Between You and Me (9 page)

Lucian looks up from the file he is reading and gives another sharp grin, pointed teeth gleaming. He reminds me of a wolf stalking its prey. ‘
Charlie
. Please rest assured that, from my point of view, I have no concerns that the shareholders will not agree to these terms.’

‘Of course, Mr Pavlenco.’ I can’t help slipping back into being formal with him; he gives off an aura that makes me feel slightly nervous. ‘But you must understand that another company is also showing an interest in purchasing the communications company you wish to buy out. Therefore, it is in our best interests to ensure that the shareholders will agree to our terms. Legally, the shareholders must, in the majority, be in agreement for you to acquire the company. If this means we need to, shall we say,
amend
our terms to make things slightly more favourable for us, then that is what I suggest we do.’

‘As I said, Charlie’ – Lucian leans forward towards me across the table – ‘I have no fear whatsoever that the shareholders will not agree to the most generous terms that are set out here in our draft agreement.’ His voice is low and sends a tiny shiver down the back of my spine. I get the message. I lean back in my chair and busy myself with pouring more coffee.

‘Very well, Mr Pavlenco. I shall arrange for …’ The intercom buzzes on the boardroom table. ‘Apologies, I must answer this. Yes, Anita? I did request that I was not to be disturbed.’ I mouth ‘sorry’ towards Lucian, who shrugs and takes a sip of his coffee, before turning to what I assume is his bodyguard to whisper in his ear.

‘I’m sorry, Charlie, but I have a gentleman on line one who is insisting on talking to you. He says he’s not going to get off the line until he speaks with you.’

‘I’m in a meeting, Anita. I really can’t be disturbed. Take a number and tell him I’ll call him back in an hour or so.’

‘But Charlie …’

‘Anita, please. Just do it.’ I switch the intercom off to stop any further disruption and turn to Lucian. ‘Apologies, Lucian. So you’re happy with what we have written up in the draft agreement?’

Lucian stands and once again grabs my hand in his strong, vice-like grip. ‘I am satisfied that we will have no problems with this, Charlie. Thank you for meeting with me, and please, do not be worried by the interruptions. Perhaps we can meet for lunch soon? To speak of things other than mergers and buy-outs? Yes?’ He gives another wolfish grin and sweeps out of the room, his bodyguard trotting out after him.

I return to my office, catching Anita before she heads out of the door for lunch. ‘Jesus, Anita, what was all that about? I told you not to disturb me. Pavlenco is a big deal!’

‘Sorry Charlie, but this guy … he wouldn’t get off the phone. He said that he must talk to you, that it was really important. I thought maybe it was something to do with Sal, that something had happened, but he said it wasn’t. He said he needs you to call him back urgently. The number’s on your desk; his name is Radu Popescu. Is it OK if I go for lunch? And I’m sorry, Charlie – I wouldn’t have bothered you otherwise.’

‘It’s fine, Anita,’ I sigh, trying not to snap. ‘Go. I’ll call the guy back and see what he wants, although I can’t see anything being that urgent.’ Glancing at me apologetically, Anita puts her jacket on, smears on another slick of her trademark bright red lipstick and slinks quietly out of the door. I sit at my desk, pondering Lucian’s certainty that we won’t have any issues with the shareholders’ agreement with regard to our terms. With a bit of luck, it’ll all come off with no hitches, and I’ll be partner by this time next year. Then I’ll be able to relax a little bit. I pick up the post-it note Anita has left on my desk containing the name and number of the crank who called earlier. Screwing it up, I lean over and throw it into the wastepaper basket. If it’s that urgent, whoever he is will call back. I have more important things to worry about.

Chapter Seventeen

SAL

I buckle up Maggie’s sandals as best I can with my broken fingers bandaged up like sausages. They are awkward and bulky, making even the easiest jobs difficult.

‘Come on, Mags, give me a hand – can you do this buckle?’ The second shoe defeats me, the pain in my hand making my fingers throb like crazy. Maggie tuts, and starts trying to buckle it herself, while I quickly escape to the kitchen to swallow two more ibuprofen before I take Maggie over to visit my mum. The one good side to you getting the job three years ago at Hunter, Crisp and Wilson was that the job came with a significant pay rise, meaning we could leave our grotty old flat in South-East London and move out into Kent. Moving out of London meant our money could go a little further and we could stretch to a three-bedroom house. I argued in favour of Kent knowing that it meant I could be closer to my mum and dad, although I didn’t let you know this was my reason – I used my idyllic country childhood as a bargaining tool, stating that it wasn’t fair to expect Maggie to grow up in a dirty city when there was a beautiful county of woodlands, countryside and beaches on our doorstep and in our price range. So now, we live in a quiet Kentish village, just a twenty-minute drive away from my parents, but we probably see less of them than we did when we lived in London.

