Undercover Alice (10 page)

I booked my flight home the next day. There was no
reason for me to stay anymore, I reasoned. The funeral was over and I’d done
what I’d come here to do. I couldn’t face seeing Matt after what had happened
the night before, and knowing that it meant nothing and would go no further.

Annie begged me to stay for a few days longer, saying
I should enjoy the weather and maybe Matt could take me on some day trips. I
insisted politely but firmly that I couldn’t possibly and I had to get back.

Matt avoided the topic, saying only he would drive
me to the airport. I declined, saying I would get a taxi. Annie was horrified,
but she seemed to sense that something had shifted in the relationship between
myself and her son and, to my relief, she didn’t push it.

She hugged me when I left and said she hoped she
would see me again. I doubted it. Especially not when she found out who I really
was. I felt sad at that – despite my sadness at Matt’s rejection of me, I still
didn’t feel like I could hurt him. And now hurting him felt like hurting Annie.
How could I do that when she’d been so kind and suffered so much?

I arrived back home late in the evening, exhausted
and still feeling upset.

 I checked my phone and found another barrage of
texts from Jen, as well as several ranting emails from Barry, but I couldn’t
face dealing with them. They would keep. In Barry’s case, I wished they would keep
forever.

I climbed into bed fully clothed and fell asleep
with the light still on.

I was back at Westwall IT Solutions the next day,
after picking up my car from Matt’s driveway. I had a job to do. Well, I had
two jobs to do, actually, but even the crushing blow of Spain hadn’t made me any
more determined to do what I had set out to do. I reflected that Jen had been
right, I had let my feelings get in the way of my career, and they weren’t even
reciprocated feelings. And now I had met his mum and I didn’t think I could
face writing an article about Matt, regardless of what I found out. I wasn’t
ready to give it up entirely, though. Perhaps there was a better story to be
found, or one that I could write that wouldn’t hurt them as much. Doubtful, I
thought, but stranger things have happened.

I knew Matt was due back from Spain later that day,
and I dreaded seeing him after our doomed kiss. I wondered if he dreaded seeing
me, or if he had even thought about me since I’d left.  I didn’t even have the
energy to smile smugly at Sarah as I passed her office that morning, and I sat
at my own desk in a haze of annoyance and bad temper.

I thought about Matt’s sister, the beautiful Leila.
I felt like she was the key to something, although I wasn’t sure what. I typed
her name into Google and pressed search.

The first item that came up was a newspaper article
and I clicked on it. I read the opening lines and felt sick.

Police have confirmed that the body
found at a property in Madrid last Thursday has been identified as that of
24-year-old Leila Westwall, a British citizen.

The circumstances of the incident are
still under investigation, but police have revealed they are treating it as
suspicious.

The Westwall family say they are
devastated by the loss of their bright, darling daughter and sister, and have
appealed for privacy to grieve their loss.

Suspicious? Like murder? I had assumed she had died
in a car crash, or of an illness. But this? This was awful. I went back to the
search results and clicked on the next entry, desperate to know more, but
simultaneously not wanting to read the horrible details.

Police have confirmed that the death of
24-year-old Leila Westwall, who was found dead in her in flat in Madrid last
Thursday, is being treated as murder. The British citizen, who moved to Madrid
just six months ago, is believed to have suffered severe head injuries. Police
are enquiring for any witnesses to contact them immediately, but have stressed
there is no cause for general alarm as it is believed to be an isolated crime.

I closed down the window. That poor family. I felt
my anger at Matt trickling away. No wonder he said he was a wreck when his
sister died. Who wouldn’t be? I couldn’t imagine someone I loved being taken
away from me on purpose by another human being. It was just monstrous.

Matt arrived back in the office in the early
afternoon, evidently straight from the airport as he was clutching his suitcase
as he came through the door. He saw me sitting there and immediately looked
awkward, but I smiled at him. After what I’d just read about his sister, I
couldn’t bear to be cold with him, even after what had happened the other night
in Spain. I thought he’d suffered enough in his life.

‘Welcome back,’ I said. ‘Good flight?’

He seemed surprised by my friendly demeanour, but
nodded, setting his case down.

‘Yes, it was fine thanks. Mum didn’t want me to go,
of course, but I had to get back here. I’ve got so much work to do.’

I nodded sympathetically. ‘I’ve moved around as much
as I can, but I can’t get rid of Sarah.’ I threw up my hands to indicate I had
tried and failed. ‘She’s determined to see you today.’

