The massive front door closes, and I push my way through the overgrown rhododendrons, down the path to the gate. I’m expecting to crumble into tears any moment. My perfect fiance isn’t perfect after all. He’s a lying, unfaithful, commitment-phobic flake. I’m going to have to call off a whole wedding. My brothers won’t get to walk me up the aisle after all. I should be in bits. But as I walk down the hill, all I can feel is numb.
I can’t face the tube. Nor can I afford any more taxis. So I head toward an out-of-the-way bench in a patch of sunshine, sit down, and stare blankly into space for a while. Random thoughts are floating around my brain, bouncing off one another as though in zero gravity.
So much for all that … I wonder if I’ll be able to sell my wedding dress…. I should have known it was too good to be true…. I must tell the vicar…. I don’t think Toby and Tom ever liked Magnus, not that they admitted it…. Did Magnus ever love me at all?
At last I heave a sigh and switch on my phone. I have to get back to real life. The phone is flashing with messages, about ten of them from Sam, and for a ridiculous instant I think, Oh my God, he’s psychic, he knows.
But as I click on them, I immediately realize how stupid I’m being. Of course he’s not texting about my personal life. This is all strictly business.
Poppy, are you there? It’s incredible. File was on computer. Voice mails were there. This confirms everything.
Are you around to talk?
Give me a call when you can. It’s all kicking off here. Heads rolling. Press conference this afternoon. Vicks wants to talk to you too.
Hi, Poppy, we need the phone. Can you call me asap?
I don’t bother scrolling through the rest of the texts; I press call. A moment later the line is ringing and I feel a spasm of nerves. I have no idea why.
“Hi, Poppy! At last! It’s Poppy.” Sam’s ebullient voice greets me, and I can hear a background hubbub of people. “We’re all whooping here. You have no idea what your little discovery means.”
“Not my discovery,” I say honestly. “Violet’s.”
“But if it hadn’t been for you taking Violet’s call and meeting her … Vicks says, high five! She wants to buy you a drink. We all do.” Sam sounds totally high. “So, did you get my message? The tech guys here want to look at the phone, in case there’s anything on that.”
“Oh. Right. Sure. I’ll bring it to your office.”
“Is that OK?” Sam sounds concerned. “Am I disrupting your day? What are you up to?”
“Oh … nothing.”
Just canceling my wedding. Just feeling like a total fool about everything.
“Because I can send a bike—”
“No, really.” I force a smile. “It’s fine. I’ll come in straightaway.”
94 No one needs to know about that blond guy at the freshers’ party.
This time I don’t have any trouble getting in to the building—there’s practically a reception committee waiting for me. Sam, Vicks, Robbie, Mark, and a couple more people I don’t recognize are standing by the glass doors, ready with a badge and handshakes and lots of explanations, which last all the way up in the lift and which I only half-follow as they keep interrupting one another. But the gist is as follows: The voice mails are 100 percent incriminating. Several members of the staff were pulled in for questioning. Justin lost his cool and practically admitted everything. Another senior staff member, Phil Stanbridge, is also involved, which everyone’s gobsmacked by. Ed Exton has disappeared off the radar. Lawyers are having meetings. No one’s sure yet whether criminal proceedings will occur, but the point is, Sir Nicholas’s name is cleared. He’s over the moon. Sam’s over the moon.
ITN is slightly less over the moon, as the story has turned from Government adviser is corrupt into Internal company problem is sorted, but they’re still running a follow-up piece and claiming they were the ones who discovered everything.
“The whole company’s going to be shaken up by this,” Sam is saying enthusiastically as we stride along the corridor. “The lines are going to be redrawn.”
“So you’ve won,” I venture, and he comes to a halt, smiling as widely as I’ve ever seen him smile.
“Yup. We’ve won.” He resumes walking and ushers me in to his office. “Here she is! The girl herself. Poppy Wyatt.”
Two guys in jeans get up from the sofa, shake my hand, and introduce themselves as Ted and Marco.
“So, you’ve got the famous phone,” says Marco. “Might I take a look?”
“Of course.” I reach into my pocket, produce the phone, and hand it over. For a few moments the guys examine it, pressing buttons, squinting at it, passing it from one to the other.
There aren’t any more incriminating voice mails on there, I feel like saying. Believe me, I would have mentioned them.
“You mind if we keep this?” Marco says at last, looking up.
“Keep it?” The dismay in my voice is so obvious, he double-takes.
“Sorry. It’s a company phone, so I assumed …”
“It’s not anymore,” says Sam, frowning. “I gave it to Poppy. It’s hers.”
“Oh.” Marco sucks air through his teeth. He seems a bit flummoxed. “Thing is, we’d like to do a thorough examination of it. Could take a while. I could say we’ll let you have it back afterward, but who knows how long that’ll be….” He glances at Sam for guidance. “I mean, I’m sure we can get you a replacement, top of the range, whatever you want.”
“Absolutely.” Sam nods. “Any budget.” He grins at me. “You can get the highest-tech phone available.”
I don’t want the highest-tech phone available. I want that phone. Our phone. I want to keep it safe, not give it up to be hacked about by technicians. But … what can I say?
“Sure.” I smile, even though there’s a little wrenching in my stomach. “Have it. It’s just a phone.”
“As for your messages, contacts, all the rest of it …” Marco exchanges doubtful looks with Ted. “What are we going to do about that?”
“I need my messages.” I’m alarmed at how shaky my voice is. I feel almost violated. But there’s nothing I can do. It would be unreasonable and unhelpful to refuse.
“We could print them out.” Ted brightens. “How’s that? We print everything out for you, then you’ve got a record.”
“Some of them are my messages,” points out Sam.
“Yes, some are his.”
“What?” Marco looks from me to Sam. “Sorry, I’m confused. Whose phone is this?”
“It’s his phone, really, but I’ve been using it—”
“We’ve both been using it,” explains Sam. “Jointly. Sharing.”
“Sharing?” Marco and Ted both seem so appalled, I almost want to giggle.
“I’ve never come across anyone sharing a phone before,” says Marco flatly. “That’s sick.”
“Me neither.” Ted shudders. “I wouldn’t even share a phone with my girlfriend.”