Chapter 21
21
T he train was already thirty minutes behind schedule, and now it had ground to a halt somewhere in Lincolnshire. Leaning back, Caro put down the seed catalogue she’d been trying to read and stared out across fields of what she recognised as cabbages. Perhaps now that she was so acquainted with the species, she would never stop seeing them. From behind she could hear the loud and tinny soundtrack of someone’s phone. Distracted, she picked up her own phone, opened Helen’s photo again and smiled, then scrolling through she re-read the message that had arrived twenty minutes after she had boarded the train, and which she had read at least six times.
This is me. If you’re in town. Spencer.
A screech pealed out, so loud and so close she jumped. Turning to the seat behind, she saw a young girl, one hand in a crisp packet, one hand holding her phone up. The screech came again, followed by raucous laughter. Someone, locked away in the infinity of this girl’s phone was either very amused or very frightened. ‘Excuse me,’ Caro said wearily. Tomasz had booked a standard-class ticket, something she never did exactly to avoid this kind of thing, but the noise had been going on for the last fifteen minutes, yelping and squealing and screeching, piercing her thoughts and rattling her nerves. ‘Excuse me,’ she said again.
The girl did not look up.
‘Excuse me.’
No response.
Now she hissed: ‘Excuse me!’
Still the girl ignored her.
Caro made a fist of her hand and tapped on the chair back, and finally the girl looked up.
‘Do you have headphones?’
‘What?’
‘Do you have headphones?’ She smiled. ‘Because if you do, I’d appreciate it if you put them on and listened to whatever it is you’re listening to, through them.’
‘TikTok,’ the girl said, a slow rise of hostility filling her eyes.
‘TikTok.’ Caro nodded. ‘Can you listen to it through headphones?’
The girl glared at her. ‘This is public transport.’
The stupidity of the response was like a punch; momentarily, it stunned her. ‘Exactly,’ she said as she came to her senses. ‘You’re on public transport, in a public space, subjecting everyone else to your private entertainment.’
Scowling, the girl pulled her shoulders back. ‘And you’re knocking on the seat like I’m your servant.’
For a nano-second, not more, Caro closed her eyes. The intensity of the hostility, the suddenness of it had pushed her to a precipice. She could feel it, the currents of air rising from the drop in front, caution behind tugging at her sleeve, urging her to back away … Making a coward of her. She hadn’t been unreasonable; she hadn’t been nasty. To back down would be cowardly. Would make her a wholly different person from the woman who had owned that stage in the sky. ‘An impressive woman , ’ Spencer Cooper had said. What would he say now? She opened her eyes to see the girl staring, the scent of victory turning her lips up. ‘I tapped,’ Caro said. ‘I didn’t knock, and I did it to get your attention. I had already asked three times.’
The girl dropped her head to one side, raised her phone and began filming. ‘This Karen, ’ she drawled, ‘is knocking on my seat, yeah, to get me to turn my phone down, yeah. Like she’s the train police.’
‘What are you doing?’ She was so angry, so astonished, her voice shook.
The girl laughed. ‘This is gonna go viral.’ And holding her phone higher, she whispered, ‘Karen.’
‘Switch it off.’ The command, spoken by a man, came from above.
The girl looked up.
Caro turned. He wore designer sunglasses and an obviously expensive suit, and she recognised him immediately. ‘Emir!’ She hadn’t seen him in months. He had been an early investor in Eco-Innovate, and her persuasive skills had made him substantially richer.
Returning Caro’s smile, Emir leaned to the girl. ‘I said , switch it off.’
‘What’s it to you, bro?’ The girl sneered. ‘She’s just another Karen.’
Emir didn’t speak. He leaned in closer, so close his nose was inches from the girl’s nose. ‘Number one,’ he said, ‘I am not your bro. Number two, learn some manners, and number three, my mother’s name is Karen, and I don’t like to hear it disrespected. Now, turn your camera off, put your headphones on, and leave this lady in peace.’
Slowly, Caro eased back in her seat. She was aware that behind, Emir hadn’t moved. She heard a rustling sound, a retrieval of headphones? And then Emir had straightened up and was leaning toward her. ‘Why don’t you come and join me in first class?’
‘With pleasure,’ she said, gathering her bag and following him along the aisle without a second glance back.
‘If the conductor comes along, I’ll pay the difference.’ Emir indicated the empty seat across the table from his own. ‘Please, there’s been no-one there the whole journey.’