I’d had a succession of blunt emails from her –
evidently now even talking to me face-to-face was too much to bear – telling me
this meeting was vital and could not be rearranged. She also assured me Matt
would want it go ahead.

He made a face and I could tell he wasn’t in the
mood for it. I should have tried harder to put it off.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I should have been more
forceful.’

He shook his head.

‘Don’t be silly, I know Sarah can be a bit pushy.’
He stopped and stared at me, looking awkward. ‘Look…’ he began, haltingly.
‘About what happened…’

‘Say no more,’ I said, breezily. ‘You were right.
What happens in Spain, stays in Spain.’

‘Oh.’

Was it my imagination, or did he seem disappointed?

‘As long as you’re sure…’

He definitely looked disappointed, I thought. What
did that mean?

‘Let us never speak of it again,’ I said solemnly,
which at least raised a smile from him.

‘Well, ok. I’ll go round and see Sarah now.’

After he left, I opened up Google again and looked
at the articles. There was a picture of his sister, the same one I’d seen in
his apartment.  I clicked on it to enlarge it. Who could have wanted to kill
her?

I closed the stories down. Suddenly, my exposé felt
extremely seedy and I didn’t want anything to do with it. I still didn’t know
why Matt had apparently spent three years in prison, but the brutal death of
his sister was enough of a tragedy to put me off the whole thing. Could I keep
it hidden from Barry? Maybe I could leave that job and just stay here, working
as a PA? I shook my head. I loved writing too much, I couldn’t work here
forever. But Barry would surely sack me if I came back with nothing to offer.
Or at least make my life so awful, I had no choice but to leave. How could I
have let myself get so deep into this? I’ve met Matt’s mother, for Christ’s
sake.

I felt miserable, suddenly, and angry at myself for
getting embroiled in one of Barry’s madcap schemes. I was going to need to do some
serious thinking about how to get myself out of this increasingly messy
situation.

Matt came back in the office an hour or so later,
looking weary.

‘Why don’t you go home?’ I asked. ‘There’s nothing
left in the calendar for today.’

‘I might just do that,’ he said. ‘I’m exhausted.’

I smiled sympathetically.

‘I’m not surprised,’ I said. ‘How was Annie when you
left her?’

‘Better,’ he said, blowing his cheeks out. ‘She’s
still upset, obviously, but she’s throwing herself into practicalities. She’s
sorting through my dad’s clothes at the moment and making piles for the charity
shop.’

‘And how are you?’ I probed, gently. He was so
worried about other people I worried that he wasn’t looking after himself.

He sighed heavily and shrugged, looking like a lost little
boy.

‘I don’t know. It feels so surreal that he’s gone. I
feel like I should have made an effort to go out there more often.’ He shook
his head. ‘I feel like I had a lot to say to him and now I’ll never get the
chance.’ He glanced at me. ‘Sorry, you probably just expected a “fine,
thanks.”.’

‘No, I wanted to know how you are. I think it’s
natural to have regrets.’

‘Perhaps,’ he said, smiling weakly.

‘Now away with you,’ I said, pointing to the door.

‘Yes, ma’am.’

He lingered at the door as if he wanted to say
something, but then disappeared down the corridor.

It was a busy week. Even though we’d only been away
from the office for a few days, a mound of work had piled up, and Matt was
running from one meeting to the other to try to catch up with all the ones he’d
missed when were in Spain. I didn’t think I could ever look at him as ‘just a
boss’ again, and knew that I certainly couldn’t stay here long-term. It would
be too difficult, I thought. Plus I was still receiving almost daily emails
from Barry, the tone becoming even less civil (if possible) and more
threatening. I needed to do something soon.

It seemed like Matt and I barely had time to
exchange more than a few words, as I handed over fresh documents, or he gave me
a piece of paper with the details of someone he needed me to call. I reflected
that perhaps that’s what he had aimed for, and felt sad that we wouldn’t have
any more silly conversations, or I wouldn’t get any more doodles or limericks
left on my desk. It seemed like he was burying the personality he had revealed
to me underneath a strong veneer of professionalism, and I was sorry for it.

I knew it was probably for the best; the situation
here was sticky enough without kissing being involved. But I was disappointed
and I hoped he knew it.

During one of our brief exchanges through the week,
Matt handed me a sheaf of papers.