‘Quick then, Mags, or we’ll miss the bus.’ I finish off the last buckle where Maggie is still fiddling with it, and reach for her chubby little hand. You have taken the car keys to work, as I still haven’t earned them back yet, apparently, although I’m not sure how well I could drive with my hand all bandaged up anyway. I tried to put off the visit to my mother today, but when I called to cry off she went to great lengths to tell me how much she had missed Maggie, and how she hadn’t seen her since her birthday, so there was no way I was getting out of it. I just need to think up a good excuse to explain away the bandage.

Forty hot and sweaty minutes later we get off the bus in Little Wealden and start the short walk up the hill to my parents’ house. My hand is throbbing and Maggie is whinging – although she likes the idea of taking the bus, the reality is she is bored by the time we leave our village – and I am relieved when we arrive and my mum swings the door open like she’s been waiting for us all morning, which in all fairness she probably has.

‘Sal! You look frazzled, my love. Come on in and get a cold drink – where’s the car? Did you park up the road? Maggie, my beauty, come to Nonna.’ She swoops down and scoops Maggie up into her arms.

‘No, Mama, we caught the bus. I thought it might make it an adventure.’ I smile and, despite feeling the beginnings of a headache, my tension melts away once I am back at my childhood home. ‘A drink would be good, though. Come on, Mags, let Nonna back in the door. Papa might be out in the shed.’ Maggie squirms out of my mother’s arms and races for the back door. There’s nothing she loves more than ‘helping’ my father in his workshop – a shed that he set up in the back garden once he retired to keep him out of my mother’s hair.

‘I thought that was you.’ A voice comes through from the living room, and I enter to see my sister Anna sprawled out in an overstuffed armchair. I lean down to kiss her. ‘I didn’t know you would be here. How are you feeling?’

‘Fat. Hot. Sweaty. Decidedly unattractive. Pissed off and ready for this bun to be cooked. I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive Tony for getting me in this mess.’ She puffs her fringe away from her forehead and gives a wry laugh. Anna and Tony’s baby is due in only eight weeks, and while she may complain about how uncomfortable she is, we all know they are both desperate to meet their baby. It’s taken six years of trying and three rounds of fertility treatment for them to get this far.

‘Yeah, I don’t envy you in this heat,’ I say. ‘Just put those fat, swollen ankles up and rest while you can – before long you’ll be back to your normal skinny self but desperate for five minutes’ peace.’ Anna laughs, and my mother bustles in carrying a tray containing cold lemon squash and a plate of Mr Kipling’s French fancies. My mother still thinks I’m five years old sometimes, I swear.

‘I got your favourites in, Sally. Now, how’s Charlie getting on? Still working on that big deal? I hope you’re not being too neglected. You need to tell Charlie that life isn’t all work, work, work, you know. Family is more important.’ My mum eyes me over the top of her glasses.

‘Charlie knows that, Mama. It’s all OK. Yes, the deal is still on and it’s been very busy at work for Charlie, but everything is fine, don’t worry.’ I smile and reach for a sticky cake, even though in this heat it’s the last thing I want. Seeing me reach for the cake, my mum spies my bandaged hand.

‘Sal! What did you do? Oh, your poor hand, come here.’ Mama makes a grab for my bandaged-up fingers, and I jerk away from her. Shame and embarrassment prickle away at me, my cheeks flushing red, and I think fast for an excuse to offer my mother as to why my fingers are all trussed up like they are.

‘No, Mama! Please, it’s fine. I caught my fingers in the car door, and they’re just bruised. It’s fine, nothing to worry about.’

‘Well, let me take a look. I was a nurse, you know; when I first met your father, back at home in Vernazza. I met him when he came into the hospital when he sliced open his hand gutting a fish …’ My mum tells us this story every chance she gets and I hope this will steer her away from me and my bandaged fingers.

