I've Got Your Number

“I can’t explain it,” says Vicks after a pause. “And I’m not even going to try. I’m going to do my job.”

“Someone did this. You know it. You’re playing right into their hands, Vicks. They’re smearing Nick and you’re letting them.”

“No. No. Stop.” Vicks is shaking her head. “I’m not playing this game. I don’t get involved.” She walks over to the wastepaper basket, retrieves the crumpled statement, and spreads it out.

“I can change a detail or two,” she says. “But I’ve spoken to Bruce and we have to go with this.” She holds out a pen. “You want to make any small amendments? Because Julian is on his way right now to approve it.”

Sam ignores the pen.

“What if we find the original memo? What if we can prove this one is a fake?”

“Great!” There’s a sudden edge to her voice. “Then we release it, Nick’s integrity is saved, and we throw a party. Believe me, Sam, I would like nothing more than that. But we have to work with what we have. Which, right now, is a damaging memo we can’t explain away.” Vicks rubs her face, then screws her fists in her eyes. “This morning I was trying to cover up that embarrassment with the drunken post-guy,” she mutters, almost to herself. “I was worried about that. ”

She really shouldn’t do that. She’s giving herself bags under her eyes.

“When does the statement go out?” says Sam at length. All his tempestuous energy seems to have dissipated. His shoulders have slumped and he sounds so low I almost want to go and give him a hug.

“That’s the one bright ray.” Vicks’s voice is softer now, as though she wants to treat him gently in his defeat. “They’re keeping it for the ten o’clock, so we have a good six hours or so to play with.”

“A lot can happen in six hours,” I volunteer timidly, and both of them jump as though scalded.

“ She’s still here?”

“Poppy.” Even Sam looks taken aback. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea you’d still be here—”

“She heard all that?” Vicks looks like she wants to hit someone. “Sam, are you out of your mind ?”

“I won’t say anything!” I say hurriedly. “Promise.”

“OK.” Sam breathes out. “My mistake. Poppy, this isn’t your fault; I was the one who invited you. I’ll find someone to escort you out.” He leans his head out of his office door. “Stephanie? Borrow you a sec?”

A few moments later a pleasant-looking girl with long blond hair arrives at the office.

“Can you take our visitor down, sign her out, sort out the pass, all that?” says Sam. “Sorry, Poppy, I’d do it myself, but—”

“No, no!” I say at once. “Of course. You’re tied up, I understand—”

“The meeting!” says Sam, as though suddenly remembering. “Of course. Poppy, I’m sorry. It was canceled. But it’ll be rearranged. I’ll be in touch.”

“Great!” I muster a smile. “Thanks.”

He won’t. But I don’t blame him.

“I hope it all works out well for you,” I add. “And Sir Nicholas.”

Vicks’s eyes are swiveling madly in her head. She’s obviously paranoid that I’m about to spill the beans.

I don’t know what to do about Sam’s dad. I can’t possibly tell Sam now—he’ll explode from stress. I’ll just have to get a message to the hotel or something. And then bow out.

Like maybe I should have done in the first place.

“Well … thanks again.” I meet Sam’s eyes and feel a strange pang. This really is the last goodbye. “Here you are.” I proffer the phone.

“No problem.” He takes it from me and puts it down on his desk. “Sorry about all this—”

“No! I hope it all … ” I nod several times, not daring to say any more in front of Stephanie.

It’s going to be odd, not being in Sam’s life anymore. I’ll never know how any of it turns out. Maybe I’ll read about this memo in the papers. Maybe I’ll read an announcement about Sam and Willow in a wedding column.

“Bye, then.” I turn and follow Stephanie down the corridor. A couple of people are walking along with overnight bags, and as we get into the lift they’re in mid-conversation about the hotel and how crap the minibar is.

“So it’s your conference today,” I say politely as we arrive at the ground floor. “How come you’re not down there?”