Remember Me? (28 page)

“To be honest…no,” I say, my voice quivering. “It was a pretty terrible day. The entire department is being fired.” As I say the words out loud I can’t help it—I dissolve into tears. “All my friends. They’re all losing their jobs. And they all hate me…and I don’t blame them….”

“Darling.” Eric puts down his paper. “It’s business. These things happen.”

“I know. But these are my
friends
. I’ve known Fi since I was six.”

Eric seems to be thinking as he sips his drink. At last he shrugs and turns back to the paper. “Like I say, these things happen.”

“They don’t just happen.” I shake my head vehemently. “You stop them from happening. You fight.”

“Sweetheart.” Eric appears amused. “You still have your job, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“The company’s not collapsing, is it?”

“No.”

“Well, then. Have a gin and tonic.”

How can he respond like that? Isn’t he human?

“I don’t want a gin and tonic, okay?” I feel like I’m spiraling out of control. “I don’t want a bloody gin and tonic!”

“A glass of wine, then?”

“Eric, don’t you understand?” I almost shout. “Don’t you
get
how terrible this is?”

All my rage toward Simon Johnson and the directors is swiveling direction like a twister, channeling toward Eric, with his calm roof terrace and his Waterford glass and his complacent life.

“Lexi—”

“These people need their jobs! They’re not all…ultra-high rich bloody billionaires!” I gesture around at our glossy balcony. “They have mortgages. Rent to find. Weddings to pay for.”

“You’re overreacting,” Eric says shortly, and turns a page of his paper.

“Well, you’re underreacting! And I don’t understand. I just don’t
understand
you.” I’m appealing to him directly. Wanting him to look up, to explain his view, to talk about it.

But he doesn’t. It’s like he didn’t even hear me.

My whole body is pulsating with frustration. I feel like throwing his gin and tonic off the balcony.

“Fine,” I say at last. “Let’s not talk about it. Let’s just pretend everything’s okay and we agree, even though we don’t.” I wheel around and draw a sharp breath.

Jon is standing at the doors to the terrace. He’s wearing black jeans and a white T-shirt and shades, so I can’t see his expression.

“Hi.” He steps down onto the terrace. “Gianna let me in. I’m not…intruding?”

“No!” I turn away swiftly so he can’t see my face. “Of course not. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

Of all the people to show up. Just to make my day complete. Well, I’m not even going to look at him. I’m not going to
acknowledge
him.

“Lexi’s a little upset,” Eric says to Jon in a man-to-man undertone. “A few people at her work are losing their jobs.”

“Not just a few people!” I can’t help expostulating. “A whole department! And I didn’t do anything to save them. I’m supposed to be their boss and I fucked up.” A tear creeps down my cheek and I roughly wipe it away.

“Jon.” Eric isn’t even listening to me. “Let me get you a drink. I’ve got the Bayswater plans right here. There’s a lot to talk about….” He gets up and steps into the sitting room. “Gianna! Gianna, are you there?”

“Lexi.” Jon comes across the terrace to where I’m standing, his voice low and urgent.

He’s trying it on again. I don’t believe this.

“Leave me
alone
!” I round on him. “Didn’t you get the message before? I’m not interested! You’re just a…a womanizing bullshitter. And even if I were interested, it’s not a good time, okay? My whole department has just crumbled to nothing. So unless you have the answer to that, piss off.”

There’s silence. I’m expecting Jon to come back with some cheesy chat-up line, but instead he takes off his shades and rubs his head as though perplexed.

“I don’t understand. What happened to the plan?”

“Plan?” I say aggressively. “What plan?”

“Your big carpet deal.”

“What carpet deal?”

Jon’s eyes snap open in shock. For a few moments he just stares at me as though I have to be joking. “You’re not serious. You don’t
know
about it?”

“Know about
what
?” I exclaim, at the end of my tether. “I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about!”

