Indecent...Nights. Jane O'Reilly
party next week. Catering, the works. I can’t bear it, Ellie. I just can’t.’ Her voice breaks. ‘I need those pictures.’
‘They’re not ready,’ I say, my heart giving an anxious little thump. ‘Look, I’ll have them ready for you tomorrow. I promise.’
‘Can I at least come round and look at them?’ She’s sobbing now. Her voice is rough and broken, and it claws at me. ‘Please? You can take a break for lunch, can’t you?’
I should come clean, I should tell her that I don’t have the picture, but I can’t. It’s ridiculous, I know. There are plenty of other good shots. But they’re good, not amazing, and she specifically asked for that one and I’m too embarrassed to tell her I don’t have it. Because she’ll ask me why not, and I’m not ready to answer that question. And I’ve let her down. She’d be disappointed in me, and I don’t think I’m ready to deal with that either. ‘It’s…it’s not a good time.’
‘Why not?’
‘I’m up to my armpits in work,’ I tell her, which is sort of the truth. I am up to my armpits in work. I’m just not doing it. ‘I’m sorry, Amber. Really, I am.’
‘Shit.’ She chokes back another sob. Whoever this guy was, she was obviously into him more than she’d let on. I’ve never seen her like this before, so angry and desperate.
‘I’ll make sure they’re done for Wednesday, OK?’
‘You promise,’ she says.
‘I promise.’
That gives me three days to sort this out. I tell myself it’s long enough. I’ll think of something.
‘I have to admit,’ she says then, with a pained sort of laugh, ‘Tom Hunt surprised me. I mean, I always wondered, you know?’
I can tell that for the moment at least, her attention has shifted away from her ex, and I’m determined to keep it that way. ‘You did?’
‘Oh, yeah. When I’ve seen him in town, he always looks like he’d faint if he saw a bra strap. But it’s the quiet ones you have to look out for. They’re the filthy fuckers.’
‘I’m quiet,’ I say, remembering that I said that before, the last time we had this conversation.
‘Exactly,’ she replies. ‘Which is why you’re our resident pornographer.’
I cringe when she says that word. It makes me think of creepy men buying copies of Razzle. ‘Erotic photographer,’ I correct her. ‘There’s a difference.’
‘Hey, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.’
‘Easy for you to say. You have no shame.’
‘No.’ She laughs, but there is no humour in it. ‘And look where it got me. Dumped for some other woman. And he isn’t just shagging someone else, oh no. It’s love. He’s getting married.’
I don’t want Amber to be miserable. I want her to do what she needs to do to get over the boyfriend-who-got-engaged-to-someone-else and go back to being happy Amber.
And there is only one person who can help me with that.
I’ve never turned up at the Accountancy office without an appointment before. It’s not procedure. The receptionist stares at me for a full minute, her forehead creased as if she’s trying to work out what she’s supposed to do in this situation. I stare at her too. She’s new here, but she’s got the same neat look that they all do. Smooth hair, French manicure, nude heels.
‘I need to see Mr Hunt,’ I say for the second time, adjusting the strap of my bag, which I’ve loaded up with my camera and iPad. ‘It’s an emergency.’
‘What sort of emergency?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘What sort of emergency?’ she asks again. She’s managed to fix her smile in place, though her eyes are hard. There’s a slight gap between her front teeth, and she’s wearing a very pretty necklace, a slender gold chain with a twisted knot that sits against her throat. Her back is poker straight, a dancer’s posture.
She’s a guard dog in heels, and I’m tired of being barked at. I’m tired of running away, of being afraid. I came here to see Tom, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. ‘I need to see Mr Hunt,’ I say slowly. ‘It’s important’ My gaze travels over the front of her blouse, which is cream and covered with tiny black hearts.
‘I’m really sorry,’ she says, setting down her pen and not sounding sorry at all. ‘But it’s company policy. All visitors must have an appointment. I can make one for you, if you like.’
I feel suddenly very hot. My spine is tingling. I need to see Tom and I need to see him now. I adjust the position of my bag, then I lean in. ‘I don’t want an appointment.’ I say quietly. ‘I pay a lot of money for the services this company provides.’ That’s not quite true. One of the reasons I chose this firm was because my brother works here and he got me a discount. But she doesn’t need to know that. ‘I have a problem, and I need to see Mr Hunt, and I need to see him now.’ My voice gets louder with every word. I’m almost shouting. I’m definitely being difficult.
Her long, dark eyelashes flutter, and she drops her pen. ‘I’ll let Mr Hunt know you’re here,’ she mutters. ‘You can go through. He’s not with anyone at the moment.’
I straighten up, nod my thanks. ‘Thank you.’
‘Let me know if there is anything else I can help you with,’ she says, as I turn to walk away.
‘I will,’ I say. The rush of power is overwhelming. What is it they say? With great power comes great responsibility? I’ve felt the responsibility before, but I’ve never felt the power. As I move away from the desk and make my way down the corridor towards Tom’s office, that rush stays with me, and I like it.
I knock on his door, wait for a response. The air in the corridor is perfectly chilled, but it’s stifling. I knock again, harder, wanting to be on the other side of that door.
My heart is beating faster now, too fast. All I can think about is Tom. I have only been standing here for a few seconds, but it seems like hours, and I suddenly realise that I’m not here for Amber.
I’m here for me.
To hell with it all. I grab the door handle, twist it and push the door open, putting myself on the other side of it as quickly as I can. I kick it shut behind me, then lean back against it, breathing hard. I close my eyes. The room smells like him. It makes my knees buckle.
‘Ellie.’ His voice wanders over me, slow and sensual.
‘Tom,’ I say quickly, breathlessly. ‘I…’
‘I didn’t know you had an appointment today.’ A second voice interrupts me before I can finish. I jerk up, away from the door, open my eyes and want to throw up. ‘Scott!’ My twin brother. Born five minutes before me, born perfect. Letters don’t spin and flip when he looks at them.
‘And do you always walk into an office without waiting to be invited in?’ he asks, getting out of his chair and moving towards the door. His face is red, and he’s got his hands tucked in his trouser pockets, a sure sign that an explosion is imminent.
I should be afraid, but instead, I’m defiant. I’m tired of being ashamed, of being scared. ‘No,’ I say. ‘I don’t. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got private business to discuss with Mr Hunt.’
Scott stares at me. This is new territory for him, I know. It’s new territory for me, too. I wait for him to argue, to make a scene. ‘Fine,’ he says. He walks to the door and I step neatly to one side. The door closes with an audible click.
I put my bag on the floor and then I put my gaze on Tom. He is sat behind his desk, looking exactly as he always does. Beige suit,