Chapter 7
D espite wearing my bobble hat and mittens, I was freezing, but as I crossed my woollen clad fingers and whacked on the van’s temperamental heater, I was met with a cold blast of air.
‘Please, Beryl, don’t do this. Not today.
’ She evidently couldn’t hear me over the sound of her engine and with no warmth whatsoever coming through, I turned the heater off again.
Gideon was forever complaining about my van’s rumbling.
He constantly badgered me to take Beryl to a garage, but I’d always had more important things to do with my money.
Buying stock for the shop, food and paying my electric bill had to take priority.
However, as I chugged along, willing Beryl to go faster, I wished I’d taken Gideon’s advice.
The drive to his office seemed to take forever.
My resolve waned and I wondered if I was being irrational. If I should simply wait until our next date night to talk to the man; have a heart-to-heart about my concerns.
Gloria Chalmers tried that, Gran reminded me. And look where it got her.
I considered Gran’s words for a moment. ‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘Better to know the truth sooner rather than later.’ Pressing my foot down on the accelerator, I put pedal to the metal, willing her forward.
Beryl, the only vehicle I could afford after Gran passed, was stubborn and she refused to go anywhere near the speed limit. Not that my impatience helped the journey. Unlike Beryl, my imagination over Gideon and what he was up to readily went into overdrive.
Inhaling and exhaling to control my rising pulse, I tried to force my inner pendulum back the other way by insisting Gideon was as faithful as a puppy and instead of being irrational, I should turn around and go home.
I tried to reassure myself that the only reason I’d questioned his fidelity was because of Erin’s quip about him getting it somewhere else and Joyce’s talk of Gloria Chalmers.
But it was no good. My friends’ suggestions had obviously attached themselves to my brain’s frontal lobe and no matter how much I tried to shake them off, they clung on for dear life.
A flurry of images invaded my mind. Discreet glances between Gideon and Julia in team meetings. Close encounters in the stationery cupboard. Romantic meals and hotel getaways. Anxiety threatened to overwhelm me. In my head, the two of them were all but married.
Bang! Beryl backfired, jolting me back to reality. ‘Thank you,’ I said, clearly needing that as much as Beryl did. Noting I was almost at Gideon’s office, I knew, whether I wanted to or not, I couldn’t cut and run. If only for my sanity, I had to see things through.
While Gideon might not see Beryl drive onto his firm’s car park, everyone in the building would certainly hear her and, determined to keep the element of surprise, I pulled into a space a couple of streets away.
Keeping my hands on the steering wheel, I took a moment to steady my nerves.
‘You’ve got this,’ I said, at last, grabbing my bag and climbing out.
As I set off walking, my apprehension grew with every step.
I’d never turned up at Gideon’s office unannounced before and didn’t have a clue how he would react.
I stopped for a second to check out my reflection in a shop window and pulling off my hat, stuffed it into my pocket and titivated my hair.
My gaze drew downwards. ‘Bugger!’ Taking in my trainer clad feet, I cringed. I was wearing odd socks.
Setting off again, Gideon’s office soon came into view, and as I approached, I took a deep breath. ‘Whatever happens,’ I told myself. ‘Just play it cool.’
Making my entrance, I held my head high. Having been in the building numerous times when Gideon had helped me sort out Gran’s accounting, I knew where to find him, and I raised my hand ready to push on the plate glass doors that led down an internal corridor.
‘Can I help you?’ the receptionist asked, stopping me from going any further.
I turned to look at her.
Tinted brows raised, her red-lipstick smile seemed more out of politeness than choice. She obviously didn’t go in for niceties.
‘I’m here to see Gideon Mayhew,’ I said. ‘But don’t worry.’ I made sure to keep my tone light. ‘I know the way.’
‘Is he expecting you?’ she asked, her voice firm.
‘No, but–’
‘Then please take a seat.’ She lifted a phone receiver. ‘Who shall I say it is?’
I sighed. ‘Hattie.’ Sauntering over to the faux leather sofa, I plonked myself down. Disappointed I no longer had the advantage of surprise, I cursed the receptionist’s gate-keeping efficiency. I scowled at her. She was obviously power mad.
