I am so talking to Ruby about staff conditions at First Fit Physio.
“Sam!” A man in a navy linen jacket greets Sam, and as they talk, I peer all around at the open-plan office area, wondering if I might spot Willow. That girl with wavy blond hair, talking into a headset, sitting with her feet up on a chair. Could that be her?
“OK.” Sam seems to be wrapping up the conversation. “That’s interesting, Nihal. I’ll have a think.”
Nihal. My ears prick up. I know that name from somewhere. I’m sure I do. What was it, now? Nihal … Nihal …
“Thanks, Sam,” Nihal is saying. “I’ll just forward that document to you right now….” As he’s tapping at his phone, I suddenly remember.
“Congratulate him on his baby!” I whisper to Sam. “Nihal’s wife just had a baby last week. Yasmin. Seven pounds. She’s gorgeous! Didn’t you see the email?”
“Oh.” Sam looks taken aback but recovers smoothly. “Hey, Nihal, congrats on the baby, by the way. Fantastic news.”
“Yasmin’s a lovely name.” I beam at Nihal. “And seven pounds! What a good size! How is she doing?”
“How’s Anita?” joins in Sam.
“They’re both very well, thanks! I’m sorry … I’m not sure we’ve met?” Nihal glances at Sam for help.
“This is Poppy,” says Sam. “She’s here to do some … consultation.”
“Right.” Nihal shakes my hand, still looking puzzled. “So, how did you know about the baby?”
“Because Sam mentioned it to me,” I lie smoothly. “He was so thrilled for you, he couldn’t help telling me. Isn’t that right, Sam?”
Ha! Sam’s face!
“That’s right,” he says finally. “Delighted.”
“Wow.” Nihal’s face suffuses with pleasure. “Thanks, Sam. I didn’t realize you’d be so—” He breaks off awkwardly.
“No problem.” Sam lifts a hand. “Congratulations again. Poppy, we should really be getting on.”
As Sam and I walk across the office, I want to giggle at his expression.
“Can you cut it out, please?” Sam murmurs without moving his head. “First animals, now babies. What kind of reputation are you going to give me?”
“A good one!” I retort. “Everyone will love you!”
“Hey, Sam.” A voice hails us from behind, and we turn to see Matt Mitchell, glowing with delight. “I just heard the news! Sir Nicholas is joining the Guatemala trip! That’s awesome!”
“Yes.” Sam nods brusquely. “We spoke about it last night.”
“Well, I wanted to thank you,” he says earnestly. “I know this was your influence. You two guys will add so much heft to the cause. Oh, and thanks for the donation. We really appreciate it.”
I stare in astonishment. Sam gave a donation to the Guatemala trip? He gave a donation?
Now Matt is beaming at me. “Hello again. Are you interested in the Guatemala trip?”
Oh my God, I would love to go to Guatemala.
“Well—” I begin enthusiastically, before Sam cuts me off firmly:
“No. She’s not.”
Honestly. What a spoilsport.
“Maybe next time,” I say politely. “I hope it goes well!”
As Matt Mitchell heads back down the corridor and we walk on, I’m mulling hard on what I just heard.
“You never told me Sir Nicholas was going to Guatemala,” I say at last.
“No?” Sam doesn’t sound remotely interested. “Well, he is.”
“And you gave them a donation,” I add. “So you do think it’s a good cause. You think it’s worth supporting.”
“I gave them a small donation.” He corrects me with a forbidding look, but I’m undeterred.
“So actually … that situation turned out really well. Not a disaster at all.” I count off thoughtfully on my fingers. “And the girls in admin think you’re wonderful and the whole ideas initiative is brilliant. And you’ve got some interesting new thoughts for the company. And Nihal thinks you’re the bee’s knees, and so does Chloe and all her department, and Rachel loves you for doing the Fun Run.”
“Where exactly are you going with this?” Sam’s expression is so ominous, I quail slightly.
“Er … nowhere!” I backtrack. “Just saying.”
Maybe I’ll keep quiet now, for a while.
After the lobby I was expecting to be impressed by Sam’s office—but I’m more than impressed. I’m awestruck.
It’s a huge corner space, with windows overlooking Blackfriars Bridge, a designer light sculpture hanging from the ceiling, and a massive desk. There’s another, smaller desk outside, which I guess is where Violet used to sit. By the window is a sofa, which is where Sam ushers me.
“The meeting’s not for twenty minutes. I’ve got to catch up with some stuff. Make yourself comfortable.”
I sit on the sofa quietly for a few minutes, but it’s quite boring just sitting on a sofa. At last I get up and wander to the window, gazing down at all the little cars whizzing over the bridge. There’s a bookshelf nearby with lots of business hardbacks and a few awards. No photo of Willow, though. Nor is there one on his desk. He must have a photo of her somewhere, surely?
As I’m looking around for it, I notice another doorway and can’t help peering at it curiously. Why does he have a door? Where does it lead to?
“Bathroom,” says Sam, spotting me. “Do you want to use it? Go ahead.”
Wow. He has an executive bathroom!
I head inside, hoping to find some amazing palace of marble—but it’s quite normal, really, with a small shower and glass tiles. Still. Your own bathroom inside your office. That’s pretty cool.
I take the opportunity to redo my makeup, brush my hair, and tug my denim skirt back into place. I open the door and am about to step outside when I realize there’s a soup splash on my shirt. Shit.
Maybe I can get that off.
I dampen a towel and give it a quick rub. No. Not wet enough. I’ll have to lean down and get it right under the tap.
As I’m bending down, I see a woman in a smart black trouser suit in the mirror, and I jump. It takes me a moment to realize I’ve got a reflected view of the whole office, and she’s actually approaching Sam’s glass door. She’s tall and imposing-looking, in her forties, maybe, and is holding a piece of paper.
Her expression is fairly grim. Ooh, maybe she’s the CEO with bad personal hygiene.
No. Surely not. Look at that perfectly crisp white shirt.
Oh my God, is this Willow?
I suddenly feel even more embarrassed about my soup stain. It hasn’t come off at all; I’ve just got a big wet patch on my T-shirt. In fact, I look hideous. Should I tell Sam I can’t come to the meeting after all? Or maybe he has a spare shirt I could borrow. Don’t businessmen always keep spare shirts at the office?
No, Poppy. Don’t be ridiculous. And, anyway, there’s no time. The woman in the black suit is already rapping at his door and pushing it open. I watch in the mirror, on tenterhooks.
“Sam. I need a word.”