 ‘I forgot all about this,’ he said, ‘but there’s an
IT conference next week I want to go to. I’ve left it horribly late. Would you
be able to see if there are any hotels room left? I’ll need one for me, and one
for Sarah, one for Dave Bishop as well. Oh, and I’d like you to come, too.
There’ll be a lot of to-ing and fro-ing and information going on, and it would
be helpful to have you there.’

I was surprised by this. I had thought he perhaps
didn’t want to spend any time with me.

‘Me? Are you sure?’

‘Of course, you’ve proven yourself to be quite
handy. Only if you don’t mind, of course.’

‘Not at all.’

Part of me felt a thrill at the opportunity to spend
time with Matt – I conveniently ignored the fact Sarah and some guy called Dave
would be there – and part of me felt it would make things even harder – being
so close yet having lost the special relationship I’d felt we’d been building.  

I leafed through the papers. The conference was
being held at one of the big Birmingham airport hotels over two days. I called
them and, as expected, they were fully booked. However, they pointed me in the
direction of their overspill hotel just a few minutes away, and I was able to
book four rooms. I then went online and booked us all train tickets.

My phone buzzed and I looked down. A text from Jen.
I hadn’t spoken to her since Spain. I knew she would never say ‘I told you so’
or judge me, but I was embarrassed that I’d let myself start to fall for him,
when I was here in a bid to further my career. Jen was a real career girl, and
I didn’t know if she would understand.

‘Alice, Alice, wherefore art thou, Alice? Has thou
spurned me for the love of wonder boy? Art thou now a Spanish maiden?’

I smiled at the ridiculousness of it.

‘I’m back home. I’d never spurn you, you’re too
dangerous to cut loose. And you know full well I’m not a maiden. Drinks this
week?’

‘Forsooth! And other such nonsense. Drinks are a
yes, I’ll be in touch – work is shit, life is shit. C’est la vie. Xx’

I went to put my phone down, and then realised I
hadn’t checked my e-mails. No doubt there were some gems from Barry in there.

There certainly were.

‘Viva fucking Espana. Have you got my story yet?’

‘Alice, where are you, for Christ’s sake? Don’t tell
me you’ve run off with some sweaty Spaniard called Julio.’

‘Fuck me. This story better win the fucking Putlizer
Prize.’

I sighed and typed back a message.

‘I’m back from Spain, phone didn’t work out there.
Might be on right track but no concrete info yet. Will be in touch.’

I could see him now, his little piggy eyes reading
that e-mail and his brow furrowing in disgust. Oh well.

I think the train journey to Birmingham will go down
in history as one of most awkward  journeys of my life. We were sitting at a
table that seated four; I was facing Sarah and Dave Bishop, who was a large,
hairy man, and who immediately put in his headphones upon sitting down, heavy
metal music blaring out, and Matt sat beside me. The ungenerous legroom, even
in first class, meant I kept accidently brushing against him under the table.
Sarah glowered at me from across the table, and attempted to engage Matt in
conversation, flirting masterfully. Matt responded politely but not, I found
myself grateful to see, with any great enthusiasm.

We arrived in Birmingham late afternoon and piled
into a taxi. Matt wisely sat in the front, and I was left squished between a
hostile Sarah and a very sweaty Dave Bishop.

We reached the hotel and checked in. I looked at the
room keys I’d been given. It seemed we were all on the same floor, and the
receptionist had told me all the rooms were the same, so I just randomly handed
them out. We took the lift up together, packed uncomfortably close together;
uncomfortable because of the heat and uncomfortable because I was pressed into
Matt and it made me tingle.

When we emerged on the fifth floor, I realised that
Matt and I were in adjoining rooms. Sarah looked livid, while Dave Bishop just
ambled off in the direction of his own room. I almost felt sorry for her; I
hadn’t even planned for this latest insult, but she stalked off to her room
with an air of disgust. Matt gave me a small smile and said he would pick me up
at 7:20 to go to the gala dinner, and then went into the room next to mine.

Once inside my room, I threw my bag down on the bed
and sighed. The last week had been odd. I’d done a bit more digging on Leila,
but I was pretty sure I was digging for my own interest now and not for any
story. I’d found that a man had been arrested for her murder shortly after her
body had been found, and he had turned out to be her boyfriend. He had been
convicted of her murder, and was still in prison. The whole thing was awful and
I really hoped Dave Barry never got hold of it. I thought Matt would be
mortified to have his family’s tragedy dragged up in that fashion.

