crazy I was to let some
stranger make me doubt him for a second.
‘You must be exhausted,’ I mumble. ‘What’s the time?’
‘Almost seven.’ He grimaces. ‘I didn’t have a minute all day and the flight home was packed.’ He pauses, leaning lower and letting his lips graze my forehead.
‘It’s you I’m worried about, though,’ he whispers. ‘How are you doing?’
I stroke his face, running my finger over the lines that crease the skin around his eyes. They weren’t there a year ago. Art is getting older. And so am I. There’s nothing stronger
than the bond created by time and suffering.
‘I’m sorry about this morning, Art, that woman really got to me.’
‘I know.’ Art tucks the towel around me as I shiver. ‘I put in a call to Vaizey. He wouldn’t speak to me, but I left a message.’ He pauses.
‘Bastard.’
I raise my eyebrows.
‘Don’t worry, I didn’t actually threaten him, just made it clear that if he was trying to stir anything up between us, he might as well stop now. It wasn’t going to
work.’
‘No.’ I squeeze his hand. ‘So how was your meeting?’
‘Good.’ Art grins. ‘Hey, d’you want to hear something amazing?’
I sit up. ‘What?’
‘
Two
things actually.’ He laughs. ‘Count ’em. One, today’s pitch went well.
Really
well. The client more or less said the job was ours.’
‘Fantastic.’ I smile, trying to look like I know which client he’s talking about. This one has totally passed me by. All I know is that the company is based in Brussels. To be
honest, since Art appeared in
The Trials
there have been too many pitches to keep track of.
‘The second amazing thing that happened today is that the woman I was with, Sandrine – she’s on a policy committee at Number Ten,’ Art pauses for breath. ‘
Ten
Downing Street
, Gen. She’d already said she wanted to talk to me about an “initiative”, remember? Well, apparently the PM saw me on
The Trials
and he wants me on the
same committee that she’s on. It’s not window dressing either. I got into the weeds with Sandrine about it. She says the PM is really impressed with me, wants
me
in the
“loop”, this particular “loop” being a top-level, big-bloody-deal of a weekly session that the Prime Minister is
always
at. Me, him, her and three other people,
max. Just think, Gen. Me and the bloody PM in a meeting together. Starting tomorrow.’ He shucks his jacket off with a flourish.
‘That’s brilliant,’ I say.
‘Bloody right.’ Art laughs. He sits back and loosens his tie. ‘And the best bit is the influence on policy I’ll have. D’you get it, Gen? They’re going to
listen to me, because I’ve grown the company so much – against all the odds – and I’ve walked the line while I’ve done it. Everything ethical, sustainable . . . They
see me up here on this high moral ground and they want to jump up and join me.’ He beams at me. ‘This is so much bigger than the company, than just Loxley Benson; it feels like
everything’s opening up: me getting to make a difference on policy, you trying to get pregnant again . . . Hey, maybe we should celebrate, buy that recycled dance sculpture from Being Green
that you liked?’
I stare at him. ‘That cost nearly fifty grand.’
An image of the £50,000 payment to MDO on the bank statement flashes up inside my head. My pulse races, my mind suddenly alert and working at a million miles an hour. I
have
to
ask Art. It will drive me insane otherwise.
Art laughs. ‘Okay then, how about an environmentally friendly barbecue?’
‘Actually . . .’ I try to sound casual. ‘I was looking for something earlier and I came across an odd payment. The folder was marked “personal”, but the file was an
account for L. B. Plus.’
Art shrugs. ‘That’s probably just one of Dan’s trading names for Loxley Benson, you know he uses loads of them . . .’ He pauses. ‘What was the payment
for?’
‘I don’t know, but it
stranger make me doubt him for a second.
‘You must be exhausted,’ I mumble. ‘What’s the time?’
‘Almost seven.’ He grimaces. ‘I didn’t have a minute all day and the flight home was packed.’ He pauses, leaning lower and letting his lips graze my forehead.
‘It’s you I’m worried about, though,’ he whispers. ‘How are you doing?’
I stroke his face, running my finger over the lines that crease the skin around his eyes. They weren’t there a year ago. Art is getting older. And so am I. There’s nothing stronger
than the bond created by time and suffering.
‘I’m sorry about this morning, Art, that woman really got to me.’
‘I know.’ Art tucks the towel around me as I shiver. ‘I put in a call to Vaizey. He wouldn’t speak to me, but I left a message.’ He pauses.
‘Bastard.’
I raise my eyebrows.
‘Don’t worry, I didn’t actually threaten him, just made it clear that if he was trying to stir anything up between us, he might as well stop now. It wasn’t going to
work.’
‘No.’ I squeeze his hand. ‘So how was your meeting?’
‘Good.’ Art grins. ‘Hey, d’you want to hear something amazing?’
I sit up. ‘What?’
‘
Two
things actually.’ He laughs. ‘Count ’em. One, today’s pitch went well.
Really
well. The client more or less said the job was ours.’
‘Fantastic.’ I smile, trying to look like I know which client he’s talking about. This one has totally passed me by. All I know is that the company is based in Brussels. To be
honest, since Art appeared in
The Trials
there have been too many pitches to keep track of.
‘The second amazing thing that happened today is that the woman I was with, Sandrine – she’s on a policy committee at Number Ten,’ Art pauses for breath. ‘
Ten
Downing Street
, Gen. She’d already said she wanted to talk to me about an “initiative”, remember? Well, apparently the PM saw me on
The Trials
and he wants me on the
same committee that she’s on. It’s not window dressing either. I got into the weeds with Sandrine about it. She says the PM is really impressed with me, wants
me
in the
“loop”, this particular “loop” being a top-level, big-bloody-deal of a weekly session that the Prime Minister is
always
at. Me, him, her and three other people,
max. Just think, Gen. Me and the bloody PM in a meeting together. Starting tomorrow.’ He shucks his jacket off with a flourish.
‘That’s brilliant,’ I say.
‘Bloody right.’ Art laughs. He sits back and loosens his tie. ‘And the best bit is the influence on policy I’ll have. D’you get it, Gen? They’re going to
listen to me, because I’ve grown the company so much – against all the odds – and I’ve walked the line while I’ve done it. Everything ethical, sustainable . . . They
see me up here on this high moral ground and they want to jump up and join me.’ He beams at me. ‘This is so much bigger than the company, than just Loxley Benson; it feels like
everything’s opening up: me getting to make a difference on policy, you trying to get pregnant again . . . Hey, maybe we should celebrate, buy that recycled dance sculpture from Being Green
that you liked?’
I stare at him. ‘That cost nearly fifty grand.’
An image of the £50,000 payment to MDO on the bank statement flashes up inside my head. My pulse races, my mind suddenly alert and working at a million miles an hour. I
have
to
ask Art. It will drive me insane otherwise.
Art laughs. ‘Okay then, how about an environmentally friendly barbecue?’
‘Actually . . .’ I try to sound casual. ‘I was looking for something earlier and I came across an odd payment. The folder was marked “personal”, but the file was an
account for L. B. Plus.’
Art shrugs. ‘That’s probably just one of Dan’s trading names for Loxley Benson, you know he uses loads of them . . .’ He pauses. ‘What was the payment
for?’
‘I don’t know, but it
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