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Chris had had an affair. No wonder she hadn’t remembered him with any emotional content, because there was none. He’d killed her love for him with a thousand small cuts and one massive coup de grâce and he hadn’t valued her enough to try to put it right. She had walked out because she didn’t want to be with him any more. She had packed all her possessions up because she was leaving him, not because she’d gone barmy after losing her job. But she’d driven off with only the bare essentials because the wedding had derailed all her plans, and she’d fled to the coast to start again with no intentions of going back.
Will sniffled; embarrassed, he wiped away a tear that had dropped onto the table top. ‘You must have been so unhappy. I half-wish we hadn’t found you because Dad’s still not making any bloody effort to keep you. I know he’s my dad, Polly, but I had to tell you the truth. I love you and I think you deserve so much better.’
Polly put her arms around him and held him. This dear boy that her heart had remembered with smiles when it couldn’t remember his father at all.
Chapter 55
Alan Eagleton said once that sometimes you have to think of a task in hand like an unstable bomb in a box. Every bit of your concentration, every scrap of your energy has to be screwed to it to stop it going off. Nothing is allowed to get in the way of you delivering it intact to its destination. Then and only then can you let anything else into your brain. Polly couldn’t remember what he’d said it about, but that’s what came to her mind when she was making her final notes for her presentation to the big boys of Ciaoissimo. Every thought she’d had, every sentence she’d written recently had been around them and how she was going to ‘take them to where they needed to be’ –their words, their instruction.
She’d booked the boardroom. She arranged the caterers personally rather than leave it to her junior, Brock, because there were to be no mistakes, no compromises, and she’d deal with the consequences of her actions later. Jeremy’s eyeballs would bulge at the expense, but he was in for as much impact as he could handle. After all, his direction had been crystal clear: give them everything you’ve got.His words, his instruction.
All of the big five from the germinal Italian restaurantchain turned up to witness the big bang they’d been promised. Brock showed them up to the directorate where Polly was waiting to charm them. She could hear them laughing as they approached, the smug guffaws of fat cats already counting their creamy dividends.
‘Polly Potter, how lovely to meet you,’ she said, greeting them on their arrival. Her own name still tasted odd in her mouth, like a fish-flavoured fruit pastille. ‘I’ve read so much about you that I feel as if I know you already.’ She chortled, but it was true. She knew more about them than they did themselves. She’d dug deep down to their very core, although they’d helpfully left enough rot on their surface because it was amazing how careless people could be who thought themselves untouchable, whose hubris blinded them to their fallibility; one only had to see the sleaze surrounding some celebrities and footballers in the papers to know that.
Richard Pound was the first to introduce himself to her. She recognised him as the customer who had made a fuss about his steak in Teddy’s restaurant and ‘found’ glass in the zabaglione. He had a crushing handshake intended to intimidate. Then she shook the hand of Councillor James Stirling, joint owner of the shitting spaniel, and Nicholas de Massey, company secretary. Peter Hore, who intro’ed himself as ‘I’m the money’. And finally there was Donald Devine, who was dapper and ancient and didn’t seem to know what day it was. If he sneezed, Polly half-expected a pound of powder to fly off his rather obvious toupé.
The catering staff had started to serve and Polly asked everyone to take their seats at the table. They’d eat first, before her presentation; she wanted them oiled by rich food – but mostly wine. There was a lemon-gold white and a serious red; she’d chosen them because they were quality,Italian, and also for their high alcohol content. Any stronger and they’d have been a petrol.
‘Well, this is jolly nice,’ said Richard Pound, settling into being schmoozed. By the time she’d eaten her first forkful of lobster thermidor salad, he’d already told her he’d just bought himself a Bentley and that he had an MBE for his services for charity. Polly wondered how much he’d paid for that in backhanders. ‘Yes, top-class bit of crustacean.’
‘I’m glad you like it. I designed the menu very carefully,’ Polly agreed, and topped up his wine. He’d downed the first one like a parched whale.
‘So,Polly,’ said Councillor Stirling, seated on Polly’s right side. He’d introduced himself as ‘Jim, Just Jim’ in the manner of ‘Bond, James Bond’. ‘What businesses have you turned round then, little lady? Seduce us.’
He was greasy, shiny with sweat and bloated and he reminded her of Camay’s husband, also a business fat cat. She was tempted to check on the carpet to see if he’d left a slug trail where he’d trodden. She wouldn’t have put ‘Jim, Just Jim’ in a couple with the glamorous woman with the defecating dog.
Polly smiled, leaning forward onto her elbows. ‘Well, where does one begin: Nutbush sports, Knock Doors, Richmond and Harris furniture, Planet Insurance, Kitty-Kitten Heels, Mr Shine… the Fish Fillies…’ She knew all those names would score for anyone in business. Especially the Fish Fillies, who had wanted to give Harry Ramsden’s a run for their money and she’d made them even bigger.
‘The Fish Fillies? That was you?’ said Peter Hore, clearly impressed.
Someone else officially took the credit of course, but yes it was all her own work all right. She nodded bashfully.
‘Gentlemen,’ Richard Pound announced to the rest of the table, raising his glass. ‘I think we are in safe hands.’
Over Chateaubriand, carved and served artfully by a chef in front of them wielding a knife that a pirate would have been happy with, the Ciaoissimo party laughed about how they’d bulldozed all opposition in their way so far, how unbeatable they were with their combined dark strength. And Polly edged the conversation around to their new intended flagship restaurant as the waiting staff fulfilled their instructions to keep those glasses topped up.
‘Massive potential for clientele,’ said Richard, as he tore into his beef without any complaint about how it was cooked. ‘There’s a smart little Italian nearby that, alas, we’re going to blow out of the water. But there can only be one head lion in a pride. All’s fair in love, war and business.’
‘That is exactly my mantra,’ Polly agreed fervently. She lowered her voice conspiratorially. ‘Have you started an active campaign if you know what I mean?’
Richard didn’t answer immediately, but his jaw was working on his lunch as if he were chewing on far more than just the meat.
‘This is all totally confidential, isn’t it?’
‘Let me just say,’ replied Polly, ‘you have no idea of the depths I’ve had to swim to in order to put my clients in their rightful place.’
Richard smiled as if this was music to his ears.
‘I always think,’ Polly continued, ‘in business, you have to do what you have to do.’
Richard held up his glass and Polly chinked hers against it.
‘Dog eat dog,’ he said and winked.
‘Dog eat dog,’ said Polly, praying that the recording device she had secreted about her person was getting all this. Sheknew the four boardroom cameras were because she could see the red light of the one directly ahead blinking as if to assure her. The footage, thanks to fellow psychopath Len Champion who’d rigged up all the equipment, would download directly to her laptop from all the varying angles so they could catcheverything, and would be stored safely in the Cloud. There was less filming equipment onLove Island.
‘Well,’ began Richard, before confiding in Polly what they’d done to close down the Italian in Scarborough which three generations of the family had run. It was clear the power had gone to their heads, especially as no one had stopped them so far, and as such they thought they were invincible. He told her then about the compulsory purchase order they’d just had served on a restaurant in Bridlington and the pathetic efforts of the family who’d owned it to try to stop them.No pain, no gain, he snickered, even though it was someone else’s pain that enabled the Ciaoissimo crew to gain.
