Food Fight (24 page)
Susan heard Mark padding around in the kitchen, opening and closing the fridge door, as he prepared brunch. The smell of fresh coffee wafted along the corridor. Since moving in with him, only a few weeks after returning to Washington, one of her signal achievements had been to persuade him to ditch his stewed American filter coffee.
His phone sounded. Maybe it was a friend trying to persuade him to go for a run. It was something he did on Sunday mornings while she studied. But he’d promised her that today he would prepare her the most delicious blueberry pancakes this side of the Atlantic.
He came into the bedroom, where she was propped on a pillow consulting her tablet, trying to find a beachside place to rent for a few days when Lily visited with her new boyfriend. He was a doctor Lily had met online and sounded like a perfect match. Mark looked sombre.
“That was Aaron Steinfeld. You know, the class action guy?”
Why was he ringing on a Sunday morning? Mark cleared his throat. “It seems that the CEO of DeKripps has committed suicide.”
“Bubba? You’re kidding.”
“Is that what you call him? Yeah, well his wife found him hanged at home last night.”
“Hanged! Where? In Kansas?”
“Yeah, Topeka. Apparently he’d been depressed after the DeKripps share collapse.”
She put down her tablet in silence. She’d wanted to punish the corporation, but it had never crossed her mind that anyone would die. Let alone the boss with the smile and friendly manner who’d encouraged her at their video conferences. She’d actually liked him. But what if he was behind the Guilty Secrets scandal? What if he was the one to have ordered the smears and the attacks against her and her family?
She sank back while she digested the news. How could there be any room for doubt? DeKripps had tried to murder her. If she shut her eyes, she could still hear the screech of the Metro train braking, smell the sparks.
Mark sat on the bed beside her, put his arm round her naked shoulder where a faint red line was all that remained of the scar from her shoulder operation, and kissed her gently.
“It’s obviously going to be big news. Aaron must have been among the first to hear. It’s possible that journalists will try to contact you, of course.”
“I’m certainly not going to dance on Bubba’s grave.”
“No, you’re right. We should keep a low profile.”
“But just a second. What does this mean for the trial?”
She sat forward and took his hands. “I mean DeKripps has to be held responsible for what they’ve done, right?”
“It could certainly mean a delay. Let’s face it, this is a big deal. But I know what you’re worried about.”
She turned towards him. “Do you?”
“Yeah. Barney.”
She waited.
“Honey, I can
guarantee
you that Barney is going to jail. It might not be soon, but it will happen. I promise.”
She grabbed a robe and went into Mark’s den where he had his desk and a television. Dropping into a leather chair, she picked up the remote and turned to a news channel.
“Oh my God, Mark,” she leaned forward. “The flying circus is in Topeka.”
“Quick work,” he said, joining her. A blonde reporter was standing at the bottom of a long drive flanked by tall trees leading to a white mansion with a portico. They caught the end of her report—Bubba’s death was ‘not suspicious’ according to the police. But then she handed back to the studio where they were discussing the possible impact of the CEO’s death on the forthcoming DeKripps trial. One of the analysts described it as the ‘trial of the century.’
“I’ve seen enough,” she said, handing the remote to Mark who switched to mute.
“The trial of the century. Is that what you ordered, Ma’am?” he said, with a tug on an imaginary forelock.
“I want justice, that’s what. Immoral criminal conduct should be punished. And it’s pretty obvious that DeKripps must be the tip of the iceberg. Because all the food companies are at it. They’ve all been pouring harmful sugars into our food and think they can get away with it. The only difference, as far as I know, is that DeKripps crossed the line into crime. So if this doesn’t lead to tighter regulation, I don’t know what will.”
“Well, good luck with that in this town,” he said.
She knew he was talking about the lobbyists, the Congressmen in their pockets and the tight relationship between Big Food and the federal regulators.
“It has to be worth a try though, right?” She leaned over to kiss him. She could hear in the distance the tinkle of text messages dropping into her phone.
He grinned. “If you get arrested at a Congressional hearing, you’ll know who to call.” Did she really sound that much like Mimi?
“You know it’s over for DeKripps though, don’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Think about it. When companies are hit by scandals like this and there’s a shareholder stampede, they go belly up before you can say Enron. How many airlines do you know that survive a major crash? TWA, Swiss Air, they’re done.”
“So you’re telling me, as you’d say here, that DeKripps is toast?”
He laughed, straightening up. “Now what about some of those famous blueberry pancakes?”
She watched him disappear down the corridor, calling out, “And hold the sugar.”
She turned back to the muted TV where they were recapping the DeKripps story.
The last image she saw was Barney, his head bowed, being led from his Georgetown home by two uniformed police officers.
“See you in court, buster,” she said aloud, and switched off.
Food
Fight
is my debut novel and it’s dedicated to the memory of Sylvain.
So many old friends and new ones helped me in the writing and rewriting of this book. I thank particularly my first readers, Margaret Crompton, Janne Nolan and Catherine Taconet, for their frank critiques and encouragement. I’m indebted to Mike Gray, my Hampshire guide and sounding board.
Stanley Colvin and David Ferrera in the US gave me precious advice, as did Barry O’Brien, and Pat and Trevor Davies in the UK. Mary Friel, Gerard Spencer and Alan Newman kindly shared their expertise too.
My thanks also to Felicity Baker, Rupert Cornwell, Celia David, Anna Fifield, Becky Metcalfe and Claire Soares. The input from my brother, Graham, and Laure Crampont, helped me over the finish line.
And a big thank you to my agent, Annabel Merullo, for having faith at a critical time.
