“You can wait?” says Nigel incredulously. “You don’t need to know now?”

“Um, well, of course Iwant to, but, you know, sometimes you’ve got to be patient,” I say knowledgeably. “If we rush it, we could screw up.”

Nigel nods slowly. “You could be right. But can I take these anyway? Maybe a fresh set of eyes will be able to find out something else.” A fresh set of eyes. Yes, that would be good.

“Why don’t you brief me tomorrow morning?” I say crisply. I’m getting into this whole business lark. The good thing about going out with David is that you learn all sorts of phrases that make you sound incredibly businesslike. He’s always asking people to brief him or to debrief him. I’m not entirely sure what the difference is, so I use them interchangeably. Actually I don’t really use them at all, but I’m going to from now on. I might even buy a proper suit and a briefcase and start striding around purposefully. Who knows, when Guy sees all the work I’ve done, I may get promoted. I could be a high-flying business executive with loads of airmiles and a mobile phone that never stops ringing.

I look at my watch and to my amazement it’s nearly five-thirty. We finish at five, and I’m never late going home unless Nigel forces me. Everyone else has left already. I realize I’m going to be late for David if I’m not careful. I quickly turn off my computer and put on my coat. Nigel has gone back to his hunched-over-computer position, so I don’t bother to say good-bye to him; I just give him a quick wave and go.

I decide against taking the lift. (It’s superstition. I never take the lift on my way out of work in case it breaks down and I’m stuck in it overnight. Whereas I always take it in the morning; if it breaks down then, it means sitting in the lift instead of working and that’s fine by me. So long as I’ve got a magazine or something, obviously.)

The stairs at Leary are at the back of the building so I make my way across the office quickly. I open the door to the stairwell and I’ve just started walking down when I hear two people having a fraught discussion. Any fraught discussions at Leary generally mean fantastic gossip; I once heard one of the directors telling a girl from communications that her backside was as whippable as a horse’s. Denise loved that; she told everyone and no one ever found out that it came from me. I didn’t mean for it to end up in the company newsletter and for the director to leave, but that was hardly my fault.

“What did he say exactly?” I hear one man say.

“He asked about HG’s future plans. But in detail. He wanted to know the three-year plan and stuff. Wouldn’t be a problem, but he said it in front of a couple of board members and got them all interested, too.”

“Okay. We’ll just have to fudge it. Why don’t you send Guy to New York for a few weeks to do some reconnaissance work? If he’s out of the picture, I can easily smooth things over with the board. Once they see the financial implications they won’t give a fuck about three-year plans.”

“Even the Learys? They always get so emotionally involved,” says the other man sarcastically.

“The Learys? The guys are idiots. Come on, all three of them are about to pop their clogs anyway. Look, it’ll be fine, so long as we get round Guy.”

“If you say so. Are you still on for a spot of golf tomorrow?”

“Absolutely . . .”

The voices are getting closer so I nip back to the door and quickly close it behind me. This is like being in a film. So Guy could be sent to New York because of the information Nigel sent him. And by the time he gets back it’ll be too late! I’ve got to warn him somehow. I peek through the glass panel of the stairway door and see our chief exec, Robin Friend, and some other guy I don’t know walk past.

Breathlessly I slip back to my department and find Nigel.

“You won’t believe what I’ve just heard!”

Nigel looks up with a start. “I thought you’d gone.”

He isn’t looking up at me, but staring at something on his computer screen.

“Stop it! This is important!” I tug his arm. “Nigel, I’ve just seen Robin and some other guy on the stairs. And they were talking about Guy and sending him to New York because he’s asking questions about the merger, and then they were talking about the Learys and how they are so old that they don’t know what they’re doing anyway, and . . .” I tell him everything I can remember about the conversation.

“So Nigel, who are the Learys? Are they the owners of the company?”

“The Learys? They’re the founders,” he says. “At least their family founded it. Couple of generations ago. There are three Learys on the board now—they own about forty percent of the company between them.”

“How come only forty percent? Don’t they own it all if they founded it?”

Nigel looks distracted. “About twenty years ago the company needed more money so the family sold sixty percent of the shares to private investors. About ten percent is held by people owning just a few shares, and the rest is split between five people. They’re all on the board, too.”

