More Than You Know (70 page)

Lucilla Fellowes had rung Eliza twice now about the change to the lunch date and got no answer; the third time, she decided she would have to leave a message on the answering machine.

Lucilla left her message, covered up her typewriter, put on her coat, and went home to cook dinner for her barrister husband.

“Matt, hallo, it’s me. Look, I’m in a bit of a fix; I’ve had my car towed away … What? Well, I left it on a double yellow. Only for a minute—well, ten, actually—and I’m waiting at the pound now to get it back. Yes, I know, I know I’m an idiot, and I’m very sorry, but it’s taking ages, and I’m going to be late to pick up Emmie. She’s out to tea. I don’t suppose you could do it, could you? Since you’re coming home early anyway. Well, you said you were. Yes, you did; you said you were shattered and you really needed an early night, and you’d better, because I’ve made you a fish pie. Anyway … do you think you could possibly
pick Emmie up? Oh, Matt, please, I never ask you and it’s only in the next street and you like the mummy; it’s that blonde called Susannah with the big tits. Yes, Parkham Street, number seven. Six o’clock. I’ll be home by six thirty latest, and supper’s all under control; you might turn the oven up to five … What? No, I know you’re not my housekeeper, but it would be helpful … Yes? Oh, thank you. Thank you, Matt, very much. Must go; there’s a queue to use this phone.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” said Jack Beckham. “Like it. It’ll have to be fleshed out, of course; we need names, the landlord identified, all that stuff, but … yes. Time we ran a Rachman-style story. Haven’t had one for ages.”

“My … my source was very anxious to protect the tenant. They’re very afraid of recriminations, the whole thing backfiring.”

“Yes, well, they can’t come whining to the press and then expect everything to be done their way.”

“They haven’t exactly come whining,” said Barrett, “and I don’t want to drop them in it.”

“Johnny,” said Beckham, his voice developing the edge that his staff dreaded, “I’m struggling to turn you into a big name. Thought that was what you wanted. You’re not on the local rag in Bradford anymore. You can’t afford to be queasy. Now, I see this as a spread, with plenty of quotes and another case study or two. If it’s half-good I’ll trail it the day before. OK?”

“OK,” said Barrett.

Matt and Emmie arrived home just after six. Emmie demanded a drink and a biscuit and sat swinging her legs on a stool, chattering about her day, how she had got a star for her sums and been top in spelling; Matt dutifully turned up the oven and then poured himself a large gin and tonic and went into the study.

The answering machine was blinking. He switched it on.

“Mrs. Shaw, hallo.” The tones were cut-glass finishing school; God, he hated voices like that. And their owners. “This is Lucilla Fellowes,
Jeremy Northcott’s secretary. Mr. Northcott is very sorry, but he wonders if you could change lunch on Thursday to a drink after work. He says to tell you it will definitely be Bolly. Or possibly dinner, if you could make it. If you’ll just give me a call in the morning and let me know, that would be super. Thank you so much.”

He was so shocked he turned it back to listen to it again; as he did so Emmie wandered in.

“He was my friend,” she said as the message ended.

“What?” said Matt, turning to her. “Who was your friend?”

“That man the message was about. Jeremy. He was at Mariella’s palace when we stayed; he played hide-and-seek with me and Mummy.”

“Louise? Johnny Barrett here. Look … I’m writing a piece about wicked landlords. Yes. That’s right, thought you must know a few. Anyway, it’s to do with an idea that a friend of yours, Eliza Shaw, put me onto.”

“Really?” Louise felt an unpleasant crawl somewhere deep in her stomach.

“Yeah, some friend of hers living in some tip in Clapham, part of a row, she says; landlord’s letting the place go to rack and ruin to get rid of them all; doesn’t sound a very likely friend for the upmarket Mrs. Shaw, but still, she’s taking me there to meet her. Anyway, I need to know who the landlord is, obviously, get a quote and that. I thought you might be able to help.”

