To Murder Matt (3 page)

A smooth deep voice was saying her name. Ellen responded politely, her mind working over time trying to place the voice.

“You are a difficult woman to get hold of.”

“Am I?” She frowned.

“And nothing would give me greater pleasure than to get a hold of you, young lady.”

Ellen was stunned into silence. She had no idea who the caller was, or what to say in response.

“I have a table booked at the Ritz tonight, as I have a meeting in St. James. We could meet at eight.”

“Are you sure you have the right number?”  Ellen twirled the phone cord around her finger as she spoke.

“I’m sure I have...this is Ellen, isn’t it?”

“Yes...” She was still puzzled.

“Well, we arranged to meet for dinner at the party last week.”

“We did?  I’m sorry, who’s speaking?”

“Oh, this is Matt, Matt Mellor.  I feel rather silly, and if I am honest, I have obviously placed too much importance on our meeting at the party.”

“I’m sorry Matt. I do remember talking to you, but I certainly don’t remember arranging to meet you again.”

“Well, we left it that I would call you to confirm my London meeting, and that it would most like be today, tonight in fact, at the Ritz.”

“Hmm, really? That’s strange, as I am not normally a dinner date person. I could probably manage a lunch date sometime and preferably with a bit more notice than a few hours.”

“Ok, how about lunch today?”  he asked, with laughter in his voice.

“I’m sorry, that is out of the question. It’s too short of notice.” She replied sarcastically, “There is no way I could reschedule at this point, nor would I.  What about next week sometime?”

“Look Ellen, I want to see you again, and soon.  There must be some time you can allot for me in your busy schedule.”

“I’m sorry Matt. I have to go. I can’t talk right now.” She looked up as Sarah was coming back into her office. “But thanks anyway.”

“But...” She replaced the receiver before Matt could finish, and just as Sarah started talking.

“I’ve just got the photos for the fashion double page spread. They’re fabulous. Kelly actually took them on a cruise liner, a fabulous ship called the Emerald Queen.

She held them out to Ellen. They were excellent. The tanned models were striking poses around the pool in a bright array of diaphanous dresses; the blue sky and sun sparkling on the waves giving a spectacular background. Kelly had positioned some of the better looking crew against the ship’s railing which added more depth and further interest to the pictures. One picture had the captain smiling happily, as the model looked seductively at him.

“Mmm, they’re good. Send them down to Sabrina, will you? She can choose the best ones for her layout. Oh, and Sarah?  That meeting with the designers, can you think of an excuse for me, and postpone it? I’ve got to see Julian about changing the cover photo slightly and then I am off to lunch.” Sarah nodded and walked out of the office with her.

Returning to the office after lunch, Ellen was met with the air of excitement. Everyone looked up when she entered and began whispering wildly. Her whole office was filled from floor to ceiling with flowers, cuddly stuffed animals, helium balloons with trailing satin ribbons, every surface had bouquets of roses on them, and placed in the middle of her now covered with flowers desk, was a Fortnum and Mason’s picnic hamper; the largest she had ever seen. Its contents of caviar, champagne, truffles and additional delicacies displayed beautifully.  It was as though someone had gone into a shop and basically bought the entire contents, and filled her office with them all.

“What on earth...?”  At first she was amazed and then she quickly became annoyed; underneath all this frivolity was all her hard work. Sarah rushed over, flustered.

“I’m sorry Ellie, I tried to stop them, but they insisted.”

“Who did this?”

“We don’t know. There
is
a card with the hamper, but it’s sealed.” She pointed to the card and shrugged. The phone rang, and both turned to the sound.  Several floating balloons had been tied to the receiver by their ribbons.

“Hello?” As she answered the phone the balloons rose, and bounced gaily against the ceiling.

“I hope you had a nice lunch...without me.”

“Matt?”

“Yes, I was thinking about you...I hope you received my little token of...”

“YOU! Yes I have received everything, and I am furious!” Ellen spluttered into the handset. “This is an office, not a circus for your whimsical fancies.”

“No, don’t hang up, please. If you do, I shall keep sending flowers and gifts until I receive the answer I want.”

Ellen’s temper was rising; her eyes roamed the chaos around her.

“I will not be blackmailed into having lunch with you!”

