his lifestyle soon he’ll be a goner.

‘What? Did he actually say that?’ I am alarmed, thinking to myself that if Mr Hunter really is pissed off about the whole dinner party thing, then it doesn’t matter whether I complete this buy-out successfully for Pavlenco or not, as I won’t be making partner anyway. Everything will have gone up in flames before it’s even started.

‘No, Charlie, of course he didn’t. He said it all went well, apart from Sal having to make him a different starter to everyone else. I heard him complimenting your house, your whisky and the fact that Sal does a grand job looking after the house and the baby.’ Geoff looks sheepish, and I narrow my eyes at him.

‘Geoff, did you even speak to Mr Hunter yourself?’ I am suspicious – I can’t see Stan making conversation like this with Geoff. While he’s always friendly and likes to remind us all in meetings that we are a ‘family’ firm, he’s not known for chatting about his personal life to the staff.

‘Errr … no. Not exactly. I was passing the kitchen and I heard Crisp ask him how it went, so I just waited for a bit … round the corner, you know. I just wanted to hear what he said, to see if it all went OK. I know what you think about me, Charlie, but I do want to see you do well.’ Geoff fiddles with his tie. I am strangely touched by this. Geoff is an idiot, ninety per cent of the time. He’s a good lawyer, but personally, he’s just not my cup of tea; the lack of ambition and ‘do just enough’ attitude is the complete opposite to mine. I smile at him, feeling a bit guilty for being annoyed with him.

‘Thanks, Geoff. I do appreciate it, you know. And you’re a good guy, even if you’re not up to my standards.’ We both laugh, and Geoff holds out a hand for me to shake.

‘I hope you remember that Charlie, once the firm is Hunter, Trevetti and Wilson.’

When Geoff leaves my office, I sit back in my chair and heave a sigh of relief. It looks like Sal hasn’t totally scuppered my chances of achieving what I’ve set out to do. I decide to ring home before Anita gets in.

‘Hello?’ Sal’s voice sounds husky, and I realise I must have woken the household up; if Maggie was awake she’d make sure Sal was, too. It’s not even 7.30am yet.

‘Sal, it’s me. Did I wake you? Sorry.’ I am feeling gracious now, knowing that Stan thinks the dinner party went well. I can afford to apologise to Sal for waking the entire house this early now I know things are going my way.

‘A bit. It’s OK. Is something wrong?’ Now more awake, Sal’s voice has a hint of urgency to it.

‘No, nothing’s wrong. Just the opposite, in fact. Geoff has just been in here; he overheard Hunter and Crisp talking in the kitchen. Stan was telling Crisp how well the dinner party went and how you pulled off an excellent meal. Sal, do you know what this means? It means that if the Pavlenco deal comes off, I’ve done it! It’ll be my name on the letterhead.’

‘That’s … brilliant, Charlie. Really brilliant. I’m so pleased. Everything is just falling into place, isn’t it?’ I can hear Maggie start shouting in the background, and Sal murmurs to her.

‘Listen, I just wanted to tell you, that’s all. I knew you’d be pleased; I’d better let you go and see to Maggie. I’ll be home late tonight, I expect. I really need to pull out all the stops on the Pavlenco deal, but at the weekend we’ll celebrate, yeah? Do something nice, all of us together, like at the river the other weekend. We all enjoyed that, didn’t we?’

‘OK. Whatever you want to do, Charlie, it’s all fine with me.’ Sal still sounds tired, but I don’t want to get into a big conversation about how Sal isn’t sleeping properly, or how Maggie keeps getting up (I know Maggie keeps getting up – I can hear her. I just don’t think, if I’ve got to go to work in the morning, that it’s my place to get up with her), so I don’t ask, hanging up before the conversation can start. I can’t stop the huge grin that spreads across my face as I lean back in my chair with my hands behind my head. I am totally going to nail this deal – and then everything will be spot on. Everything will be perfect.

I have already spent an hour or so pulling together different aspects of the Pavlenco deal when Anita lets herself into the office. Within a few minutes of arriving she’s refreshed my coffee (with coffee from the percolator that she keeps behind her desk; none of that machine muck once Anita gets in), and then she comes in and takes a seat on the other side of the desk.

‘Charlie, we need to go through these emails that came through on Friday after you left and there are several phone messages for you – a couple from the gentleman who called you last week.’ Anita shuffles through her notepad and I frown, trying to remember exactly whom she’s talking about.

‘Who, Anita? What’s the guy called? I can’t remember everyone who leaves me a phone message.’ As I say it, something clicks in my memory and I have a sneaking suspicion it’s the guy who called wanting to talk about Lucian Pavlenco.

‘His name is Radu Popescu; he called before, wanting to talk to you – remember? He said he wouldn’t get off the phone until he spoke to you and I managed to fob him off the first time. He called again on Friday, same thing. He refused to get off the line until he spoke to you. I tried to tell him you had already left for the day, but he wasn’t having any of it. I’m sorry, Charlie. I had no choice.’

‘What do you mean,
you had no choice
?’ I raise my voice slightly, feeling a prickle of alarm – I really hope Anita hasn’t done anything stupid, like giving this guy my mobile number.

‘Don’t panic, I didn’t give him your mobile number.’ Anita knows me well; she must have seen the look of panic cross my face. ‘But I did have to give him your email address. He was insistent that it’s a matter of life or death he speaks to you. I can’t imagine what he’s got to say; it was all terribly dramatic.’ Anita looks at me from over the top of her glasses. She has this real knack of pulling a mother hen act on me, while all the time maintaining her high level of professionalism. If I get made partner,
when
(I feel so much more confident saying that this morning), I’ll make it a condition that Anita comes with me, instead of my PA being one of the girls from the partners’ offices.

‘I have no idea, Anita, believe me. Don’t worry, I’ll check my emails and see what’s been sent through. Pavlenco is a highly respected businessman; I doubt it can be anything that bad.’ Anita runs through the other phone messages and emails that have come in since I left on Friday afternoon. Now I remember why I stay late in the office. The amount of stuff I have to go through every time I leave before 8pm makes the early finish a complete waste of time.

When Anita has finished and goes back to her desk, ready to type up the letters I have dictated to her, I turn my attention to my emails. My curiosity is piqued by this Radu Popescu and his insistence on talking to me. His name has never come up in any of the conversations I have had with Lucian, so I’m completely in the dark as to what he might want from me. Surely it can’t be anything that could jeopardise the deal, or Pavlenco would have told me about him. I am wading through email after email, forwarding relevant information over to Anita for printing, or to add to the ever-growing pile of things I have to respond to, when Mr Hunter,
Stan
, pokes his head through the door.

‘Good morning, Charlie. How are you today?’ His moustache is wiggling above his smile, and I can see where he has twiddled the ends, something I’ve noticed he does a lot. Some sort of compulsive habit, maybe?

‘Very well, thank you, Mr Hunter.’ I give him a confident smile, all shining white teeth, and stand to shake his hand.