“Oh … no,” said Louise firmly. The crawl had burrowed deeper. Unless there were two rows of houses in Clapham with landlords desperate to get rid of the tenants … Oh, there were probably half a dozen … 
You’re being neurotic, Louise
. Still, she absolutely didn’t want to be party to anything that could backfire. “And, Johnny, I really think it would be better if you didn’t use that particular connection.” She knew she was sticking her neck out, but she was surprised Eliza was so naive as to get involved with anything that might backfire on her. Unless she wanted it to, of course.

“What?”

“Yes. An awful lot of people would be hurt by it. Quite badly. That’s all I have to say. And I certainly can’t help. I’m sorry.”

“OK.”

“OK, you won’t ask me anymore, or OK, you won’t write the piece?”

“What do you think? Bye, Louise.”

Barrett put the phone down. This was clearly a much more intriguing story than he’d first imagined. Surely, surely it couldn’t be Matt, and Eliza didn’t know about it? Or did know about it? It was a case for some very serious sleuthing. And he could start in the morning when he and Eliza went to meet this poor unfortunate bird in Clapham.

“Matt! Emmie! Hallo. I’m home. Bloody cops. I had to practically kiss their backsides to get my keys back. Where are you?”

He came out of the office; his face was white and his eyes very dark. Eliza looked at him uncertainly.

“Hallo. You all right? You look—”

“No,” he said. “I’m not all right. What the hell is going on?”

“What? What are you talking about? I don’t understand—”

“Jeremy Northcott,” he said, “who you’re having lunch with, apparently. Or a drink at Bolly, how delightful. Or even dinner. And who I now learn, just coincidentally, was in Milan with you. Emmie told me all about it, how you played hide-and-seek together. How nice, how very nice for you all. What the fuck are you playing at, Eliza? What are you doing—”

“Emmie, go upstairs,” said Eliza quickly. “See if you can be a big girl and get yourself ready for bed. I’ll be up in a minute.”

Emmie didn’t argue; she looked at her parents, her eyes large and thoughtful, and then walked out of the room. Eliza closed the door behind her and turned to face Matt.

“You shouldn’t use language like that in front of Emmie,” she said.

“I’ll use what fucking language I like in my own house. And don’t try to change the subject.”

“Matt, it’s not what you think,” she said. “It’s—”

“Well, whatever I think, the fact remains you’re clearly seeing him. Having dinner with him in London. Staying with him in Milan. How
odd that you didn’t mention it. And how did you keep Emmie quiet about it all this time? What the fuck is going on?”

“I’m not having dinner with him,” said Eliza. “I was going to have lunch. To discuss the … the job.”

“What job?”

“The one you said I wasn’t to do. In your sweetly generous, liberated way.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake. You didn’t say he was at the agency when you told me about it. I thought he was in New York.”

“He has been in New York. He’s only just back. The only thing he’s had to do with all this is to tell Rob Brigstocke to call me.”

“Oh, is that so. Just as he comes back? Well, that certainly settles it. You will not set foot near that agency while he’s there.”

“Matt, I sometimes wonder which century you think you’re living in. Have you never heard of equal rights?”

“Equal rights! Is that what you call it? Playing around with your ex-lover behind my back at the first opportunity? And passing it off as some wonderfully fortuitious career move? ‘Oh, Matt, it’s such a wonderful opportunity; oh, Matt, it’s only two days a week.’ How many days does it take for Northcott to get into your bed? And … and now I find out he was in Milan. How carefully was that planned? I suppose you and your friend Mariella cooked it up between you. And you took Emmie along, presumably as some kind of cover. Jesus, Eliza, I wouldn’t have believed it even of you.”

“Shut up,” shouted Eliza. “How dare you talk to me like that. How dare you insult me and Jeremy too, come to that. I had no idea he was going to be in Milan! He was there on agency business—there’s a branch there—and he only came to the villa because of the fog.”