Читать книгу Cecelia Ahern 2-Book Gift Collection: The Gift, Thanks for the Memories - Cecelia Ahern, Cecelia Ahern - Страница 36
ОглавлениеAlone in his office, Lou took the pills from his pocket and placed them on his desk. He laid his head down and finally closed his eyes.
‘Christ, you’re a mess,’ he heard a voice say close to his ear and he jumped up.
‘Alfred,’ he rubbed his eyes, ‘what time is it?’
‘Seven twenty-five. Don’t worry, you haven’t missed your meeting. Thanks to me,’ he smirked, running his chubby, nicotine-stained, nail-bitten fingers along Lou’s desk, his one touch enough to tarnish everything and leave his dirty mark, which annoyed Lou. The term ‘grubby little mitts’ applied here.
‘Hey, what are these?’ Alfred picked up the pills and popped open the lid.
‘Give them to me.’ Lou reached out for them but Alfred pulled away. He emptied a few into his open clammy palm.
‘Alfred, give them to me,’ Lou said sternly, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice as Alfred moved about the room waving the container in the air, teasing him with the same air and issues of a school bully.
‘Naughty, naughty, Lou, what are you up to?’ Alfred asked in an accusing sing-song tone that chilled Lou to the core.
Knowing that Alfred was most likely to try to use these against him, Lou thought fast.
‘Looks like you’re concocting a story,’ Alfred smiled. ‘I know it when you’re bluffing, I’ve seen you in every meeting, remember? Don’t you trust me with the truth?’
Lou smiled and kept his tone easy, almost joking, but both were deadly serious. ‘Honestly? Lately, no. I wouldn’t be surprised if you hatched a plan to use that little container against me.’
Alfred laughed. ‘Now, really. Is that any way to treat an old friend?’
Lou’s smile faded. ‘I don’t know, Alfred, you tell me.’
They had a moment’s staring match. Alfred broke it.
‘Something on your mind, Lou?’
‘What do you think?’
‘Look,’ Alfred’s shoulders dropped, the bravado act over with and the new humble Alfred act begun, ‘if this is about the meeting tonight, be rest assured that I did not meddle with your appointments in any way. Talk to Louise. With Tracey leaving and Alison taking over, a lot of stuff got lost in the mix,’ he shrugged, ‘though between you and me, Alison seems a little flakey.’
‘Don’t blame it on Alison.’ Lou folded his arms.
‘Indeed,’ Alfred smiled and nodded slowly to himself, ‘I forgot that you two have a thing.’
‘We have no thing. For Christ’s sake, Alfred.’
‘Right, sorry.’ Alfred zipped his lips closed. ‘Ruth will never know, I promise.’
The very fact that he’d mentioned that unnerved Lou. ‘What’s gotten into you?’ Lou asked him, serious now. ‘What’s up with you? Is it stress? Is it the crap you’re putting up your nose? What the hell is up? Are you worried about the changes –’
‘The changes,’ Alfred snorted. ‘You make me sound like a menopausal woman.’
Lou stared at him.
‘I’m fine, Lou,’ he said slowly. ‘I’m the same as I’ve always been. It’s you that’s acting a little funny around here. Everyone’s talking about it, even Mr Patterson. Maybe it’s these.’ He shook the pills in Lou’s face, just as Gabe had done.
‘They’re headache pills.’
‘I don’t see a label.’
‘The kids scratched it off, now can you please stop mauling them and give them back?’ Lou held an open hand out towards Alfred.
‘Oh, headache pills. I see.’ Alfred studied the container again. ‘Is that what they are? Because I thought I heard the homeless guy saying that they were herbal?’
Lou swallowed. ‘Were you spying on me, Alfred? Is that what you’re up to?’
‘No,’ Alfred laughed easily, ‘I wouldn’t do that. I’ll have some of these checked out for you, to make sure they’re nothing stronger than headache pills.’ He took a pill, pocketed it, and handed back the container. ‘It’s nice to be able to find out a few things for myself when my friends are lying to me.’
‘I know the feeling,’ Lou agreed, glad to have the container back in his possession. ‘Like my finding out about the meeting you and Mr Patterson had a few mornings ago and the lunch you had last Friday.’
Unusually for Alfred, he looked genuinely shocked.