‘Yes, Mama, we know the story. Please, trust me. It’s fine. It’s just some bruising, and it’ll be gone in a day or two.’ This seems to satisfy Mama, who takes what I say as gospel, but I see a small frown cross Anna’s brow. To turn the attention away from my sore fingers, I bring up the subject of the impending birth of Anna’s baby, knowing that this will distract my mother for hours. Sure enough, she’s soon on a roll, lecturing Anna about not having her bag packed (‘Paola came seven weeks early!
Seven
. Can you imagine it? And I had
nothing
in the hospital.
Nothing.
And then your father turns up with the smallest pair of knickers I owned for me to wear home – could you imagine? After that labour!’) and scolding Anna for not having prepared meals for the freezer to ‘keep Tony going’ while Anna was in the hospital.

‘Mama, I’ll be in the hospital for, like, a night or something. Tony will live, don’t worry.’ Anna rolls her eyes at me. Mama turns her attention to me.

‘So, Sal, when are we going to get another grandchild from you and Charlie? Maggie starts school in September; you’re going to need something to do.’ Mama laughs at herself, while I find it hard to even muster up a smile.

‘Sorry, Mama, not going to happen. I’d love to have another one but Charlie says no. Apparently we can give a better lifestyle to Maggie if she’s an only child.’

‘Rubbish!’ Mama declares. ‘So you would have been happier if it was just you? I don’t think so, Sally; you’re from a big family, you need children around you. You’ve got to explain to Charlie that it’s a decision for both of you to make, not just Charlie.’ Anna nods her agreement.

‘Just think, Sal, if it was just you growing up,’ she says. ‘Imagine how boring it would be – and Mags is so sociable she needs other kids around her. Charlie’s being kind of selfish, don’t you think, if it’s not a decision you agree with?’ I concede that Anna has a point, but neither of them understands the true nature of our relationship and that’s definitely not something I want to start discussing with them.

‘I don’t really get a say in it, OK? At the end of the day, Charlie doesn’t want another baby. Doesn’t want a big family full stop and there isn’t any discussion about it, so let’s just all look forward to Anna’s baby and stop worrying about what I’m going to do.’ Saying the words out loud is painful; I still haven’t really got to grips with the fact that we won’t be having any more children. I don’t mention the job application sitting in my pocket. I see Anna raise her eyebrows at my mother but neither of them says any more. The discussion turns to Julia and Luca, and the restaurant they are in the process of setting up in Rome, and after a little while I call Maggie in from the shed and tell my mother I’ll see her soon.

‘I’ll see you out.’ Anna heaves herself to her feet and follows me through to the front door. ‘Are you sure you’re OK with the no more kids thing, Sal?’ Anna asks quietly, resting her hand lightly on my arm as I go to walk through the door.

‘Not really, Anna, to be honest, but what can I do? It’s not like I can make a baby on my own, is it? And Charlie is adamant that we shouldn’t have any more kids – I’m guessing it’s something to do with the family, when Charlie was growing up. Stuff happened that Charlie still hasn’t spoken to me about and I don’t want to push it. Anyway, between you and me, I’m applying for a job; just keep it quiet. I haven’t told Charlie yet.’ Anna nods. ‘OK, Sal. I’ll keep Mama off your back. I’m sure she’ll chill out a little bit once this little one arrives.’ She pats her enormous belly and I kiss her on both cheeks.

At the bottom of the lane I pause by the village postbox, fingering the envelope in my pocket that contains my job application for a Year Six teacher in a relatively decent part of South-East London. I take a deep breath and shove the envelope into the postbox.

Chapter Eighteen

CHARLIE

Heading back to my desk after a dismal lunch of a soggy Pret sandwich, I bump into Mr Hunter, also walking towards the lifts on his return to his office after, presumably, a more satisfactory lunch than mine. A small man, always dressed in slightly old-fashioned suits, with a pale brown moustache that he is fond of twiddling, Mr Hunter’s small stature belies the gravitas he actually exudes within the company.

‘Charlie!’ he exclaims, holding out a hand for one of his bone-crushing handshakes. For such a small man he has a mighty fine grip. Stella and I are looking forward to your dinner party tonight. I trust everything is still OK?’ Oh, God. The dinner party. I had completely forgotten that it was tonight.
Shit. I’d better get upstairs and call Sal, make sure everything is under control.
Confident that Mr Hunter hasn’t noticed the panic that flits across my face, I decide the only way forward is to style it out.

‘Of course, Mr Hunter. Sal and I are looking forward to welcoming you into our home – there’s nothing you don’t eat is there? Sal is a wonderful cook. You won’t be disappointed.’