Minnie Chase Makes a Mistake (2 page)

Minnie had spent a fortune on personal coaching lessons and appeared to have had no return on her investment to date.

Minnie arrived at The Savoy one hour before the dinner was due to start. No one from the office was there. She sussed out the seating plan and the nearest direct exit. She effortlessly memorised names including Ashton Greene’s fiancée, Parker Bachmann, the political power wower from San Francisco. 

A.A Jones, she noted, had positioned herself directly opposite Minnie and Greene. She was four seats away but still too close for comfort. Minnie could not afford to make a mistake tonight. It had to go to plan.

Minnie watched waiters polish glasses to high-shine perfection and adjust cutlery to exact dimensions in proximity to plates. Then she went to the bar and reluctantly resisted the temptation to order a glass of wine. She politely asked for mineral water, still, no ice – she couldn’t risk choking to death on a night like tonight. She waited, almost crippled with nerves. 

She watched Greene’s security team sweep the place to eliminate any threats to the great man. She had been informed that they were hand-picked ex-Navy SEALs with save-the-world reputations. They also had chest measurements comparable with the earth’s circumference. Their combat-ready presence threatened The Savoy’s serene atmosphere. Ear pieces snugly in place they barked orders as they worked. Minnie watched one of the men go over the cutlery with a futuristic-looking metal wand, checking for goodness knows what. She pictured tomorrow’s headline:
American mogul shaken by sugar spoon assassination attempt. 

Then suddenly one of the men was thundering towards her, trigger finger pointing directly at her. 

She snapped out of people-watching mode and attempted to look official.

He loomed over her, eclipsing the light from an overhead chandelier. ‘This is a private function.’

‘Yes, I know,’ stated Minnie, straightening her shoulders, trying to look corporate and official. ‘I’m with Jones & Sword. A.A Jones is my boss.’

He glared at her. 

She studied him. He had a dogtag swinging around his neck stamped with ‘Dragonet’, which was the name of the security firm. His name was also visible but she couldn’t make out the rest of the writing without leaning forward. Sudden movements didn’t seem wise at this given moment. The thick-set black-clad ninja continued to tower over her. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he whipped a grenade out of his pocket and dropped it down the front of her dress. 

When he didn’t say anything, Minnie elaborated: ‘We’re hosting tonight’s dinner.’

He continued to glare at her and for a horrible moment Minnie thought she was about to be vigorously frisked. He eventually backed off, but not before snapping a photo of Minnie with his phone.  

Minnie now understood why some cultures believed that a photograph could steal a subject’s soul. She felt horribly uncomfortable and exposed.

Then the full Greene team arrived in a whoosh of more security. These men wore dinner suits and sullen expressions accessorised with ear pieces and knock-you-dead aftershave. 

There was a perimeter of protection around Greene that reached presidential level. Even the entertainment was a military operation and the pre-dinner drinks were dispatched with terminal velocity before everyone was marched through into the restaurant. Time is money, seemed to be the message at large.

As the evening progressed, Minnie didn’t know what A.A Jones had been so worried about. She had been hurriedly introduced to Ashton Greene before being bundled out of his line of vision to allow significantly more important people talk time with the moneyed mogul. 

It gave her a chance to observe. Greene was gracious and polite, greeting guests with a firm handshake and eye contact. She had seen many photos of him posing with the formidable Parker Bachmann at fundraising events and parties. It was interesting to see him in person. 

First impression, great hairline although his thick, dark hair was prematurely greying. Minnie had done her research and knew that Greene was born in New York 39 years ago. She also noted very blue staring eyes, slightly hooded to add intensity to his stare. He wore an immaculately tailored suit that gave him a streamlined silhouette. She guessed him to be around 6ft 3ins, maybe more. 

As he was often described as the ‘notoriously private’ type she was surprised by his presence and detected a strong, confident aura. A.A Jones had read him wrong or had been duped by gossip. This looked like a strong man who could bend iron bars with his bare hands. Instead of rich well-tended skin, however, he was slightly weathered looking and a bit fatigued: tell-tale signs of a jet-set schedule. It didn’t harm his good looks though and as he helped her take her seat at the table Minnie couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes creased up when he smiled. 

