“What?” Sam’s voice is so thunderous, I jump. “You have to be kidding.”
“We have nothing on Ryan. No proof of anything untoward. There’s no more time. I’m sorry, Sam. I know you tried, but … ”
There’s a tense silence. Sam and Vicks aren’t even looking at each other, but the body language is obvious. Vicks’s arms are now wrapped defensively around her laptop and a mass of papers. Sam is kneading both fists into his forehead.
Personally, I’m trying to blend into the wallpaper.
“Vicks, you know this is bollocks.” Sam sounds as though he’s trying hard to control his impatience. “We know what happened. What, we ignore all this new information?”
“It’s not information, it’s guesswork! We don’t know what happened!” Vicks looks up and down the empty corridor and lowers her voice. “And if we don’t get a statement out to ITN, pronto, we are sitting fucking ducks, Sam.”
“We have time,” he says mutinously. “We can talk to this guy Ryan. Interview him.”
“How long will that take? What will that achieve?” Vicks puts a hand to her head. “Sam, these are grave accusations. They have no substance. Unless we find some solid proof … ”
“So we stand back. We wash our hands. They win.” Sam’s voice is calm, but I can tell he’s simmering with rage.
“The techies are still investigating in London.” Vicks sounds weary. “But unless they find proof … ” She glances at her watch. “It’s coming up to nine. Jesus. We have no time, Sam.”
“Let me speak to them.”
“OK.” She sighs. “Not here. We’ve moved to a bigger room with a Skype screen.”
“Right. Let’s go.”
They both start walking briskly along, and I follow, not sure if I should or not. Sam looks so preoccupied, I don’t dare utter a sound. Vicks leads us through a ballroom filled with banqueting tables, into the lobby, past the bar …
Has he forgotten about David Robinson?
“Sam,” I mutter hastily. “Wait! Don’t go near the bar; we should go a different way—”
“Sam!” A throaty voice hails us. “ There you are!”
My heart freezes in horror. That must be him. That’s David Robinson. That guy with curly, receding dark hair and a pale-gray metallic suit, which he’s accessorized with a black shirt and white leather tie. He’s striding toward us with a massive beam on his fleshy face and a whiskey in his hand.
“Been far, far too long!” He envelops Sam in a bear hug. “What can I get you, my old mucker? Or is it all on the house? In which case, mine’s a double!” He gives a high-pitched laugh that makes me cringe.
I glance desperately at Sam’s tight face.
“Who’s this?” says Vicks, looking astonished.
“Long story. College friend.”
“I know all Sam’s secrets!” David Robinson bangs Sam on the back. “You want me to dish the dirt, cross my hand with a fifty. Only joking! I’ll take a twenty!” He roars with laughter again.
This is officially unbearable.
“Sam.” Vicks can barely conceal her impatience. “We have to go.”
“Go?” David Robinson makes a mock stagger backward. “ Go? When I’ve only just arrived?”
“David.” Sam’s politeness is so chill I want to shiver. “Sorry about this. Change of schedule. I’ll try to catch up with you later.”
“After I’ve driven for forty minutes?” David shakes his head in a pantomime of disappointment. “Can’t even spare ten minutes for your old mate. What am I supposed to do, drink here on my own?”
I’m feeling worse and worse. I’ve totally landed Sam in this. I have to do something about it.
“I’ll have a drink with you!” I chime in hurriedly. “Sam, you go. I’ll entertain David. I’m Poppy Wyatt, hi!” I thrust my hand out and try not to wince at his clammy touch. “Go.” I meet eyes with Sam. “Go on.”
“OK.” Sam hesitates a moment, then nods. “Thanks. Use the company tab.” Already he and Vicks are hurrying away.
“Well!” David seems a bit unsure how to react. “That’s a fine thing! Some people get a bit too big for their boots, if you ask me.”
“He’s very busy at the moment,” I say apologetically. “I mean really busy.”
“So where do you fit in? Sam’s PA?”
“Not exactly. I’ve kind of been helping Sam out. Unofficially.”
“Unofficially.” David gives a great big wink. “Say no more. All on expenses. Got to look kosher.”
OK, now I get it: This man is a nightmare. No wonder Sam spends his life avoiding him.
“Would you like another drink?” I say as charmingly as I can. “And then maybe you could tell me what you do. Sam said you were an investor? In … fitness equipment?”
David scowls and drains his glass. “I was in that line for a while. Too much health and safety, that’s the problem with that game. Too many inspectors. Too many namby-pamby rules. Another double whiskey, if you’re buying.”
I order the whiskey and a large glass of wine for myself, rigid with mortification. I still can’t believe how wrong I called this. I am never interfering in anyone’s emails ever, ever again.
“And after fitness equipment?” I prompt him. “What did you do then?”