“This isn’t blackmail. It’s a man who will do anything to get your attention, and I mean, anything. Besides, how can just one little hour of time spent with me be harmful?”

“OOOOOH!”  She slammed the phone down, and growled at all the mess in her office.

“Who was it?” Sarah asked, her curiosity driving her mad.

“Bloody Matt Mellor.”

“Matt Mellor? “
The
Matt Mellor? The sexy racing driver, rich and famous, drop dead gorgeous Matt Mellor? You mean him? Actually him?”

“Yes, that’s him.” Ellen sighed, and sat down.

“Wow!” Sarah moved a cuddly toy off the chair and sat down too. “What does he want?” She looked at Ellen sideways as though daring not to ask.  There was a little jealousy in her eyes.

“Lunch.”

“Lunch? That’s all?”

“Yup.”

“Well accept! You have to!”

“I’m not sure. I just have this feeling, that’s all.”

“Oh believe me,
lots
of women have that feeling about him, but not many are lucky enough to get to act it out!”

“No you don’t understand. I don’t mean
that
! It’s just something about him that makes me feel uncomfortable.”  Sarah waved her hand in the air to dismiss her.

“I would love to feel that discomfort. He’s just so flaming sexy.  He’s sex on legs.”

“I think that is what concerns me.”

“You are being paranoid. Go out with him. Have a good time. It’s not as if he is going to ask you to marry him, it’s only lunch, after all.”  She sighed. “I wish I could go out with him, but he didn’t ask me...”

Ellen reached through the flowers and the tissue paper of the gifts to find her diary. She was busy every day except for Thursday, and even her weekend was busy with a shopping spree, retail therapy with Delia.

“Hmm.” She picked up the phone and dialled the number she had found on the card in the picnic hamper.  She heard his voice answer.  “I’ll meet you Thursday at 1 p.m. Revolving sign at Scotland Yard.”  Before he had a chance to say anything, she hung up.

“Good.”  Sarah folded her arms, and got up to leave, but turned before she left, “But why the revolving sign at Scotland Yard?” she asked.

“Because I don’t want any funny business. It’s hardly romantic there, is it?”

D
ean sat deep in thought.  His fingers, acting with a life of their own, were drumming on the shiny mahogany surface of his desk.  He was oblivious to the mound of papers piled before him. The figures in the documents were not good. There had been quite a downturn in business lately, and he had to find a solution. The yacht design was taking more of his finances than he had budgeted for, and the various delays hadn’t helped either. A shaft of sunlight shone in the room from the window behind him, casting a temporary halo around his head. It dimmed slowly as a cloud covered the sun. The telephone rang and broke his thoughts with its shrill insistent ringing.

“Dean.”

“Yes?”

“Ken here. Is there any chance of you coming out here? We have a couple of problems that can’t be solved over the phone. I have been going over the specs again for the interior, and we might have overlooked a couple of things, but before I do anything I’d like you here for your opinion.”

“Uh, hold on a minute.” He lifted his leather bound desktop diary out from underneath some papers and flipped through the pages until he reach his schedule for the next few weeks. “When were you thinking of?”

“Asap.”

“Oh. I’ll have to reschedule a few meetings, but I should be able to make it there for the end of this week. That’s the earliest, I am afraid.”

“Hmm. Okay, let me have your flight details, and I’ll have someone waiting for you at the airport.”

“Okay, see you then.”  Dean hung up and turned to look at the now greying sky, clouds were rolling in, and what had previously been a clear blue sky was now gloomy and dull. He hoped it wasn’t indicative of his future, but it matched his present mood perfectly.

Knocking the desk leg with his foot, and standing up, he paced the room like a caged animal. He disliked travelling anywhere, especially now, when he’d found it was difficult to even find the funds for the trip. Quickly pulling up his contact list on his computer, he highlighted all those he would arrange a meeting with, possible investors, silent partners, and people who had said they were looking to buy his company from him in the past.

He opened his door.

“Margaret, I just emailed you a list of people I need meetings with next week. Also, I need a flight to Spain end of this week. Arrange it all, will you?”

“Do you need accommodation?”

“Oh yes, that too. Thanks Margaret.  Let Ken have all the flight details, will you?”

“Will do.”