Settled into her seat Minnie concentrated on maintaining her anonymity and avoiding A.A’s glare as much as possible. She was unwittingly supported in this by Parker Bachmann who was holding court at the dinner table throughout the meal. Greene remained noticeably quiet and seemed genuinely happy for his fiancée to do the talking. Indeed, everyone seemed happy to listen to this woman talk. She was a great raconteur and certainly knew how to work a crowd. She was glamorous and illuminating like a star. Parker also had magnificent teeth that practically reached the dining room’s perimeter walls when she smiled; this woman was a walking gargantuan grin, haute couture and strikingly handsome. She began to regale her audience, Minnie included, with an outrageous tale that involved a movie star’s secret stash of laxatives and this year’s host at the Oscars. 

Minnie relaxed too and tucked into the food. She just had to get through dessert, then she could go home and surprise her husband-to-be. Being sent home early suddenly seemed a bonus, not a snub. It was just a relief to get through the evening. Even A.A Jones managed a few mouthfuls of food and the corner of her mouth turned up occasionally hinting at a smile even although the rest of her face was set like stone.

Yes, thought Minnie, perhaps Greene was a little nervous. He didn’t touch a drop of alcohol and didn’t seem to eat much either. Minnie got the feeling that this was someone who didn’t relish the spotlight quite as much as his formidable fiancée. He probably just wanted to retreat to the quiet luxury somewhere upstairs and order room service. 

Minnie didn’t usually drink much alcohol either but, as she reflected on the months and months of hard work and overtime that had gone into this deal, she decided that maybe a small glass of wine would finalise her efforts. Minnie had stuck to water all night but now felt safe enough to make the switch to the Chardonnay. The wine was exceptional. Hugging the glass, she sat back in her seat and let the buzz of conversation bounce off the chandeliers and ricochet around the room. She accepted a refill and the tension began to leave her shoulders. 

She tilted her head towards the ceiling and reflected on her job. She loved it – mathematician and financial adviser at Jones & Sword. 

Then Ashton Greene turned to his left and addressed her directly. His voice low but authoritative.

‘Miranda, you have been heavily involved in this natural gas project, yes?’

She could detect a nervousness in his voice or something not quite right. Minnie snapped upright and slid her glass back onto the table. She was surprised he remembered her name.  She said, ‘Team effort, actually.’ 

‘Hmm. I’ve gone through the reports. There is still a significant issue I would like to discuss with you.’

Minnie stared at him. The teeniest tremor in his right hand also belied his confident manner.

He smiled, encouragingly. ‘What do you think?’

‘Parkinson’s,’ blurted Minnie, swivelling around in her seat to face him. 

‘Excuse me?’ Greene looked utterly horrified. 

Nervous tension and a surge of alcohol had ignited an idea in Minnie’s head. ‘I know a brilliant mathematician who has developed state-of-the-art voice recognition software.’ She leaned towards Greene, earnest and enthusiastic, warming to her subject. ‘You simply speak into a custom-made telephone and it can detect the early onset of Parkinson’s. It is truly amazing technology. I’m so excited about it. I have his number… the guy you need to speak to…’ Minnie dived under the table to retrieve her handbag and rummaged around for her phone. ‘Hold on a sec… what am I doing?’ She made a face-palm gesture. ‘I can remember his number.’ She stopped scrolling through her contacts. ‘He’ll explain it so much better…’

A snow storm of silence threw a blanketed hush over the entire table. It hit Minnie like an avalanche. As her head jerked up, she realised it was too late to save herself or Greene for that matter. Everyone was looking at them including a shell-shocked Parker Bachmann who was gripping a steak knife in such a way that Minnie expected her to hurl it at her; a twisted circus act with Minnie nailed to a spinning wheel while the glamorous American threw daggers at her. 

Dear God
, thought Minnie.
What have I done?
A.A Jones actually looked as though she had died as the result of a vampire attack. There was a deathly bloodless sheen to her skin as she perspired under the lights. She wouldn’t have looked out of place in an open casket in a chapel of rest. Her lips had turned blue. Then she suddenly clutched her throat in the manner of someone who had developed an extreme hypersensitivity to the shellfish on her plate. She started jerking violently while remaining completely silent. 