The receptionist put the phone to her ear and pressed a couple of buttons. Waiting a moment, she drummed her manicured nails on her desk. ‘The line’s busy,’ she said, replacing the receiver. ‘You can leave a message if you like?’
Having driven forty minutes to get there and already given my name, I didn’t see the point in leaving. ‘It’s okay. I can wait.’
While the receptionist turned her attention to her computer screen, I scanned my surroundings.
My gaze fell on a huge abstract art canvas that hung on the brilliant white wall to my right.
Angling my head this way and that, I soon gave up trying to understand it and instead, focused on the five-foot-tall artificial ficus tree that reflected on the white ultra-gloss tiled floor.
I wrinkled my nose. Apart from a string of tinsel that lined the edge of the reception desk, there was no sign it was Christmas.
I recalled my very first visit. Back then, everything about the place had seemed modern and slick but looking at it now, it felt soulless and lacked personality.
The atmosphere was as cold as the weather outside.
I didn’t know how the receptionist stomached sitting there all day.
Wishing she’d try Gideon’s extension again, I’d only been in the space five minutes and had had enough.
The building’s entryway automatically swished open, and a motorbike delivery man dressed neck to toe in leather made his entrance.
He carried his helmet in one hand and a padded envelope in the other.
The receptionist’s eyes lit up at the sight of him and as the two of them chatted, mine darted from them to the internal corridor.
Rising, I tried to appear casual. Pretending to stretch my legs, I manoeuvred towards plate glass doors and seizing the opportunity, slipped into the building’s inner sanctum.
A quick glance back and I was relieved to see my movements continue to go unnoticed and tootling along at pace, I made my way to Gideon’s office.
Reaching his door, I could hear him talking and pressing my ear against the wood, I strained to listen, wanting an idea of what I was about to walk in on.
‘I’ll show you my spreadsheets if you show me yours.’
Hearing Gideon’s tantalising tone, I frowned. Unable to remember him ever talking to me in that manner, it was uncomfortable listening. I didn’t catch the response, but Gideon’s subsequent chuckle told me it was favourable.
‘How do you feel about the double-entry method?’ he asked.
My eyes widened. This was a side of Gideon I didn’t know about.
‘If you don’t like it, I can always withdraw.’
I put a hand up to my chest. As accountancy conversations went, his was beginning to sound pornographic.
‘You’re sure you’re okay with this?’
With what? Whomever he was talking to might have been, but I wasn’t.
‘Fantastic.’
Having heard enough, I pulled my ear away from the door and flinging the entrance open ready to catch him in whatever act was taking place, I burst into the room.
Phone to his ear, Gideon nearly jumped out of his seat. Sat behind his huge leather-inlaid desk, his jaw dropped at the sight of me. ‘Hattie, what are you doing here?’ he asked, his surprise turning to confusion.
He could play innocent all he wanted, but after what I’d just heard he obviously wasn’t alone, and I refused to let him get the better of me.
I marched over to him, grabbed his chair and with one quick yank, wheeled him out of the way.
‘I just wanted to see what you were up to,’ I said, as I checked the void where his feet had been.
Gideon indicated the receiver still in his hand, staring at me like I’d lost the plot. ‘I’m on the phone. To a client.’
I scanned the room in search of other potential hiding places.
Plusher than reception, Gideon’s office held a line of bookcases filled with accountancy manuals, while tasteful and bland pieces of artwork hung above a bank of filing cabinets.
My heart sank. Unless there was a femme fatale squeezed in a drawer or between the sofa and the wall, I’d clearly got the situation wrong and what I’d overheard was, indeed, a legitimate professional exchange.
Realising my mistake, I closed my eyes for a second. Having made a colossal fool of myself, I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. My mind raced as I tried to come up with a credible excuse for my actions.
With no choice but to take my earlier advice and play it cool, I fixed a smile on my face and spun round. ‘A mouse,’ I said. I made a point of checking where Gideon’s feet had been for a second time. ‘A mouse ran under your desk.’