“But you must know all this,” Nigel continues, “because it’s all here.” He looks pointedly at the pile of paper I’d given him earlier.

“Oh, yes, yes of course,” I say dismissively, trying to ignore the hint of a smile on Nigel’s lips.

“The Learys wouldn’t be too happy if they knew that HG was going to shut down the company,” Nigel continues. “We’ve got to warn them. We’ve got to stop this!”

He’s looking all excited. I look at my watch. I’ve really got to go.

“Why don’t you send them a pink envelope, too?” I venture. “Then they can sort it all out.” I’m not too sure about all this “we” business. I mean, I don’t mind printing out Web pages and stuff, but to be honest I’ve got more important things on my mind than the possibility that Leary’s accounting products could be shut down. I mean, I’d hate for us to lose our jobs and everything, but right now I’ve got a Zip disk to get hold of.

“We could do . . .” says Nigel. “But they aren’t majority shareholders anymore. If the rest of the board votes for the merger, they’ll be outnumbered. And anyway, HG will no doubt be offering a superb deal to the board. They’ll be making some serious money out of this.”

“Maybe we should sleep on it,” I suggest. I’ve really got to go now.

“Maybe we should.”

Nigel is looking at his computer screen again. I’m about to go, but something makes me look at Nigel more closely. He looks really down and stressed out. I realize that he’s worked at Leary for, well, forever pretty much. And if he loses his job, I don’t know what he’ll do. I certainly can’t see anyone else employing him.

Squinting at some figures on the screen, Nigel takes his glasses off to clean them and for the first time ever I see his eyes properly. Actually, Nigel looks quite vulnerable without his glasses on—kind of like a mole or something. If he went out like that, he might have more luck with women; some girls have a real mothering instinct, and he could definitely take advantage. I consider suggesting this to him but before I can he puts his glasses back on and says “I believe you were on your way home?”

“Yes, yes I am. Look, Nigel, you’ll be okay, you know.”

“Course I will,” says Nigel with absolutely no feeling. “Look, it’s fine. I’m just going to look into this Taylor guy before I go home. I want something good to show Guy, not just overheard conversations.”

I look at my watch and it’s five to six. I’m going to be seriously late for David. Promising myself that I’m going to do everything I can to help Nigel keep his job, I grab my bag and turn to go.

But for a second time that evening I don’t make it past the door to the stairwell. I knew the name Taylor was familiar to me, and I think I’ve just remembered why.

“Nigel,” I breathe as I race back to his desk, “do a search under the AMG Group. I’m sure Duncan Taylor is involved in a scandal in the U.S.” It was on the news before “Top Gear” when I was in Italy. I’m sure it’s the same name.

Nigel quickly brings up pages and pages on the story. Sure enough, the picture of Duncan Taylor on the AMG site is the same as the one on the Tryton site.

“Georgie, I think you might have just done it,” Nigel grins as he begins to type a memo to Guy.

“I think this might just get Guy’s attention.”

I try to feel as excited as Nigel, but I can’t help thinking that sorting things out with David is going to be a lot more difficult.

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David’s wearing jeans. I only mention this because it’s very rare for David to wear jeans at the weekend, let alone on a Tuesday evening.

He sees me staring and grins sheepishly. “Just something I’m trying,” he says by way of explanation.

There are delicious smells emanating from the kitchen. When he leans down to kiss me I put my arms around him and give him a bear hug. I want to feel all wrapped up and safe, instead of wondering where the disk is.

“Sorry I’m late.” I look at David’s face. He has such a strong, open, honest face. I wonder if he’s been working on Mike’s “case” today.

“No problem. The food’s going to take a while anyway—I wanted to cook something nice. I thought trout might be just the ticket?”

“Sounds lovely.” I feel nervous. My eyes are flicking around the hallway as if looking for clues.

Usually I just walk straight into the sitting room and watch TV while David cooks, and he brings me wine and olives. Now I’m standing here awkwardly and haven’t even taken off my coat.

“Actually, now that you’re here, would you mind keeping an eye on the fish while I nip out quickly? I forgot to buy some wine on my way home.”