I showered – the conference information had said
‘dress to impress’ and I was pretty sure turning up smelling like train wasn’t
what they had in mind  – and then put on my dress. Jen had helped me pick it. I
would have skipped the whole endeavour, personally, but Matt had insisted we
all went – ‘As a new company, it’s important we’re all seen to network and be
interested in meeting people’ – so I had to find something suitably glamorous
for the occasion. Jen has a real eye for fashion, and within a few minutes of
rummaging through the racks in our local department store, she had pounced on a
teal, satin dress. Even I had to admit it suited me. It complemented my blonde
hair nicely, and clung to my figure in just the right places, disguising the
less desirable bits. A gold evening bag and strappy shoes finished off the
look.

I spent some time painstakingly curling my hair, so
it fell in soft waves around my shoulders. I wore more make-up than I would
usually, taking a long time on making my eyes appear large and smoky. I  surveyed
myself critically in the mirror. Not bad, I thought.

There was a knock on the door and I checked the
time. That was probably Matt. I slipped my shoes on, grabbed my bag, and walked
over to the door.

When I opened it, I almost let out an audible gasp.
He was wearing a tuxedo, and he actually looked like James Bond. If James Bond
worked in IT. He seemed similarly taken aback, and we stammered over each other
– ‘You look…’, ‘Wow, you look…’. We smiled, awkwardly.

‘You look stunning,’ said Matt, his eyes roving up
and down my body. I felt a bit self-conscious.

‘You don’t look too bad yourself,’ I said, my eyes
doing the same to his body, perfectly clad in the tuxedo.

‘Shall we?’ He gestured down the corridor and I
stepped out of my room, closing the door behind me.

We walked along until we reached Sarah’s room, where
Matt knocked. After a few seconds the door opened. Sarah was wearing a
beautiful red dress, and insanely high heels. She looked very pretty indeed.

‘You scrub up well.’ Matt said, cheerfully.

I cringed – that is not what a woman wants to hear
from the man she is madly in love with.

‘You look beautiful, Sarah,’ I said, surprising
myself. Her slightly crestfallen face turned to surprise; she clearly hadn’t
expected me to ever compliment her. But she did look beautiful and I felt for
her that Matt hadn’t seemed to notice. This was clearly all for him.

‘Thank you,’ she said, haltingly. ‘You too, your
dress is beautiful.’

Matt, sensing perhaps that a small bridge had just
been built, smiled at both us.

‘You both look beautiful,’ he said. ‘I’ll be the envy
of the ball!’

We picked up Dave Bishop, who had squeezed himself
in to a tuxedo that looked about three sizes too small.

‘It’s my brother’s,’ he told us, proudly. Evidently
his brother was half the man he was – literally.

We entered the reception room together, and headed
over to the seating chart. I was relieved to see we had all been placed at the
same table. Knowing as little as I do about IT, I didn’t want to get cornered
and asked my opinions on Apple v Microsoft, or have to make small talk.

As we reached our table, Matt pulled the chairs out
for me and Sarah, and Dave pouted in mock disappointment.

‘What about me?’

‘You’re big enough and ugly enough to pull your own
chair out,’ Matt said, teasingly, and we all laughed.

The food was surprisingly good, and I watched Matt
as he laughed and chatted easily with the other delegates. It was impossible
not to get caught up with him as he raced along, his hands flying so wildly
that at one point, I had to grab hold of his wine glass. I had missed our own
conversations and I was glad to see that his zest for life hadn’t been
diminished by the death of his father. I still felt a pang of sadness, though,
that I was now merely a spectator, his remarks and jokes no longer directed at
me.

After dinner, there was an immensely boring speech
about networking in the 21
^st
century. I twiddled my napkin, trying
to keep myself from falling asleep and landing face-down in the cheese platter.
 Matt caught my eye and winked and I blushed, embarrassed that my boredom was
so evident.  I felt a little glimmer of hope, though, that he had communicated
with me in a way like the old Matt would have.

At long-length, the speech was over, and we were
invited for coffee in another room. We stood in an awkward four-some. As I
stretched across to pick up a jug of milk, my arm brushed Matt’s and I felt him
suck in a breath. So he wasn’t totally immune to the tension between us, I
thought, pleased.

When we returned to the reception room, the tables
had been pushed to the sides, revealing a dancefloor.

‘Oh, dancing!’ I blurted out, excitedly.

‘Do you like to dance?’ Matt asked, doing a silly
little dance on the spot.