“Jesus Christ.” Jon exhales. “Okay, Lexi. Listen to me. You had this massive carpet deal all lined up in secret. You said it was going to change everything, it was going to bring in big bucks, it was going to transform the department…. So! You enjoy the view, huh.” He seamlessly switches track as Eric appears at the door, holding a gin and tonic.

Massive carpet deal?

My heart is beating fast as I stand there, watching Eric give Jon his drink and pull out a chair under the huge sunshade.

Ignore him,
says a voice in my head.
He’s making it up. He’s playing you—this is all part of the game.

But what if it’s not?

“Eric, darling, I’m sorry about earlier.” My words come out almost too fluently. “It’s just been a difficult day. Could you possibly get me a glass of wine?”

I’m not even looking at Jon.

“No problem, sweetheart.” Eric disappears inside again and I wheel around.

“Tell me what you’re talking about,” I say in low tones. “Quickly. And this better not be a windup.”

As I meet his gaze I feel the sting of humiliation. I have no idea if I can trust anything he says or not. But I have to hear more. Because if there’s just a
one
percent chance that what he’s saying is true…

“This isn’t a windup. If I’d
realized
before that you didn’t know…” Jon shakes his head incredulously. “You’d been working on this thing for weeks. You had a big blue file that you used to carry around. You were so excited about it you couldn’t sleep—”

“But what
was
it?”

“I don’t know the exact details. You were too superstitious to tell me. You had this theory I was a jinx.” His mouth twists briefly as though he’s sharing a private joke. “But I know it was using retro carpet designs from some old pattern book. And I know it was going to be huge.”

“But why don’t I know about it? Why doesn’t anyone know about it?”

“You were keeping it quiet until the last moment. You said you didn’t trust everyone at the office and it was safer not to.” He lifts his voice. “Hey, Eric. How’s it going?”

I feel like I’ve been slapped in the face. He can’t stop there.

“Here you are, Lexi,” Eric says cheerfully, handing me a glass of wine. Then he heads to the table, sits down, and gestures at Jon to sit. “So the latest is, I spoke to the planning officer again…”

I’m standing perfectly still as they talk, my mind racing, torn apart with uncertainty. It could all be bullshit. Maybe I’m a gullible fool, listening to even a word.

But how would he know about the old pattern book? What if it’s true? My chest constricts with a deep, painful spasm of hope. If there’s still a chance, even a
tiny
chance…

“Are you all right, Lexi?” Eric shoots me an odd look, and I realize I’m standing stock-still in the middle of the terrace, my hands clasped to my face.

“Fine.” Somehow I gather myself, retreat to the other end of the terrace, and sit down in a galvanized-steel swing seat. The sun is hot on my face. I’m barely aware of the distant roar of traffic below. Over at the table, Jon and Eric are studying an architect’s drawing.

“We might have to rethink the parking completely.” Jon is sketching on the paper. “It’s not the end of the world.”

“Okay.” Eric sighs heavily. “If you think it can be done, Jon, I trust you.”

I take a deep swig of wine—then pull out my phone. I cannot believe I’m about to do this. With fumbling hands I find Jon’s number and type a text.

Can we meet? L

I press Send, then immediately slip my phone into my bag and stare rigidly out at the view.

A moment later, still sketching and without looking anywhere near me, Jon takes his phone out of his pocket with his other hand. He checks it briefly and types back a return text. Eric doesn’t even seem to notice.

I force myself to count to fifty—then casually flip open my phone.

Sure. J

Chapter 17

We’ve agreed to meet in a café called Fabian’s in Holland Park, a small, cozy place with terra-cotta painted walls and prints of Tuscany and shelves full of Italian books. As I walk in and look around at the granite bar, the coffee machine, the battered sofa…I have the weirdest feeling—like I’ve been there before.

Maybe I’m just having déjà vu. Maybe it’s wishful thinking.

