Page 42 of Strap In
A glint of annoyance flashes through his careful mask. ‘She decided to delegate – said it would be alright if I briefed you instead.’
‘And what’s she doing that’s so much more important?’
His mouth twists into a sneer. ‘Mr Leonides called at the end of the meeting, and Ms Nowicki asked her to join them for dinner to discuss renewables, since he wasso excited aboutRhona’s vision.’
Hugo might be incapable of seeing beyond his own jealousy, but Jean is not. The hairs on the back of her neck prickle. She leans forward. ‘Where?’
Hugo blinks, taken aback. ‘I— I don’t know. It’s not like I was invited.’
‘Think!’ Jean thumps the desk so hard her palm stings, the silver band on her finger chipping glass.
Hugo jolts upright. ‘The Shard. They were going to The Shard. But there are seven different bars and restaurants in there, and I don’t—’
‘Come with me.’ Jean snatches her phone from the desk and rises, retrieving her handbag.
The idiot boy gapes at Jean as if she’s the one who’s lost her mind. ‘But I’m supposed to meet Alexander for—’
‘Sod Alexander. You join me now and make this right or you find another firm – the choice is yours.’ Jean strides from the room, not waiting to see whether Hugo follows, messaging her driver as she approaches the lift. Peter, of course, is long gone. There’s no time to see who else could help – no time at all.
Hugo squeezes between the closing doors, quiff collapsing onto his forehead. ‘Ms Howard, if I’ve done anything—’
Jean holds up a hand for silence, phone pressed to her ear with the other. The lift plunges towards the ground as the call rings out, going to voicemail. ‘You’ve reached Rhona Baird. Sorry I’m not able to take your call ri—’
‘Fuck!’ The walls are closing in on Jean, and Hugo’s eyeing her with naked panic and confusion.
But just as the question forms on his lips the doors slide open and Jean runs across the lobby, flying past a baffled Helen and the paper bag containing her dinner, out onto the street. Hugo follows hot on her heels, all but colliding with Jean as she wrenches the car door open.
She ignores Hugo’s apologies and slides across the leather seat. He’s barely closed the door when Bogdan pulls out to join the stream of traffic. ‘The Shard, Ms Howard?’
‘Yes.’ Sweat prickles under Jean’s arms. ‘Fast as you can, please.’
Still panting, Jean tries Rhona’s number again, heart hammering against her ribs as the call goes to voicemail.
‘Rhona, it’s Jean. Please call me back as soon as you get this message.’
For good measure she types it out as a text. Bogdan swings round a corner, and as Jean sways towards Hugo it occurs to her that she hasn’t fastened her seatbelt. She clips the buckle in place.
Hugo clears his throat. He’s watching Jean warily, that eternal confidence withered away to nothing. But the junior associate can wait.
Jean tries to text Helen too, but her sweaty fingers keep slipping across the screen to produce garbled nonsense. The sooner there’s a paper trail, the better. She settles on a voice note instead: ‘Send an urgent message from my office to Leonides’ PA, his secretary, and Ekaterina Nowicki directly as well as her team:Please send Rhona Baird home immediately. Her mother’s ill, and she needs to be on the next available flight to Edinburgh. And let me know the second there’s a response.’
Still nothing from Rhona; not even a tick to confirm the message has been read.
Next, she dials Peter. But his phone doesn’t even ring. And it takes all of Jean’s self-control not to leave a message about how he can ram his work-life balance up his arse. Instead, with a bite of frost in her words, Jean says: ‘Peter, we might have a situation on our hands. I’m on my way there now, and I’ll update you as soon as I can. But text me the moment you get this – we need to be on our guard.’
Then Jean drops the useless phone onto her lap and meets Bogdan’s eyes in the mirror. ‘Can’t you go any faster?’
‘I’m sorry, Ms Howard. It’s the tail end of rush hour.’ Sure enough, they’re stopping and starting, stopping and starting, locked in a growing tailback.
Jean closes her eyes, rests her head against the window. Perhaps if she doesn’t peer at the road, willing the light to stay green and the traffic to melt away, it will go quicker.
‘I didn’t know Rhona’s mother was sick.’ There’s contrition in Hugo’s voice, a pleading note, as if Jean alone has the power to grant him absolution. ‘If I had, I wouldn’t ha—’
‘Wake up, Hugo. There’s nothing wrong with Mrs Baird.’
‘What? But you got Helen to contact his team.’
Jean’s eyes snap open. ‘Why do you think I did that?’