‘Well, sometimes.’ I said.

From the look of the band, this looked like serious
dancing, not jigging around to the Spice Girls in some dingy nightclub with a
sticky floor. I’d never really done serious dancing, and I’m not sure I wanted
to start in front of Matt. I could feel Sarah staring at us, and I quickly
moved away from Matt and towards a table.

We all sat down at a table at the edge of the
dancefloor and watched as increasing numbers of dancers took to the floor. I
was glad to see it wasn’t exactly Strictly Come Dancing, and most people just
did their own thing. The theme seemed to be golden oldies, and I recognised a
lot of the songs, tapping my fingers along.

Dave Bishop stood up, suddenly.

‘That’s it, I can’t take this rubbish any longer,’
he announced. ‘I’m off to bed.’ And with that, he disappeared through the crowd
of dancers, shouting ‘Excuse me,  excuse me, fat beardy bloke coming through.’

A handsome young man approached our table and asked
Sarah if she would like to dance. After a quick glance at Matt (obviously to see
if he was jealous) she agreed, and the two of them took to the floor. We
watched them go and I was painfully aware that we were alone. The air between
us felt loaded, and I got the impression we were each waiting for the other to
say something. Eventually it was Matt who spoke.

‘Fancy it?’ He cocked his head towards the
dancefloor.

‘Oh I don’t know,’ I said. On the one hand, the
thought of being up close and personal with Matt on a dancefloor was extremely
appealing. On the other hand, I’d already been let down once by him, and I
didn’t want to put myself in the firing line again. My desire to be in his arms
again was too strong, however.

‘Sure, why not?’

Matt took my hand and led me onto the floor. A
slower song had come on now, and he slipped his arm round my waist, drawing me
in closer. We moved gently, my hand on his shoulder, feeling the muscle underneath.
I breathed him in.  He smelled as amazing as usual. I resisted the urge to rest
my head on him, feeling perhaps this was too intimate, but I tightened my grip
on his shoulder and he responded, drawing me even closer.

The song ended and we stood like that for a second,
enjoying the closeness. At least I was, and from his breathing, I think he was,
too. The upbeat notes of the next tune jerked us out of our reverie, and we
moved apart, embarrassed suddenly.

‘Sorry if I tread on your toes,’ I said, trying to
break the awkwardness.

‘No, you were the perfect gentleman,’ Matt said,
jokingly, and I slapped him lightly on the arm.

We sat back down and Sarah joined us. I didn’t know
if she’d seen us on the dancefloor; I hoped not.

We didn’t dance again – I felt like each of us knew
that we were heading down a road that we’d started on a week or two previously,
and neither of us wanted to be the one to take the lead. It was an awkward
little threesome and, for once, even Matt’s conversation was stilted. Eventually
I yawned and glanced at the clock.

‘I think I might head to bed,’ I said.

‘Yes,’ Matt admitted, ‘I’m pretty tired, too.
Sarah?’

‘I think I’ll stay for a bit,’ she replied, watching
the couples twirling around the floor.

Surprised she didn’t want to escort Matt and I to
our separate rooms, like an elderly and disapproving aunt, I stood up and
waited for Matt to grab his suit jacket. We said goodnight to Sarah and wove
our way through the dancers.

We stood, waiting for the lift. The atmosphere felt
electric. We weren’t touching, but the tiny hairs of my skin were on end, and I
was desperate for Matt to take me in his arms. I glanced at him out of the
corner of my eye, but I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. The lift arrived
and the doors opened. We stepped inside. The doors shut and, suddenly, Matt’s
arms were round me and his lips were on mine, his tongue more urgent than it
had been the last time we kissed, probing hard in my mouth. I pressed myself
against him and heard him moan slightly. He pulled me in as close as he could, and
he kept kissing me, passionately and intensely. The lift dinged as we reached
our floor and we fell apart, panting.

‘I’m sorry,’ Matt swallowed. ‘I couldn’t help it. I
told myself I shouldn’t but then I saw you tonight, in that and….I just
couldn’t help it.’

Still breathing heavily, I shook my head. ‘Don’t
apologise.’

We exited the lift, and he took my hand as we walked
down the corridor. We paused outside my door and we stood in silence for a
second.

‘I should say goodnight,’ he said.

‘Goodnight, Matt,’ I said, and reached up to kiss
his mouth gently.

He stood looking at me for a long moment, then
disappeared into his own room.