‘Oh,’ Lou said softly, ‘you didn’t know that I knew, did you? Sorry about that. Well, you’d better get to dinner or you’ll miss your appetiser. All work and no caviar makes Alfred a dull boy.’ He led a silent Alfred to his door, opened it and winked at him before closing it quietly in his face.
Seven thirty p.m. came and went without Arthur Lynch appearing on the fifty-inch plasma before Lou at the boardroom table. Aware that at any moment he could be seen by whoever would be present at the meeting, he attempted to relax in his chair, and tried not to sleep. At seven forty p.m., Mr Lynch’s secretary informed him that Mr Lynch would be a few more minutes.
While waiting, the increasingly sleepy Lou pictured Alfred in the restaurant, brash as could be, the centre of attention, loud and doing his best to entertain; stealing the glory, making or breaking a deal that Lou wouldn’t be associated with unless Alfred failed. In missing that – the most important meeting of the year – Lou was losing the biggest chance to prove himself to Mr Patterson. Cliff’s job and the empty office that came with it was dangled at him day in and day out like a carrot on a string. Cliff’s old office was down the hall next to Mr Patterson’s, blinds open and vacant. A larger office, with better light. It called to him. It had been six months since the memorable morning Cliff had had his breakdown – after a long process of unusual behaviour. Lou had finally found Cliff crouched under his desk, his body trembling, with the keyboard held tightly and close to his chest. Occasionally his fingers tapped away in some sort of panicked Morse code. They were coming to get him, he kept repeating, wide-eyed and terrified.
Who exactly they were, Lou had been unable to ascertain. He’d tried to gently coax Cliff out from under the desk, to make him put his shoes and socks back on, but Cliff had lashed out as Lou neared and hit him across the face with the attached mouse, swinging the wire around like a cowboy rope. The force of the small plastic mouse hadn’t hurt nearly as much as the sight of this young successful man falling apart. The office had lain empty for all those months and, as rumours of Cliff’s further demise drifted through offices, the sympathy for him lessened as the competition for his job increased. Lou had recently heard that Cliff had started seeing people again, and he had all the best intentions to visit. He knew he should, and he would at some point, but he just couldn’t seem to find the time …
Lou’s frustration grew as he stared at the black plasma still yet to come alive. His head pounded and he could barely think as his migraine spread from the base of his head to his eyes. Feeling desperate, he retrieved the pills from his pocket and stared at them.
He thought of Gabe’s knowledge of Mr Patterson and Alfred’s meeting and of how Gabe had correctly judged the shoe situation, of how Gabe had provided him with coffee the previous morning, driven him home and somehow won Ruth over. Convincing himself that on every occasion Gabe had never let him down, and that he could trust him now, Lou shook the open container and one small white glossy pill rolled out onto the palm of his sweaty hand. He played with it for a while, rolling it around in his fingers, licked it; and when nothing drastic happened, he popped it into his mouth and quickly downed it with a glass of water.
Lou held on to the boardroom table with both hands, gripping it so hard that his sweaty prints were visible on the glass surface laid to protect the solid walnut. He waited. Nothing happened. He lifted his hands from the table and studied them as though the effects would be seen on his sweaty palms. Still nothing out of the ordinary happened, no unusual trip, nothing life-threatening apart from his head, which continued to pound.
At seven forty-five p.m. there was still no sign of Arthur Lynch on the plasma. Lou tapped his pen against the glass impatiently, no longer caring about how he’d appear to the people on the other side of the camera. Already paranoid beyond reasoning, Lou began to convince himself that there was no meeting at all, that Alfred had somehow orchestrated this staged meeting so that he could have dinner by himself and negotiate the deal. But Lou wouldn’t allow Alfred to sabotage any more of his hard work. He stood quickly, grabbed his overcoat and charged for the door. He pulled it open and had one foot over the threshold when he heard a voice coming from the plasma behind him.
‘I’m very sorry for keeping you waiting, Mr Suffern.’
The voice stalled Lou in his march. He closed his eyes and sighed, kissing his dream of the top office with the three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of Dublin goodbye. He quickly thought about what to do: run and make it in time for dinner or turn around and face the music. Before he had time to make the decision, the sound of another voice in the office almost stopped his heart.
