Construct a Couple (12 page)

 “So how much do you know about Top Class Construction?” Tanya asks as the lift whooshes upwards.

Besides the fact they’re completely dodgy?
“Just the basics,” I say, not wanting to let on yet what I really do know. “You’ve been in business for a year, and managed to corner a good chunk of the market.”

“Yes, that’s right.” She nods, ponytail swishing back and forth. “But did you also know Top Class puts great stock in philosophy?”

“Philosophy?” I ask, staring in confusion. The employees read Plato in their downtime? What the hell is she talking about?

“Er, um . . .” Tanya’s eyes dart to a notebook in her hand. “Sorry. I meant philanthropy. We put great stock in
philanthropy
. In fact, next week, we’re going to announce a major donation to a charitable foundation!” Leaning closer, she lowers her voice. “Of course I can’t tell you all the details at the moment, but keep an ear open!”

Thank God I managed to get in here before Helen, I think, smiling through gritted teeth. She’d rip this chirpy PR to shreds.

“Take a seat” – Tanya points to a plush boardroom as the lift doors slide open – “and I’ll grab our CEO. You’re going to love her.”

Yeah, right. I grimace, feeling slightly ill. I can do this, I tell myself as I sink onto a padded leather chair. I have to. If I don’t warn the company now, Helen will barge in and tear them to pieces. I’m not sure even Julia could hold her own against such a fearsome character.

There’s a flurry of activity outside, and in walks an excited-looking Tanya followed by a tall, perfectly groomed blonde woman wearing a severe black suit.

“Hello, I’m Julia Adams.” Julia extends a slender hand, and it’s all I can do not to shrink away. “Thank you so much for coming to see us today. I love meeting members of the press.” A large diamond sparkles on one finger, and images of her over-the-top wedding to David flash through my mind. The familiar fury fills me as I recall Jeremy’s devastation at her traitorous actions. 

I gaze into Julia’s perfect, ice-queen face. Her glossy lips are curved in a smile, her skin is flawless (and she hasn’t even had Botox or fillers; I’d recognise them for sure); and silky hair cascades in a shining curtain past her shoulders. Everything is pulled together, tucked in, and covered with a smooth sheen of success.

Taking the freezing hand, I try not to wince as her fingers close around mine and the diamond bites into my palm.

“Sorry to rush you, but I’ve only got about ten minutes before I need to be in another meeting. Fire away!” Smiling confidently, she leans back in the chair and crosses her slim legs.

I can’t wait to wipe that grin off her face. God, I really would love to break the news of what her company’s been up to. But the thought of Jeremy’s expression when he learns his charity won’t get the much-needed influx of cash stops me cold, and a small pang of anger jabs inside when I realise to protect him, I also need to protect her.

“Um, okay.” I glance down at my notepad, unsure where to start. I have to admit, part of me is relishing the coming blow – even if it’ll never make the public realm. Hopefully, anyway.

“We’ve been speaking to various clients of yours,’ I begin.

“Fabulous. I can’t wait to hear what they’re saying.”

“One client we talked to is Rose House. A care home.” I watch her face, noticing her eyes narrowing slightly.

“Oh, yes?”

 “How do you respond to their allegations Top Class engaged in poor workmanship with inferior materials? And despite repeated requests, your company hasn’t fixed the mess it created?”

Julia snaps her fingers at the now-quivering PR.

“Out,” she orders Tanya, who scurries off without looking back. Digging lizard-skin stilettos into the carpet, Julia wheels her chair closer to mine, so near our legs are almost touching. Reflexively, I try to move away, but I’m already up against the wall. God, this woman’s scary.

“I don’t know who you’ve been talking to over there,” she says through a plastered-on smile, “but here at Top Class, we undertake each and every job with the highest of standards.”

“Does the name Ryan Johnson ring any bells? It should, for all the times he’s been in touch.” Recognition flickers across Julia’s face before she rearranges her perfect features back into a mask. “He claims his business is suffering because of your shoddy workmanship. It’s a great angle – elderly people at risk due to an uncaring construction company raking in millions . . .” I want to jolt her into some kind of damage control, but now that I’ve said it, it really does sound like a killer story. Damn.