Standing at the executive check-in desk at the airport, Dean tapped his foot with increasing impatience.  It was becoming more of a nervous habit, rather than one brought on by his impatience to check in. There were, after all, only two people before him in the check-in queue.  He looked over to the economy check-in desk, the ones that tourists used to go on holiday. Several in the queue were squabbling amongst themselves, and he wondered what had happened to dress codes.  A woman at the check-in desk was arguing with the attendant about excess luggage and allowances, which she had clearly flouted, if her bulging suitcase was anything to go by.

“But how can I make it lighter? You want me to empty it here, now?  No, I am not paying extra, I won’t.”  The attendant, realizing that the queue was getting ever longer,  while she was not getting anywhere with her passenger, called over a supervisor, who took the errant woman aside to ‘sort things’.

Sitting in the executive lounge, classical music gently playing in the background, Dean began reading the report Ken had emailed to him the night before.

“It's always the same, isn’t it?”

Dean looked up to see who was speaking to him.

“I said it’s always the same, you try and prepare for your meetings with little time and space, and then you are called to board, just as you are getting into the flow of things.  You work like a dog on board, and then just as you are ready to finish it all, you land. You arrive and you still aren’t prepared.”

A voice came over the speaker system announcing his flight was boarding.

“There you go, just as I was saying.”

Dean started packing away his papers and smiled at the stranger. Boarding, and sitting on the plane, he looked out of the window at the airport staff busying themselves around the plane. He saw someone sitting down next to him.

“We meet again.”  He held out his hand. “Matt, Matt Mellor.” He smiled. Dean took his hand and shook it as he introduced himself. He was hoping that this man wouldn’t talk all the way to Spain.

“What line you in?”

“Yachts.”

“Oh, pleasure or charter?”

“Both, plus design and bespoke manufacture. It depends on the individual client needs and requirements.”

“Is it profitable?”

“It can be, like anything it depends on your target market and contacts.”

“Have you a card?”

“Yes.” Dean took a business card from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to Matt. “Here you are.”

“Thanks, here is mine.”

Dean looked at the details on the small white card. 
Matt Mellor, Sports Marketing Consultant.
“Didn’t I meet you at a party recently? You were a racing driver, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I used to be in Formula 1, but since my accident, I am more behind the scenes now. I take it you aren’t a fan?”

“Not really, too fast paced for me.  You must have been aware of the dangers before you started, I mean, regarding your accident?”

“Yes, but there is the excitement of it all; the speed, the sound, the women, the money and the glory.  Now at thirty-five, I’m an old man of the business.  Also it’s a precision sport. Your reflexes, no matter how sharp you are, they slow over the years. Racing isn’t what it used to be. Years ago it was the skill of driving. Now it’s the skill of the technicians behind the scenes. We are just the oil monkeys driving the car.”

“Well paid oil monkeys though,” Dean replied.

Matt laughed.

“Yes, it has its perks.”

“Sounds like you had quite an accident, if you gave it up.”

“Well, I was afraid I had lost my edge. One tiny mistake could not only kill you, but your fans too. I decided to quit before I killed anyone, myself included.  I had a new prototype steering wheel, which failed.  I lost control and ended up smashing into the barriers. I only got out a few seconds before the car exploded.”

“My goodness.”

“Yes, so now I concentrate on marketing all different sports. I sell the advertising that you see in locations, sponsorship deals. That sort of thing.”

“With your contacts, that must be a great job.  Is it profitable?”

Matt smiled at the return question and realized instantly how he had sounded when he had asked.

“Yes, I think I am safe there. In order to be interested in sport, let’s take the F1 as an example.  You have to have a certain amount of capital to be actively involved and even race your cars, build a team, Research & Development, to follow them around the world, maintenance crews, flights and hotels for everyone. And let’s not forget the promo girls that look pretty on the tarmac!  For the fans, it’s the same. They have the same costs of travel and accommodation, although not to the same scale.  The glamour and the possibility of mixing with the elite and the rich, it all pulls in people from outside of the industry.  Maybe I am being cynical about it, but there are so many who will think nothing of spending several hundred thousand on advertising solely to get into the VIP tent and meet the drivers and their hangers on. Some will pay anything to have their logo on the side of the car.  It was easier years ago, when it was booming, but its still big money.”