Jon is already sitting at a table in the corner, and as he looks up I feel my guard rising. Against all my better instincts, after all my protests, here I am, meeting him illicitly. Just like he wanted all along. I feel like I’m falling into some kind of trap…but I don’t know what the trap is.

Anyway, I’m meeting him for business reasons. As long as I remember that, I’ll be fine.

“Hi.” I join him at the table, where he’s drinking coffee, and drop my briefcase on an adjoining chair. “So. We’re both busy people. Let’s talk about this deal.”

Jon is just staring at me, as though trying to work something out.

“Is there anything more you can tell me?” I add, trying to ignore his expression. “I think I’ll have a cappuccino.”

“Lexi, what
is
this? And what the fuck happened at the party?”

“I…I don’t know what you mean.” I pick up the menu and pretend to be studying it. “Maybe I’ll have a latte.”

“Come on.” Jon pulls the menu down so he can see my face. “You can’t hide. What happened?”

He thinks this is funny. I can tell it from his voice. With a jag of wounded pride, I slap the menu down on the table.

“If you must know,” I say tightly, “I spoke to Rosalie at the party, and she told me about your…predilections. I know it was all bullshit. And I don’t appreciate being bull-shitted, thanks.”

“Lexi—”

“Don’t try and pretend, okay? I know you tried it on with her and Margo.” An edge of bitterness has crept into my voice. “You’re just some smooth operator who tells married women what they want to hear. What you
think
they want to hear.”

Jon’s expression doesn’t flicker.

“I did try it on with Rosalie and Margo. And I might have gone”—he hesitates—“a tad too far. But you and I agreed I should. That was our cover.”

Well, of
course
he’d bloody well say that.

I glare at him in impotent fury. He can say anything he likes, and there’s no way for me to know whether he’s speaking the truth or not.

“You have to understand.” He leans across the table. “It was all fake. We cooked up a story that would fool everyone, so if we were ever spotted together, that could be the explanation. Rosalie fell for it, just like we wanted her to.”

“You
wanted
to be portrayed as a womanizer?” I retort, rolling my eyes.

“Of course not!” There’s a sudden heat to his voice. “But we had a couple of…near misses. Rosalie, in particular—she’s sharp. She would have cottoned on.”

“So you chat her up.” I can’t help the sarcasm. “Nice. Really classy.”

Jon meets my look steadfastly. “You’re right. This hasn’t all been pretty. It’s not a perfect situation and we’ve made mistakes.” He reaches a hand toward mine. “But you have to trust me, Lexi. Please. You have to let me explain everything.”

“Stop it!” I whip my hands away. “Just…stop! We’re not here to talk about that, anyway, it’s irrelevant. Let’s stick to the subject.” A waitress approaches the table and I look up. “A cappuccino, please.” As soon as the waitress moves away, I say briskly, “So, this deal. It doesn’t exist. I’ve looked everywhere. I went into the office and searched every tiny corner, every computer file. I’ve looked at home, nothing. The only thing I’ve found is this.” I reach into the briefcase and produce the piece of paper with the coded scribbles on it. “There was an empty drawer in my desk. This was in there.”

I’m half-hoping Jon’s eyes will light up and he’ll say, “Aha! The key!” like we’re in
The Da Vinci Code
. Instead he glances at it and shrugs. “That’s your handwriting.”

“I know it’s my handwriting.” I try to keep my patience. “But I don’t know what it means!” In frustration I throw the paper down. “Why on earth didn’t I keep my notes on the computer?”

“There’s a guy at work, Byron?”

“Yes,” I say guardedly. “What about him?”

“You didn’t trust him. You thought he actually
wanted
the department to be disbanded. You thought he’d try and screw things up for you. So you were going to present the whole thing to the board when it was already done.”

The door to the café swings open and I jump in guilt, imagining it’s Eric. I’m all ready with an excuse at the tip of my tongue,
I was just out shopping and guess what, I bumped into Jon! By total coincidence!
But of course it’s not Eric, it’s a cluster of teenagers who start talking in French.