“I think you should go,” Julia spits out, getting to her feet. Her previously smooth face is furrowed, and small dots of sweat have broken out under her nose. Ha! Maybe she should get Botox after all. “I won’t lower myself or my company to answer these accusations. I assure you, any allegations your publication prints will be taken very seriously by our legal team.”

Only if they’re printed? No, no, no. I need to scare her into attack more now. I stand up, too.

“Once this article gets out, it won’t matter what your lawyers do,” I say. “Your reputation will be ruined. And I’m sure our paper wouldn’t mind a little extra publicity; something to prolong the story. I can see the headlines now: ‘Top Class Construction Sues over Care Home Allegations’. That’ll hardly put a damper on the news, will it?” Ha! Take that, you corporate wench.

Julia steps threateningly towards me, but I hold my ground, even though I’m staring at her bullet-like boobs. “I think you should go now,” she repeats through clenched teeth.

“No problem! Thank you for your time.” As I march out, I almost collide with Tanya, who’s hovering in the corridor.

“All finished?” she chirps. “Got what you came for?”

“I hope so,” I respond as she shepherds me into the lift, pressing ‘G’ in case I can’t figure it out myself.

“Call if you have any other questions!” She waggles her red nails in the air as the doors slide closed. 

Sagging against the wall, I try to breathe to ease the heavy weight off my chest. What to do now? I may have warned Julia before Helen comes along and uses Guantanamo Bay interrogation tactics to extract information, but will it be enough? Even if Julia’s lawyers threaten the magazine, I can’t be sure the story won’t run.

I pray for a flash of inspiration, but my mind remains resolutely blank. Until I get another bright idea, I’ll wait it out at
Seven Days
. At least there I can keep an eye on Helen and stay on top of events until I determine the next step.

I run a hand over my face, unable to believe all this mess came from one tiny story. God, I wish I’d never delved into it – or at least that Jeremy had told me sooner Julia was behind the donation. As fantastic as the feature is, I wouldn’t have run with it had I known.

Or would I? A moment’s doubt flashes through me as I remember how much I wanted to impress Jonas; to gain full-fledged reporter status. But the one thing I’ve learned is success in a job doesn’t automatically equal happiness.

Right now, my happiness is wrapped up in a man lying prostrate on the other side of the city – a man whose world, carefully reconstructed through months of hard work, is about to cave in.

I race to a taxi rank. “
The Daily Herald
,” I tell the driver, then climb in the back.

Right now, my happiness depends on stopping that article.

CHAPTER NINE

As the cab bumps towards south London, my head pounds with the day’s events. Although I keep trying to come up with a plan, all I can think of is Jeremy lying so still, while a story brews that could damage his dreams.

I trudge into the newsroom, glancing from cubicle to cubicle as I make my way to Fact Check Row. Has Helen left for her interview yet? Has Julia’s team of lawyers been in touch? There’s nothing but the usual ringing of phones and clacking of keyboards, and I’m not sure whether to be happy or anxious.  

Lizzie glances up as I settle into my chair. “Hey! Didn’t expect you back today. Is your boyfriend all right?”

“Yes, thanks. He’s going to be fine. How have things been here?” I ask tentatively.

Gregor lifts his snout from the computer monitor. “Helen wants to see you.”

“You just missed her,” Lizzie explains. “I don’t know what happened, but the way she was acting, it looked like something crawled up her arse and exploded.”

A flicker of hope goes through me. If Helen’s angry, it could mean Julia cancelled the interview. Or . . . no. She couldn’t have found out about my little trip to Top Class. “Okay.”

“Take your shield,” Lizzie advises. “I told her you had to leave because your boyfriend was in the hospital, and she nearly lost it. Anyway, her cubicle is over in the corner.” She waves an arm to the far right of the newsroom.

“Thanks.” I haul myself to my feet again, exhaustion dragging at my body. God, after everything that’s happened, it feels like it should be the middle of the night.

Helen’s hunched over her desk, hammering the keyboard with two fingers. I watch for a minute, awed by her expert hunting and pecking, then turn my gaze to the photos plastering the cubicle walls.  She’s posing in each alongside an icon of the twentieth century: Ronald Regan; that Russian dude with the big birthmark; even Madonna! God, Helen
is
a legend. Or she was, anyway, before
Seven Days
started focusing more on puff pieces than politics.  

“Helen?”

