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‘But, I mean, this is a great honour. Are you sure I’m the best person …’
‘The honour would be Starwear’s to have someone of your calibre making the presentation.’
‘Oh, Claude,’ she chuckled happily, still aglow with delight, ‘flattery will get you everywhere.’
•••
When Chris arrived at Lombard the following Monday, the mood in Reception seemed subdued. He put it down to the way he was feeling. By now, Elliott North would know he’d seen Judith last Friday night. He would probably have known by Saturday morning. During the weekend, Chris had been constantly surrounded with people. He’d played golf and watched cricket and eaten out in restaurants and every minute of both days he’d deliberately kept himself protected among friends.
The first thing he noticed when he stepped into his office was the envelope on his otherwise empty desk. He picked it up and tore it open. It was issued from Mike Cullen’s office. In two short paragraphs it announced that last Friday night, at about ten, Kate Taylor had been found by a security guard in her office, in a coma resulting from sugar deprivation. She had been rushed to hospital, but had died on arrival.
‘I cannot find the words to express my profound shock and sense of personal loss,’ read the second paragraph. ‘My grief is overwhelming. Apart from the highest regard in which I held Kate as a professional colleague, about which I spoke to you all on what turned out to be her last day among us, I also counted Kate as a dear, much-loved friend. Her death is an appalling tragedy.’
Chris put down the paper, in a state of shock, before sliding into his desk chair and putting his head in his hands. He could hardly take in what had happened. Could this really be an accident? Kate had had diabetes since she was a teenager. She’d kept her sugar level balanced for the past twenty years. So why had this happened now? Surely sugar deprivation didn’t strike diabetics down in just a few minutes – not, that is, unless they’d suffered an insulin overdose. Could it be that Kate had paid the price for exposing North’s cover-ups? Maybe, if he, Chris, hadn’t shown her those company accounts, she wouldn’t have voiced her misgivings to Mike Cullen, and North would have left her alone. If he hadn’t shown her those accounts, she wouldn’t have made enquiries about Merlin de Vere. The cold hand of guilt settled over Chris. Maybe he was to blame. William van Aardt. Merlin de Vere. Now Kate Taylor. Another murder dressed as a tragedy. And this time, he was involved.
Somehow, it just didn’t seem possible. It was only on Friday that she’d been made Deputy Chief Executive Officer, a title that made her seem more in control, more invincible than ever. And now this. As he sat,staring down at his desk, he began to realise how much reassurance he’d drawn from her – not only because she was his Personal Manager but also, and much more importantly, because he knew he could trust her. He had taken his fears to her. She had kept his confidences – she had kept faith. Today, right now, he needed her more than ever. As he sat, pondering over what had happened, and still in a state of shock and sadness, he wondered what he should do about his suspicions. If Kate had died of an insulin overdose, surely that would show up in a post-mortem? If someone had tampered with her medication, wouldn’t the police soon be round, asking questions? But then, they hadn’t been inclined to ask too many questions about Merlin de Vere. And what should he do about Mike Cullen? Didn’t he have the right to know what Elliott North was doing to his company?
When Charlotte appeared at his door, she didn’t need to ask if he had seen the note. Making her way over to him, she briefly squeezed his shoulder. ‘Like a coffee?’
‘Thanks.’
He looked up as she made her way out again. At the door she turned. ‘By the way, when you’re ready,’ she wore a sympathetic expression, ‘Elliott North was up here looking for you a few minutes ago. He’d like to see you in the Boardroom at nine.’
He didn’t know what to expect from North. Some kind of interrogation about his relationship with Judith? Or what he knew about her Starwear story? Or how much she’d dug up on Jacob Strauss? As he made his way upstairs, he felt weary. If North went off at the deep end again, he was tempted just to cut him short. Come right out with it and tell him that by the end of the week, his campaign of murder and deceit would be headline news. But he knew he had to keep quiet and endure. He must ride out the storm – for Judith’s sake, and Kate’s too.
North was on his mobile phone when he knocked on the Boardroom door and stepped in. Standing by the window, he gestured that Chris should sit down. He seemed to be discussing some planned outing with a friend to a West End cabaret – there were snide references to showgirls, and much laughter. Then, snapping the phone shut, he turned to Chris. ‘Mike would have been here too,’ he began, studiously rearranging his features from sly grin to a sombre expression. ‘He asked me to pass on his apologies. He’s upstairs at the moment,’ he gestured towards the penthouse, ‘inconsolable.’
Chris nodded.
North’s put-on sorrow lasted about five seconds as he sat down opposite Chris, placing his mobile on the table in front of them. Then, in a very different tone, he declared, ‘He wanted to join me in congratulating you.’ He was upbeat.
Chris was puzzled.
‘Project Silo really hit the mark,’ North thumped the Boardroom table with gusto, ‘really did it!’
This was crazy! Could North possibly be describing the same document he’d described only a couple of weeks ago as ‘a crock of shit’? The only difference had been one appendix.
Trying to find a voice, Chris asked, ‘You reckon the new stuff will be—’
‘The new stuff is great,’ beamed North. ‘Well briefed.’
Why was he bothering? They both knew who had told Kuczynski to dig through the persona
l lives of Bob Reid and Ed Snyder.
‘In fact, the whole report is going to form the cornerstone of future Starwear strategy.’
Chris stared at him, dumbstruck. Then he couldn’t resist saying, ‘I – I don’t know … last time we spoke about it, you said—’
‘Oh, that.’ North laughed mirthlessly. ‘Management technique.’
‘What?
‘Encourage peak performance. I really wanted to make sure you were giving your best.’
This conversation had turned into something from Alice in Wonderland. He couldn’t even begin to understand it right now. So he just said, ‘I see.’
‘So. How do you feel about the report now?’