“So you don’t know anything else.” My guilt makes me sound aggressive, almost accusing. “You can’t help me.”

“I didn’t say that,” Jon replies calmly. “I’ve been thinking back, and I did remember something. Your contact was Jeremy Northam. Northwick. Something like that.”

“Jeremy Northpool?” The name pops into my head. I can remember Clare thrusting a Post-it at me with his name on it. Along with the other thirty-five Post-its.

“Yes.” Jon nods. “That could be it. Northpool.”

“I think he called while I was in hospital. Several times.”

“Well.” Jon raises his eyebrows. “Maybe you should call him back.”

“But I can’t.” I drop my hands on the table in despair. “I can’t say ‘Hi, this is Lexi Smart, do we have a deal, oh and by the way, what’s your business?’ I don’t know enough! Where’s all the information?”

“It’s there.” Jon is stirring his coffee. “It’s there somewhere. You must have moved the file. Hidden it somewhere, or put it somewhere for safekeeping…”

“But
where
?”

The waitress arrives and puts a cappuccino down in front of me. I pick up the little freebie biscuit and distractedly start unwrapping it. Where would I have put a file? Where would I hide it? What was I thinking?

“I remember something else.” Jon drains his cup and gestures to the waitress for another. “You went down to Kent. You went to your mother’s house.”

“Really?” I look up. “When?”

“Just before the accident. Maybe you took the file down.”

“To my mum’s house?” I say skeptically.

“It’s worth a chance.” He shrugs. “Call her up and ask her.”

I stir my cappuccino moodily as the waitress brings over another coffee for Jon. I don’t want to ring up Mum. Ringing Mum is bad for my health.

“Come on, Lexi, you can do it.” Jon’s mouth twitches with amusement at my expression. “What are you, woman or walrus?”

I raise my head, stunned. For a moment I wonder whether I heard that right.

“That’s what Fi says,” I say at last.

“I know. You told me about Fi.”

“What did I tell you about Fi?” I say suspiciously.

Jon takes a sip of coffee. “You told me you met in Mrs. Brady’s class. You had your first and last cigarette with her. You went to Ibiza together three times. Losing her friendship has been really traumatic.” He nods at my phone, sticking out of my bag. “Which is why you should make the call.”

This is so
spooky
. What the hell else does he know? Sliding him wary glances, I take the phone out of my bag and key in Mum’s number.

“Lexi, I’m not magic.” Jon looks even more as if he wants to laugh. “We had a relationship. We talked.”

“Hello?” Mum’s voice on the line tears me away from Jon.

“Oh, Mum! It’s me, Lexi. Listen, did I bring some papers down any time recently? Or like…a folder?”

“That big blue folder?”

I feel an almighty thrust of disbelief. It’s true. It exists. I can feel the excitement rising inside me. And the hope.

“That’s right.” I try to stay calm. “Do you have it? Is it still there?”

“It’s in your room, exactly where you left it.” Mum sounds defensive. “One corner may be
slightly
damp…”

I don’t believe it. A dog’s peed on it.

“But it’s still okay?” I say anxiously. “It’s still legible?”

“Of course!”

“Great!” I clutch the phone tighter. “Well, just hold on to it, Mum. Keep it safe and I’ll come and get it today.” I flip my phone shut and turn to Jon. “You were right! It’s there. Okay, I have to go down there straightaway. I have to get to Victoria—there’s bound to be a train in the next hour…”

“Lexi, calm down.” Jon drains his coffee. “I’ll drive you, if you like.”

“What?”

“I’m not busy today. It’ll have to be in your car, though. I don’t have one.”

“You don’t have a car?” I say disbelievingly.

“I’m between cars at the moment.” He shrugs. “I use my bike or taxis. But I
do
know how to drive a swanky Mercedes open-top.” Again he looks like he’s sharing a private joke with someone.

