Read Page 25

“Er … OK,” I say feebly.

She closes the door and I put the tea down. Oh, fuck. What am I going to do?Advertisement

OK. Prioritize. I need to call the office. Find out exactly how bad the situation is. With a spasm of apprehension I reach inside my bag for my mobile phone.

The display is blank.

I tap it in frustration, but the battery must have run out. I must have been so spaced out yesterday I forgot to charge it. I pull out my charger, plug it into the wall, and attach the phone. At once it starts charging up.

I wait for the signal to appear … but there’s no bloody signal. How am I going to call the office? How am I going to do anything? I cannot exist without my mobile phone.

Suddenly I remember passing a telephone on the landing. It was on a table in a little window bay. Maybe I could use that. I open my bedroom door and look up and down the corridor. No one’s about. Cautiously I creep into the bay and lift the receiver. The dial tone rings in my ear. I take a deep breath—then dial the direct line for Arnold. It isn’t nine yet, but he’ll be in.

“Arnold Saville’s office,” comes the cheerful voice of Lara, his secretary.

“Lara,” I say nervously. “It’s Samantha. Samantha Sweeting.”

“Samantha?” Lara sounds so gobsmacked, I wince. “Oh, my God! What happened? Where are you? Everyone’s been—” She draws herself up.

“I … I’m out of London right now. May I speak with Arnold?”

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“Of course. He’s right here.…” She disappears briefly into chirpy Vivaldi, before the line clears again.

“Samantha.” Arnold’s friendly, assured voice booms down the line. “My dear girl. You’ve got yourself in a pickle, haven’t you?”

Only Arnold could describe the loss of a client’s £50 million as a “pickle.” In spite of everything, I feel the beginning of a smile. I can just picture him, in his waistcoat, his woolly eyebrows knitting together.

“I know,” I say, trying to match his understated tones. “It’s … not great.”

“I’m obliged to point out that your hasty departure yesterday did not help matters.”

“I know. I’m so sorry. I just … panicked.”

“Understandable. However, you left a bit of a mess behind.”

Beneath Arnold’s jolly veneer I can hear unfamiliar levels of stress. Arnold never gets stressed. Things must be really bad. I want to fall to the floor in a groveling heap, crying, “I’m so sorry!” But that wouldn’t help. I’ve already been unprofessional enough.

“So—what’s the latest situation?” I’m trying to sound matter-of-fact. “Is there anything the receivers can do?”

“I think it unlikely. They say their hands are tied.”

“Right.” His response is like a hammer blow to the stomach. So that’s it. The fifty million is gone for good. “And … the insurers?”

“That is the next step, of course. The money will be recovered eventually, I’m sure. But not without complications. As I think you will appreciate.”

“I know,” I whisper.

There’s no good news. There’s no silver lining. I’ve fucked up.

“Arnold …” I say, my voice quivering. “I have no idea how I could have made such a … a stupid mistake. I don’t understand how it happened. I don’t even remember seeing the memo on my desk—”

“Where are you now?” Arnold breaks in.

“I’m …” I look helplessly out the window at the Geigers’ gravel drive. “To be honest, I don’t even know exactly where I am.”

“You don’t know?”

“I’m in the country somewhere. But I can come back right now!” My words tumble out. “I’ll get on the first train … I’ll only be a few hours.…”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” There’s a new edge to Arnold’s voice, which pulls me up short.

“Have I … have I been fired?”

“There have been slightly more pressing matters to consider, Samantha.” He sounds testy.

“Of course.” I feel the blood rush back into my head. “I’m sorry. I just … I’ve been with Carter Spink all my working life. All I ever, ever wanted was …”

I can’t even say it.

“Samantha, I know you’re a very talented lawyer.” Arnold sighs. “No one is in any doubt of that.”

“But I made a mistake.”

I can hear tiny crackles down the line; my own pulse beating in my ears. pqdm.com