Oh, this shouldn’t be allowed. There should be a rule which says that people you’ve met in the gym should never meet you in real life.

“We’ve already had the pleasure of meeting,” says Michael Ellis, shaking my hand with a twinkle and sitting down opposite. “Becky and I worked out together at the hotel gym. Didn’t catch you there this morning, though.”

“This morning?” says Luke, giving me a puzzled look as he sits down again. “I thought you said the gym was closed, Becky.”

Shit.

“Oh. Um, well…” I take a deep gulp of my drink and clear my throat. “When I said it was closed, what I really meant was… was…” I tail away feebly into silence.

And I so wanted to make a good impression.

“What am I thinking of?” exclaims Michael suddenly. “I must be going crazy! It wasn’t this morning. The gym was closed this morning. Due to vital repair work, I believe.” He grins broadly and I feel myself blushing.

“So, anyway,” I say, hurriedly changing the subject. “You’re… you’re doing a deal with Luke. That’s great! How’s it all going?”

I only really ask to be polite, and steer attention away from my gym activities. I’m expecting them both to start explaining it to me at great length, and I can nod my head at intervals and enjoy my drink. But to my surprise, there’s an awkward pause.

“Good question,” says Luke at last, and looks at Michael. “What did Clark say?”

“We had a long conversation,” says Michael. “Not entirely satisfactory.”

I look from face to face, feeling disconcerted.

“Is something going wrong?”

“That all depends,” says Michael.

He starts to tell Luke about his phone call with whoever Clark is, and I try to listen intelligently to their conversation. But the trouble is, I’m starting to feel quite giddy. How much have I drunk today? I don’t even want to think about it, to be honest. I loll against the leather backrest, my eyes closed, listening to their voices chatting what seems far above my head.

“… some sort of paranoia…”

“… think they can change the goalposts…”

“… overheads… cost reduction… with Alicia Billington heading up the London office…”

“Alicia?” I struggle to an upright position. “Alicia’s going to run the London office?”

“Almost definitely,” says Luke, stopping midsentence. “Why?”

“But—”

“But what?” says Michael, looking at me with interest. “Why shouldn’t she run the London office? She’s bright, ambitious…”

“Oh. Well… no reason,” I say feebly.

I can’t very well say, “Because she’s a complete cow.”

“You’ve heard she’s just got engaged, by the way?” says Luke. “To Ed Collins at Hill Hanson.”

“Really?” I say in surprise. “I thought she was having an affair with… whassisname.”

“With who?” says Michael.

“Erm… thingy.” I take a sip of gimlet to clear my head. “She was having secret lunches with him, and everything!”

What’s his name again? I really am pissed.

“Becky likes to keep abreast of the office gossip,” says Luke with an easy laugh. “Unfortunately one can’t always vouch for its accuracy.”

I stare at him crossly. What’s he trying to say? That I’m some kind of rumormonger?

“Nothing wrong with a bit of office gossip,” says Michael with a warm smile. “Keeps the wheels turning.”

“Absolutely!” I say emphatically. “I couldn’t agree more. I always say to Luke, you should be interested in the people who work for you. It’s like when I give financial advice on my TV show. You can’t just look at the numbers, you have to talk to them. Like… like Enid from Northampton!” I look at Michael expectantly, before remembering that he doesn’t know who Enid is. “On paper she was ready to retire,” I explain. “Pension and everything. But in real life…”

“She… wasn’t ready?” suggests Michael.

“Exactly! She was really enjoying work and it was only her stupid husband who wanted her to give up. She was only fifty-five!” I gesture randomly with my glass. “I mean, don’t they say life begins at fifty-five?”

“I’m not sure they do,” says Michael, smiling. “But maybe they should.” He gives me an interested look. “I’d like to catch your show one day. Is it shown in the States?”

“No, it isn’t,” I say regretfully. “But I’ll be doing the same thing on American TV soon, so you’ll be able to watch it then!”

“I look forward to that.” Michael looks at his watch and drains his glass. “I have to go, I’m afraid. We’ll speak later, Luke. And very nice to meet you, Becky. If I ever need financial advice, I’ll know where to come.”

As he leaves the bar, I lean back against my squashy seat and turn to look at Luke. His easy demeanor has vanished, and he’s staring tensely into space while his fingers methodically tear a matchbook into small pieces.