She whips around, face set in an expression that would terrify Jack the Ripper.

 “There you are. You won’t believe what’s happened. I rang up to confirm the CEO interview this afternoon, and the bloody PR told me they’d have to reschedule.”

 “Really?” Oh, thank God. I almost collapse in a heap on the dirty beige carpet.

Helen nods so hard her head just about launches off her neck. “
No-one
reschedules an interview with me, Serenity. Not even bloody Nelson Mandela! And when I insisted we keep to our time, the PR hung up on me.” Her face is practically puce.

“Wow.” I can’t believe Tanya hung up on Helen! Things must really be in lock-down mode.

“God knows what’s going on over there,” Helen continues, “but whatever it is, it won’t stop us. Good stories always face obstacles, but great reporters overcome them. We’ve got your quotes from the earlier interview you did with the CEO, anyway. I’ll be speaking to this Ryan Johnson in a few hours, and our photographer’s on his way to the site now. That will be more than enough for the story.”

“Fantastic.” I force enthusiasm into my voice, commanding my lips to smile. Where the
hell
are Julia’s lawyers when you need them?

“Have you finished the research on building codes?” Helen asks, looking up at me over her glasses.

I shake my head miserably. “Not yet.”

“Well, you’d better get on with it, hadn’t you?” She stares pointedly towards the cubicle exit, and I turn away. So much for impressing the Great One, I think, plodding back to Fact Check Row. Helen’s barely taken any more notice of me than the wilting spider plant in her cubicle. I guess I should be grateful – after all, I
have
been trying to sabotage the article, not that it’s worked so far. But inside, a tiny bit of disappointment nips at my heart.

Sinking onto the chair, I rub my throbbing temples. Panic washes over me as I think of all the little tentacles this story has sprouted; tentacles I’ll need to cut to prevent it spreading. I can’t teleport myself to Surrey to stop a photographer; pull the plug on the phone system so Helen can’t reach Ryan; or hack into the newsroom network to make my research vanish. Even if I
did
delete my folder, I remember Gregor droning on about multiple back-up servers to ensure the magazine never loses material.  

Maybe the Shut Your Mouth policy shouldn’t apply to work issues, either? If only Jeremy and I had talked about our jobs – even if it
did
involve Her Royal Bitchiness – none of this would have happened.

As the afternoon ticks by, I train my ears anxiously in the direction of Jonas’s office, twitching every time his phone rings and praying it’s Top Class’s lawyers. God, you know it’s bad when your last hope depends on the legal department.

When my own phone rings, I jump so high I nearly land in Gregor’s lap (horror!).

 “Hello?”

“Come to my office.” It’s Jonas, and his tone is unreadable.

“On my way.” My heart pounds as I replace the receiver. Has Top Class been in touch? Please, God, please, I chant as I march down the corridor, crossing my fingers so tightly they turn white.

I pause outside the door. “Hi.”

“Serenity, come in.” Jonas points to a chair beside Helen. “About the Top Class story.”

Breathe through the nose, I remind myself, before I pass out from the stress. Oxygenate!

“I’ve had a call from Top Class’s legal department,” he continues. “They’ve somehow got wind of the allegations and are coming on strong, threatening legal action if we print anything to do with the situation over at Rose Care Home.”

Helen laughs. “Like that’s going to stop us. You know as well as I do the best defence for libel is the truth. We’ve got solid quotes from a source, and the photog should be back any second.”

 Jonas shakes his head. “I’ve spoken with the photographer. He says Top Class builders turned up just as he arrived. They’re doing a complete overhaul on the home, and they won’t let him through for a shot of the previous poor workmanship.”

“Which proves Top Class has something to cover,” Helen points out. “They wouldn’t send great numbers of workmen there unless they did.”

Jonas nods. “That may well be the case. But look, I read through the interview notes from this source, Ryan . . .”

“Johnson,” I say, before I can stop myself. 

“Yes, Ryan Johnson. He seems to have a legitimate grievance, but Top Class’s lawyers are claiming he didn’t follow the proper complaints procedure. Johnson himself says the contract states he can take Top Class to arbitration.”

“You’ll also see he couldn’t reach anyone to even speak about that option.” Helen’s voice is so cold it makes me shiver, and my gaze darts back and forth between the two of them like I’m watching a tennis match.