##
From: Olivia Gornall
To: Tom
Blackwood
See what I
mean about the shoes? Makes her look like a
whore.
##
From: Tom Blackwood
To: Olivia
Gornall
Stop
texting me. I'm trying to concentrate on Dierdre's
presentation.
##
From: Olivia Gornall
To: Tom
Blackwood
Tom. You
do realise that you're drumming your fingers REALLY
LOUDLY?
##
From: Tom Blackwood
To: Olivia
Gornall
Oops.
Didn't realise. Ta.
##
From: Olivia Gornall
To: Tom
Blackwood
What the
hell was that all about?
##
From: Tom Blackwood
To: Olivia
Gornall
Bloody
Dierdre. She didn't pass on the email about the change of remit. Made
me look like a total idiot.
##
From: Olivia Gornall
To: Tom
Blackwood
I got that,
you idiot. I meant your reaction. Couldn't you have held it together
better? You nearly put your fist through the desk.
While I'm all for
letting Dierdre have it, I don't think you did any of us any favours in
there. What the F*** Tom?
##
From: Tom Blackwood
To: Olivia
Gornall
Yeah.
Yeah. I know. My head feels like it's going to explode. I'm going to see
Mathais and apologise.
##
From: Olivia Gornall
To: Tom
Blackwood
Just get
back in here and sort it out already. The longer you leave it, the worse
it's going to look.
##
From: Tom Blackwood
To: Olivia Gornall
Ok.
OK.
* * * *
The more she thought about it, the more annoyed Stevie got with Jane for
not letting her have Pete's contact details. Surely, it wasn't up to Jane to police how
Pete conducted his publicity. It was almost as though Jane didn't want Stevie to
succeed in her venture. She pulled up the Triphoppers website. There was, of
course, another way to get in touch.
* * * *
From: Stevie Winfield
To:
Subject: From Jane Porter's
sister in law
Hi Pete
Apologies for emailing you through the
fan club site, but I didn't know how else to get hold of you. I met you at
Marshall Winfield and Jane Porter's wedding. You said to contact you if
you could help with anything.
I have a suggestion for you, it could
generate some valuable publicity for a very good cause (specifically,
Project Peds, which aims to raise money to equip a children's hospital
in Sri Lanka. More details here:
http://worldchildrensinitiative.org/projectpeds.php)
It would also
be a nice way to improve your profile as a more thoughtful and caring
person, rather than some airhead popstar (and, from having spoken to
you at length at the wedding, I know you're not a shallow
person!).
If you're interested, please get in touch with me as soon
as possible. My contact details are attached.
Best
Regards
Stevie Winfield
* * * *
It was a long shot to email Pete at the website. Chances were that some
junior minion would read it and bung back a standard email reply. On the other
hand, Jane's name would hold some clout. The whole saga of
Cause Celeb
magazine's campaign to get Jane and the Triphopper's lead singer Ashby back
together had been instrumental in getting their second album catapulted up the
charts. As an interested observer, Stevie had watched countless interviews of the
band and the
Cause Celeb
/Jane issue got almost as much coverage as the
music. Stevie leaned back in her chair and took a sip of wine. She'd set the ball
rolling. All she could do now was wait and hope it would have the desired
result.
* * * *
From: Tom Blackwood
To: Gavin
Belham
Gavin
Furthe
r to our conversation of a few minutes ago; I would like to take the next
two weeks off as annual leave please. I believe I need to take a short
break to regain my equilibrium after several weeks of demanding
workload. Since the main project I was working on has been handed
over, I don't anticipate there being anything urgent or requiring major
input in the next couple of weeks. Of course, if there is, you can always
call me.
Regards
Tom Blackwood.
##
From: Gavin Belham
To: Tom
Blackwood
That's fine, Tom.
I suggest you go and see a doctor regarding your anger management
issues during your time off.
See you in a couple of weeks.
Gavin
Belham
##
From: Olivia Gornall
To: Tom Blackwood
Are you okay? Dierdre's
spreading rumours that you've had a nervous
breakdown.
##
From: Tom Blackwood
To: Olivia Gornall
I got an emergency
appointment at the doc's. He's signed me off for stress, but I can't use
that. I may as well start wearing a big sticker staying 'unstable mental
case' on my forehead as far as my job prospects are concerned.
So,
I've taken two weeks off as holiday instead. Maybe a break will help
sort things out. The timing couldn't be worse. The only silver lining is
that at least the Doha interview was over before this
happened.
Tom
##
From: Olivia Gornall
To: Tom Blackwood
I shall spread counter
rumours that you're building hospitals in Africa.
What are you
going to do in your wonderful time off?
##
From: Tom Blackwood
To: Olivia Gornall
Not a lot I can do. It's been
subtly suggested that I take this time off and maybe consider some sort
of counselling, so I'll have to take it. I don't want to. I've just about
come to the end of this project. After all that work, I have to hand it
over to Deirdre--who will take all the credit if it goes smoothly (and
blame me if it doesn't).
I'll go mad staying at the flat for two weeks.
Especially as I STILL can't sleep.
##
From: Olivia Gornall
To: Tom Blackwood
That sucks. I hate it when
you do all the work and get no credit.
Why don't you take some of
those hefty pills the doc gave you?
They can work miracles. Plus,
you don't need to get up for anything anyway (apart from saving me
from terminal boredom, obviously), so why not?