“Michael seems really nice!” I say. “Really friendly.”

“Yes,” says Luke distantly. “Yes, he is.”

I take a sip of gimlet and look at Luke more carefully. He’s got exactly the same expression he had last month, when one of his staff cocked up a press release and some confidential figures were made public by mistake. My mind spools back over the conversation I was half-listening to — and as I watch his face I start to feel a bit worried.

“Luke,” I say at last. “What’s going on? Is there some kind of hitch with your deal?”

“No,” says Luke without moving.

“So what did Michael mean when he said, ‘That all depends’? And all that stuff about them changing the goalposts?”

I lean forward and try to take his hand, but Luke doesn’t respond. As I gaze at him in anxious silence, I gradually become aware of the background chatter and music all around us in the dim bar. At the next table a woman’s opening a little box from Tiffany’s and gasping — something which would normally have me throwing my napkin onto the floor and sidling over to see what she’s got. But this time I’m too concerned.

“Luke?” I lean forward. “Come on, tell me. Is there a problem?”

“No,” says Luke shortly, and tips his glass back into his mouth. “There’s no problem. Things are fine. Come on, let’s go.”

Ten


I WAKE UP the next morning with a pounding headache. We went on from the Royalton to someplace for dinner, and I drank even more there — and I can’t even remember getting back to the hotel. Thank God I don’t have an interview today. To be honest, I could quite happily spend the whole day in bed with Luke.

Except that Luke is already up, sitting by the window, talking grimly into the phone.

“OK, Michael. I’ll talk to Greg today. God knows. I have no idea.” He listens for a bit. “That may be the case. But I’m not having a second deal collapse on us.” There’s a pause. “Yes, but that would put us back — what, six months? OK. I hear what you’re saying. Yes, I will. Cheers.”

He puts down the receiver and stares tensely out of the window, and I rub my sleepy face, trying to remember if I packed any aspirin.

“Luke, what’s wrong?”

“You’re awake,” says Luke, turning round, and gives me a quick smile. “Did you sleep well?”

“What’s wrong?” I repeat, ignoring him. “What’s wrong with the deal?”

“Everything’s fine,” says Luke shortly, and turns back to the window.

“Everything isn’t fine!” I retort. “Luke, I’m not blind. I’m not deaf. I can tell something’s up.”

“A minor blip,” says Luke after a pause. “You don’t need to worry about it.” He reaches for the phone again. “Shall I order you some breakfast? What would you like?”

“Stop it!” I cry frustratedly. “Luke, I’m not some… some stranger! We’re going to live together, for God’s sake! I’m on your side. Just tell me what’s really going on. Is your deal in trouble?”

There’s silence — and for an awful moment I think Luke’s going to tell me to mind my own business. But then he pushes his hands through his hair, exhales sharply, and looks up.

“You’re right. The truth is, one of our backers is getting nervous.”

“Oh,” I say, and pull a face. “Why?”

“Because some fucking rumor’s going around that we’re about to lose Bank of London.”

“Really?” I stare at him, feeling a cold dismay creep down my back. Even I know how important Bank of London is to Brandon Communications. They were one of Luke’s first clients — and they still bring in about a quarter of the money the company makes every year. “Why would people be saying that?”

“Fuck knows.” He pushes his hair back with his hands. “Bank of London denies it completely, of course. But then, they would. And of course it doesn’t help that I’m here, not there…”

“So are you going to fly back to London?”

“No.” He looks up. “That would give out completely the wrong signals. Things are shaky enough here already. If I suddenly disappear…” He shakes his head and I stare at him apprehensively.

“So — what happens if your backer pulls out?”

“We find someone else.”

“But what if you can’t? Will you have to give up on coming to New York?”

Luke turns to look at me — and he’s suddenly got that blank, scary expression that used to make me want to run away from him at press conferences.

“Not an option.”

“But I mean, you’ve got a really successful business in London,” I persist. “I mean, you don’t have to set up one in New York, do you? You could just…”

I tail away at the look on his face.

“Right,” I say nervously. “Well — I’m sure it’ll all be OK. In the end.”

For a while we’re both silent — then Luke seems to come to, and looks up.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to hold a few hands today,” he says abruptly. “So I won’t be able to make this charity lunch with you and my mother.”