‘Of course…’ babbled Minnie, turning to address the table as Parker Bachmann had done so commandingly moments ago. Stillness, a stunned silence. She reverted to crisis management action, ‘… this is not to say…’ she laughed a touch hysterically, ‘that
you
…’

She now turned to face Greene to assuage his fears, desperately backtracking to dismiss her sweeping assumption on his health.

There would never be a more pertinent time to beg, lie and grovel. 

But the pertinent time was not now. The seat next to her had been swiftly vacated. Greene was gone. 

2

Into the night 

There was a scuffled panic as the Greene team frantically tried to ascertain the whereabouts of their boss. Then two security men swooped on Minnie. As their iron fingers locked onto her arms she let out an undignified screech, like a gull falling out of the sky. On Parker Bachmann’s curt instruction they frogmarched Minnie away from the table, almost carrying her from the dining room. Once outside she was dumped, unceremoniously, next to a row of enormous black plant pots big enough to hold trees.  

‘
Oweeeeeeeeeee
,’ she squealed painfully as she was shoved, roughly, in the direction of the uniformed doorman. He firmly pushed her towards the rank of waiting black cabs, handling her quickly as though she were toxic waste.

The message was quite clear: no one upsets Mr Greene. She probably wasn’t even allowed to talk directly to him without written permission from a buzz-cut general at the head of Dragonet security. 

Hot evening air lazily ballooned around Minnie’s heels as she lurched past the taxis and tottered away from The Savoy. London was oblivious to Minnie’s hideous exchange with one of America’s leading men who featured on the annual rich lists around the world.

The rich, buttery meal she had eaten earlier now bombed to the bottom of her stomach. She felt nauseous and quickly slowed to a walking pace in an attempt to regulate her breathing.

Etiquette experts acknowledge that, ‘think before you speak
’
is a fundamental law in any conversation. Minnie, however, had experienced a sudden rush of words to the head and shared an opinion that was both professionally and socially out of place.

Once a safe distance away from The Savoy, she came to an abrupt halt and wrenched off her dizzyingly high shoes. 

What the hell was I thinking?
She thought.
What just happened in there?

The minute Greene had started talking to her Minnie had realised that something was not quite right. Perhaps he suspected it too but she could tell that her off-the-cuff diagnosis had shocked the hell out of him as much as it had the other diners. She had maybe even confirmed his worst fears.

Standing in her stockinged feet on the pavement while London partied around her, blissfully unaware of her turmoil, Minnie finally managed to get it together sufficiently to hail a black cab and head home.

Tomorrow she would face the wrath of A.A Jones, the woman who apparently knew Minnie better than Minnie knew herself: a brilliant embarrassment.

At least one person would be pleased to see her. James George, Minnie’s beloved husband-to-be was having a quiet night at home watching his favourite TV show about part-android humans. Minnie had met him online through the geek2geek.com dating agency. Six months after their first tentative date, the wedding date had been decided. 

James George immediately connected with Minnie. He was impressed not intimidated by her razor sharp mind and didn’t seemed fazed in the slightest that she was quirky by nature. She was equally impressed with him – a 3D Graphic Artist with degrees in Mathematics and Quantitative Economics. He was also co-founder of Row Reduction, a start-up super computer group that was going from strength to strength. 

James George wouldn’t be able to erase the awfulness of the evening at The Savoy but he might help to ease the hideousness of it through reassurance and support. Minnie could still see Greene’s shocked expression when she had mentioned Parkinson’s – a bombshell moment when someone suggests you might have a serious neurological disease. 

She walked through the silent living room feeling awful, a sensation that worsened as soon as she realised she was home alone. James George must have stayed late at the office because the television was off and the place was depressingly dark and deserted. Minnie flung herself onto the sofa and sat brooding in the gloom. She wanted to wipe the evening’s events from the history books but it felt like a film projector had fired up in her head replaying a flickering slow-motion version of the hideous dinner at The Savoy. She dropped her head into her hands desperately willing it to stop.