With me, it suddenly hits me. With the girl I used to be.

I open my mouth to speak—but I’m too confused. My head is teeming with thoughts.

“Okay,” I say at last. “Okay. Thanks.”

We have our story totally worked out. At least I do. If anyone asks, Jon is giving me a driving lesson. He just happened to drop by when I was getting into the car, and just happened to offer.

But no one does ask.

It’s a sunny day, and as Jon reverses the car out of its parking space, he retracts the roof. Then he reaches in his pocket and hands me a black hair elastic. “You’ll need this. It’s windy.”

I take the hair elastic in surprise. “How come you have this in your pocket?”

“I have them everywhere. They’re all yours.” He rolls his eyes, signaling left. “I don’t know what you do,
shed
them?”

Silently, I put my hair up into a ponytail before it can get windswept. Jon turns onto the road and heads to the first junction. “It’s in Kent,” I say as we pull up at the lights. “You have to head out of London on the—”

“I know where it is.”

“You know where my mother’s house is?” I say a touch incredulously.

“I’ve been there.”

The lights turn green and we move on. I stare out at the grand white houses passing by, barely noticing them. He’s been to Mum’s house. He knows about Fi. He has my hair elastic in his pocket. He was right about the blue folder. Either he’s really,
really
done his research, or…

“So…hypothetically,” I say at last. “If we were once lovers…”

“Hypothetically.” Jon nods without turning his head.

“What exactly happened? How did we…”

“Like I told you, we met at a launch party. We kept bumping into each other through the company. I came over to your place more and more. I’d arrive early, while Eric was still tied up. We’d chat, hang out on the terrace…. It was innocuous.” He pauses, negotiating a tricky lane-change. “Then Eric went away one weekend. And I came over. And after that…it wasn’t so innocuous.”

I’m starting to believe. It’s like the world is sliding—a screen is going back. Colors are becoming sharper and clearer.

“So what else happened?” I say.

“We saw each other as often as we could.”

“I know
that
.” I cast around. “I mean…what was it like? What did we say, what did we do? Just…tell me stuff.”

“You crack me up.” Jon shakes his head, his eyes crinkled in amusement. “That’s what you always said to me in bed. ‘Tell me stuff.’”

“I like hearing stuff.” I shrug defensively. “Any old stuff.”

“I know you do. Okay. Any old stuff.” He drives silently for a while and I can see a smile pushing at his mouth as he thinks. “Everywhere we’ve been together, we’ve ended up buying you socks. Same thing every time, you rip off your shoes to be barefoot on the sand or the grass or whatever, and then you get cold and we need to find you socks.” He pulls up at a crosswalk. “What else? You’ve got me into putting mustard on fries.”

“French mustard?”

“Exactly. When I first saw you, I thought it was an evil perversion. Now I’m addicted.” He pulls away from the crossing and turns onto a big dual carriageway. The car is speeding up; he’s harder to hear over traffic noise. “One weekend it rained. Eric was away playing golf and we watched every single episode of
Doctor Who,
back to back.” He glances at me. “Should I keep going?”

Everything he’s saying is resonating. My brain is tuning up. I don’t remember what he’s talking about, but I’m feeling stirrings of recognition. It feels like me. This feels like my life.

“Keep going.” I nod.

“Okay. So…we play table tennis. It’s pretty brutal. You’re two games ahead, but I think you’re about to crack.”

“I am
so
not about to crack,” I retort automatically.

“Oh, you are.”

“Never!” I can’t help grinning.

“You met my mum. She instantly guessed. She knows me too well to kid her. But that’s okay. She’s cool, she’d never say anything.” Jon pulls into another lane. “You always sleep on the left. We’ve had five whole nights together in eight months.” He’s silent for a moment. “Eric’s had two hundred and thirty-five.”

I don’t know how to reply to that. Jon’s gaze is focused ahead; his face is intent. “Should I keep going?” he says at last.