##
From: Tom Blackwood
To: Olivia Gornall
I do have to get up for
something. I promised Mum I'd take a whole load of stuff up to Oxford
in the car for her. Admittedly, I don't have to be there until 11, but I'm
meeting the party planner girl there and giving her a lift
too.
##
From: Olivia Gornall
To: Tom Blackwood
Why don't you do down to
Oxford in your time off and help your Mum with her ball
thing?
##
From: Tom Blackwood
To: Olivia Gornall
I'm not sure that's a good
idea.
##
From: Olivia Gornall
To: Tom Blackwood
Why not? Whatever jobs
they give you will probably involve you concentrating on them. It might
be relaxing to do something totally different. You need a break. What
better way to get that than to spend a week with some barmy old ladies
who are organising a ball?
##
From: Tom Blackwood
To: Olivia Gornall
For a start that ghastly Beryl
woman might turn up. She gives me a headache anyway, even without
the stress and sleep deprivation.
Secondly, Stevie will be there and
I don't want to see any more of her than I have to.
##
From: Olivia Gornall
To: Tom Blackwood
Ah yes, Stevie. Sister to the
delectable Marshall. I'd forgotten about her.
But you're going to the
actual ball, aren't you?
##
From: Tom Blackwood
To: Olivia Gornall
Yes, but Vienna will be with
me to keep me on the straight and narrow.
Chapter 8
On Sunday Stevie arrived at the shop early. A heavily pregnant young Sri
Lankan woman was sitting at the counter, leafing through a baby clothes catalogue.
"Ah yes, Priya's order. It's all here, in the back."
"Congratulations," said Stevie indicating the bump. Goodness, the girl was
huge. Was Jane going to end up looking like that? What on earth would that do to
her figure?
The woman gave her a tired smile. Stevie realised, with some surprise,
that this young woman wasn't much older than she was.
"Come, come," the girl said. "You need to check that everything is as Priya
wanted." She ushered Stevie into the back room of the shop where several boxes
were on a table, with Priya's list on top of them.
It took a few minutes to go through the list. They removed everything
from each box then counted it back in again, ticking it off the list. The smell of
spices wafted from the various packets. Stevie wondered if there were any recipe
books that told you how to cook with this sort of stuff. Her repertoire tended to be
heavily pasta based.
She was about to ask about recipes when the shop bell rang. The girl
waddled out. She returned a moment later. "There's a man here. He also says he's
here to collect Priya's order..." She looked doubtfully at Stevie.
"That'll be Tom," said Stevie. "He's okay."
Tom entered, instantly making the room feel smaller. He nodded towards
Stevie and gave the woman a warm smile. "Hi. I'm Tom."
She gave him a flustered smile. "Here are the boxes." She got out of the
way, glancing sideways shyly at him. Stevie blinked. This must be Tom in charming
mode. The woman moved to pick up a box.
"I'll do that. You shouldn't be lifting stuff, you're carrying enough weight
already." Tom grabbed a box and closed it. The girl gave a little giggle and retreated
back into the shop.
"Stevie," Tom said, not looking up. "Can you settle the bill, please?"
Stevie sighed and returned to the shop. Evelyn had given her money to
pay for everything the night before. Not used to carrying that much cash around,
Stevie had felt like she had a neon 'mug me' sign attached to her jeans pocket all
morning. It was relief to hand the cash over.
After giving Stevie a receipt, the girl glanced at the door to the stock
room. "Is that your boyfriend?" she whispered.
"No!" Stevie was taken aback. "Definitely not."
"Shame," said the girl. "You two would make a cute couple."
Before Stevie could reply, Tom emerged carrying a box. He rested it
against the counter and freed one of his hands, which he used to dig out his car
keys. "Here," he tossed them to Stevie. "Can you open the back door of the car? It's
the black one parked outside."
The car turned out to be a black sports car. "I'm not sure I'll be able to fit
it all into the boot," said Tom. Sure enough, the tiny boot only had enough room for
about half the stuff. Tom sighed. "The rest will have to go in the back seat." He
opened the door, put down the front seat and manoeuvred a box into the back seat,
presenting Stevie with an admirable view of his jeans-clad behind.
She didn't even realise she was staring until he started backing out and
asked her to pass him another box. She did so, blushing slightly. She looked up to
see the shopkeeper raise her eyebrows and wink at her.
* * * *
As they drove out of London, she noticed how the car smelled of a
disconcerting combination of leather and spices. She took a deep breath.
"It's going to take me forever to get the smell out," Tom grumbled. He
overtook someone aggressively, weaving out at top speed.
Stevie clutched the edge of her seat and didn't reply.
Tom cast a glance at her. "What?" He pulled back in sharply, making
Stevie gasp.
"I'm...a little nervous in cars," said Stevie. "My parents died in a car
accident."
"Oh, shit. Sorry." He slowed down a fraction. "I forgot. I always drive like
that. I'm very careful though. Never had an accident."
Stevie nodded. "Right," she said faintly.
After a while, she started to relax. Tom was making an effort to drive
smoothly. Now that she'd stopped holding her breath, Stevie became more aware of
her surroundings. The sports car was lower than most vehicles she was used to and
the bucket seats made her lean back slightly. This stretched Tom's limbs out so that
she was treated a good view of his long legs. A brief vision of him mowing the lawn
crossed her mind. Tom, who had been concentrating on overtaking gently, gave her
a quick glance. She turned away, flustered.