‘Thank you, but if an inspector comes along, I’ll pay the difference,’ Caro said. The seat she took was a third wider than the one she had come from, and the carriage was blissfully quiet, still the setting was nowhere near as salubrious as the last time she had sat across a table from Emir. Then, he had also offered to pay, and she had had no problem accepting. She had been with Matt, in a Michelin-starred restaurant, with a W1 postcode, celebrating the fact that Emir’s investment had quadrupled. The wine had cost more than her train ticket; but it had been appropriate and expected, that they accept his hospitality. This was different. It was bad enough that he’d stumbled across her like this, in a standard carriage. He might actually be thinking that she couldn’t afford anything else. ‘That will teach me to book my own tickets.’ She waved her hand, attempting to laugh off her embarrassment. She was lucky there wasn’t a third class. So committed was Tomasz to their budget she had no doubt he would have booked that.
Emir nodded. Whatever he thought, he was keeping it to himself. ‘You look well,’ he said. ‘Sun-kissed.’
Caro smiled.
‘I heard the offering was a resounding success. Forty million and counting? Outstanding, Caro.’ He shook his head. ‘Matt’s going to be lost without you. Oh, and congratulations by the way. He said you were getting married.’
‘I am. And thank you.’
‘He also said you were buying a farm?’
‘Smallholding,’ she corrected. ‘And we’re doing a trial run first.’
‘Very sensible. Do you have chickens?’
‘Lots.’
‘Pigs?’
‘No, but goats and cabbages and loads of courgettes!’
Tipping his head back, Emir laughed. ‘I don’t know an awful lot about growing my own vegetables.’
‘Neither did I!’ she said, and leaning forward clasped her hands together, bringing them to rest on the table.
‘Sounds like a lot of work.’ He was looking at her hands.
Mortified, Caro dropped them to her lap. ‘Have you seen Matt lately?’ she said. The way Emir had spoken made it sound as if he had.
Emir nodded. ‘I had a drink with him and a guy called Spencer Cooper a couple of days ago.’ He scratched his chin. ‘If Matt hadn’t told us about you leaving, I think you would have been hearing from Mr Cooper.’
‘Really?’ Caro dropped her head to the side. Her expression was neutral but inside, her heart pounded.
‘He would have tried to poach you, I’m sure of it. As it is, Matt is panicking, about replacing you.’
‘But Matt told him?’
Emir frowned. ‘Told him what?’
‘That I’m getting married … So, I wouldn’t be interested anyway … If he was serious. I mean … about poaching me.’ Under the table she pressed her hands together.
‘I think he did. It’s not confidential, is it?’
‘No! Goodness no!’ Caro waved her hand. Blood rushing to her cheeks, she turned to the window. Spencer Cooper had heard this news, and he had still sent that text. Watching field after field blur past, her thoughts kept pace. It was presumptuous of him. And confident. And arrogant. And sexy. And, after all, she had said: ‘I would have loved to.’
‘So, no chance of a change of mind?’
‘No.’ Turning back to Emir, her laugh was too quick. ‘The smallholding is a trial but it’s going well.’
‘That’s good.’
‘I’m really enjoying it actually.’
‘I’m sure.’
‘It’s such a refreshing change.’
Emir nodded.
‘And we make a good team.’
He smiled.
‘Yes, we’re pretty much decided,’ Caro said. ‘Pretty much decided.’ Her voice rang with falsehood, and she knew it. As an escape she turned to the window again, aware that Emir had taken out his phone. ‘By the way,’ she said, a few minutes later. ‘Is your mother’s name really Karen?’
‘No.’ Emir laughed. ‘Her name is Sharon.’
‘I see.’ Caro nodded. ‘And how is she doing? I remember you retired her to a flat in Malaga. Richly deserved I should think. A lady of leisure, lying in the sun all day.’
‘She never lies in the sun.’
‘No?’
‘No. She got herself a job as a cleaner again. She’s up at six, cleaning toilets. Loves it!’ As he spoke, Emir turned his palms upward, they were Caro noticed, a soft pink, like the inside of an earlobe. He clearly didn’t know anything about growing vegetables. ‘What can I say?’ He smiled. ‘It makes her happy. Like you and your courgettes. We must do what makes us happy.’
‘Yes,’ she said managing a smile. ‘We must.’