I've Got Your Number
Page 94
“You’d have him arrested, all his personal property confiscated, and a lie-detector test forcibly conducted,” I can’t help saying. “In a dark cellar somewhere.”
A reluctant smile passes across Sam’s face. “Something like that.”
“How’s Sir Nicholas?” I venture.
“Acting chipper. You can imagine. He keeps his chin up. But he feels it far more than he’s letting on.” Sam’s face twists briefly and he hunches his arms round his chest.
“You do too,” I say gently, and Sam looks up in a startled movement, as though I’ve caught him out.
“I suppose I do,” he says after a long pause. “Nick and I go back a long time. He’s a good guy. He’s done some remarkable things over his lifetime. But if this smear gets out unchallenged, it’ll be the only thing the wider world ever remembers about him. It’ll be the same headline over and over, till he dies. Sir Nicholas Murray, suspected of corruption. He doesn’t deserve that. He especially doesn’t deserve to be stitched up by his own board.”
There’s a somber moment, then Sam visibly pulls himself together. “Anyway. Come on. They’re waiting for us. Vicks is nearly here.”
We head back, past a group of girls clustered round a table, past an ornamental garden, toward the huge double doors leading into the hotel. My phone has been buzzing and I quietly take it out to check my in-box, just to see if Magnus has replied—
I blink at the screen. I don’t believe it. I give a tiny involuntary whimper, and Sam shoots me an odd look.
There’s a brand-new email right at the top of my in-box and I click on it, desperately hoping it won’t say what I’m dreading—
Shit. Shit.
I stare at it in dismay. What am I going to do? We’re nearly at the hotel. I have to speak. I have to tell him.
“Um, Sam.” My voice is a bit strangled. “Um, stop a minute.”
“What?” He halts with a preoccupied frown, and my stomach lurches with nerves.
OK. Here’s the thing. In my defense, if I’d known Sam was going to be mired in a massive, urgent crisis involving leaked memos and senior government advisers and ITN News, I wouldn’t have sent that email to his father. Of course I wouldn’t.
But I didn’t know. And I did send the email. And now …
“What’s up?” Sam looks impatient.
Where on earth do I start? How do I soften him up?
“Please don’t get angry,” I throw out as a preemptive sally, even though it feels a bit like chucking an ice cube into the path of a forest fire.
“About what?” There’s an ominous tone to Sam’s voice.
“The thing is … ” I clear my throat. “I thought I was doing the right thing. But I can see that you may not view it exactly that way… .”
“What on earth are you—” He breaks off, his face suddenly clearing with appalled understanding. “Oh, Jesus. No. Please don’t say you’ve been telling your friends about this—”
“No!” I say in horror. “Of course not!”
“Then what?”
I feel slightly emboldened by his wrong suspicions. At least I haven’t been blabbing everything to my friends. At least I haven’t been selling my story to The Sun.
“It’s a family thing. It’s about your dad.”
Sam’s eyes widen sharply, but he says nothing.
“I just felt bad that you and he weren’t in contact. So I emailed him back. He’s desperate to see you, Sam. He wants to reach out! You never go down to Hampshire, you never see him—”
“For God’s sake,” he mutters, almost to himself. “I really don’t have time for this.”
“You don’t have time for your own father?” His words sting me. “You know what, Mr. Big Shot, maybe your priorities are a little screwed. I know you’re busy, I know this crisis is important, but—”
“Poppy, stop right there. You’re making a big mistake.”
He looks so impassive, I feel a surge of outrage. How dare he be so sure of himself all the time?
“Maybe you’re the one who’s making a big mistake!” The words burst out before I can stop them. “Maybe you’re the one who’s letting your life pass by without engaging in it! Maybe Willow’s right!”
“ Excuse me?” Sam looks thunderous at the mention of Willow.
“You’re going to miss out! You’re going to miss out on relationships which could give you so much, because you don’t want to talk, you don’t want to listen… .”
A reluctant smile passes across Sam’s face. “Something like that.”
“How’s Sir Nicholas?” I venture.
“Acting chipper. You can imagine. He keeps his chin up. But he feels it far more than he’s letting on.” Sam’s face twists briefly and he hunches his arms round his chest.
“You do too,” I say gently, and Sam looks up in a startled movement, as though I’ve caught him out.
“I suppose I do,” he says after a long pause. “Nick and I go back a long time. He’s a good guy. He’s done some remarkable things over his lifetime. But if this smear gets out unchallenged, it’ll be the only thing the wider world ever remembers about him. It’ll be the same headline over and over, till he dies. Sir Nicholas Murray, suspected of corruption. He doesn’t deserve that. He especially doesn’t deserve to be stitched up by his own board.”
There’s a somber moment, then Sam visibly pulls himself together. “Anyway. Come on. They’re waiting for us. Vicks is nearly here.”
We head back, past a group of girls clustered round a table, past an ornamental garden, toward the huge double doors leading into the hotel. My phone has been buzzing and I quietly take it out to check my in-box, just to see if Magnus has replied—
I blink at the screen. I don’t believe it. I give a tiny involuntary whimper, and Sam shoots me an odd look.
There’s a brand-new email right at the top of my in-box and I click on it, desperately hoping it won’t say what I’m dreading—
Shit. Shit.
I stare at it in dismay. What am I going to do? We’re nearly at the hotel. I have to speak. I have to tell him.
“Um, Sam.” My voice is a bit strangled. “Um, stop a minute.”
“What?” He halts with a preoccupied frown, and my stomach lurches with nerves.
OK. Here’s the thing. In my defense, if I’d known Sam was going to be mired in a massive, urgent crisis involving leaked memos and senior government advisers and ITN News, I wouldn’t have sent that email to his father. Of course I wouldn’t.
But I didn’t know. And I did send the email. And now …
“What’s up?” Sam looks impatient.
Where on earth do I start? How do I soften him up?
“Please don’t get angry,” I throw out as a preemptive sally, even though it feels a bit like chucking an ice cube into the path of a forest fire.
“About what?” There’s an ominous tone to Sam’s voice.
“The thing is … ” I clear my throat. “I thought I was doing the right thing. But I can see that you may not view it exactly that way… .”
“What on earth are you—” He breaks off, his face suddenly clearing with appalled understanding. “Oh, Jesus. No. Please don’t say you’ve been telling your friends about this—”
“No!” I say in horror. “Of course not!”
“Then what?”
I feel slightly emboldened by his wrong suspicions. At least I haven’t been blabbing everything to my friends. At least I haven’t been selling my story to The Sun.
“It’s a family thing. It’s about your dad.”
Sam’s eyes widen sharply, but he says nothing.
“I just felt bad that you and he weren’t in contact. So I emailed him back. He’s desperate to see you, Sam. He wants to reach out! You never go down to Hampshire, you never see him—”
“For God’s sake,” he mutters, almost to himself. “I really don’t have time for this.”
“You don’t have time for your own father?” His words sting me. “You know what, Mr. Big Shot, maybe your priorities are a little screwed. I know you’re busy, I know this crisis is important, but—”
“Poppy, stop right there. You’re making a big mistake.”
He looks so impassive, I feel a surge of outrage. How dare he be so sure of himself all the time?
“Maybe you’re the one who’s making a big mistake!” The words burst out before I can stop them. “Maybe you’re the one who’s letting your life pass by without engaging in it! Maybe Willow’s right!”
“ Excuse me?” Sam looks thunderous at the mention of Willow.
“You’re going to miss out! You’re going to miss out on relationships which could give you so much, because you don’t want to talk, you don’t want to listen… .”
