Val McDermid – Blue Genes (страница 8)
I tapped on the door but didn’t wait for an answer before I opened it and walked in on the sort of scene that would have been more appropriate in the new Dancehouse a few doors down Oxford Road. Bill Mortensen, a bearded blond giant of a man, was standing behind his desk, leaning over a dark woman whose body was curved back under his in an arc that would have had my spine screaming for mercy. One of Bill’s bunch-of-bananas hands supported the small of her back, the other her shoulders. Unlike the ballet, however, their lips were welded together. I cleared my throat.
Bill jumped, his mouth leaving the woman’s with a nauseating smack as he straightened and half turned, releasing his grip on the woman. Just as well her arms were wrapped round his neck or she’d have been on the fast track to quadriplegia. ‘Kate,’ Bill gasped. His face did a double act, the mouth smiling, the eyes panicking.
‘Welcome back, Bill. I wasn’t expecting to see you this morning,’ I said calmly, closing the door behind me and making for my usual perch on the table that runs along one wall.
Bill stuttered something about wanting to see me while the woman disentangled herself from him. She was a good six inches taller than my five feet and three inches. Strike one. Her hair was as dark as Bill’s was blond, cut in the sort of spiky urchin cut I’d recently abandoned when even I’d noticed it was getting a bit passé. On her, it looked terrific. Strike two. Her skin was burnished bronze, an impossible dream for those of us with the skin that matches auburn hair. Strike three. I didn’t have the faintest idea who Bill’s latest companion was, but I hated her already. She grinned and moved towards me, hand stuck out in front of her with all the enthusiasm of an extrovert teenager who hasn’t been put down yet. ‘Kate, it’s great to meet you,’ she announced in an Australian accent that made Crocodile Dundee sound like a BBC newsreader. ‘Bill’s told me so much about you, I feel like I know you already.’ I tentatively put out a hand which she gripped fervently and pumped up and down. ‘I just know we’re going to be mates,’ she added, clapping her other hand on my shoulder.
I looked past her at Bill, my eyebrows raised. He moved towards us and the woman released my hand to slip hers into his. ‘Kate,’ he finally said. ‘This is Sheila.’ His eyes warned me not to laugh.
‘Don’t tell me, let me guess,’ I said. ‘You met in Australia.’
Sheila roared with laughter. I could feel her excessive response thrusting me into the role of repressed English-woman. ‘God, Kate, he was right about your sense of humour,’ she said. I forced my lips into what I seemed to remember was a smile. ‘Hey, Bill, you better tell her the news.’
Bill stood chewing his beard for a moment, then said, ‘Sheila and I are getting married.’
To say I was gobsmacked would be like saying Tom Hanks can act a bit. It’s not that Bill doesn’t like women. He does. Lots of them. He also likes variety. As a serial monogamist, he makes Casanova and Don Juan look like absolute beginners. But he’d always been choosy about who he hung out with. While he preferred his girlfriends good-looking, brains and ambition had always been just as high on his agenda. So while Sheila might appear more of a bimbo than anyone I’d ever seen Bill with, I wasn’t about to make a snap judgement on the basis of what I’d seen so far. ‘Congratulations,’ I managed without tripping over too many of the syllables.
‘Thanks; Kate,’ Sheila said warmly. ‘It’s big of you to be generous about losing your partner.’
I looked at Bill. He looked like he’d swallowed an ice cube. ‘I thought that in these situations one said something like, “Not so much losing a partner as gaining a secretary,”’ I said ominously. ‘I have this feeling that there’s something you haven’t got round to telling me yet, William.’
‘Sheila, Kate and I need to have boring business talks. Why don’t you get Shelley to point you in the direction of all the best clothes shops? You can come back at lunch time and we’ll all go to the Brasserie?’ Bill said desperately, one eye on the toe I was tapping on the floor.
‘No problems, Billy boy,’ Sheila said, planting a kiss smack on his lips. On her way past me, she sketched a wave. ‘Can’t wait to get to know you better, Kate.’
When the door closed behind her, there was a long silence. ‘“Why don’t you get Shelley to point you in the direction of the clothes shops?”’ I mimicked as cruelly as I could manage.
‘She owns three dress shops in Sydney,’ Bill said mildly. I might have known. That explained the tailored black dress she’d almost been wearing.
‘This is not a good way to start the day, Bill,’ I said. ‘What does she mean, I’ll be losing a partner? Is she the pathologically jealous type who doesn’t want her man working alongside another woman? Is Shelley getting the bum’s rush from Waltzing Matilda too?’
Bill threw himself into his chair and sighed. ‘Sheila knows I was dreading this conversation, and she said what she did to force me into having it,’ he explained. ‘Kate, this is it. Sheila’s the one I want.’
‘Let’s face it, Bill, you’ve run enough consumer tests to make an informed decision,’ I said bitterly. I wanted to be happy for him. I would have been happy for him if it hadn’t been for the stab of fear that Sheila’s words had triggered in me.
He looked me in the eye and smiled. ‘True. Which means that now I’ve found her, I don’t want to let her go. Marriage seems like the sensible option.’ He looked away. ‘And that means either Sheila moves over here or I move to Australia.’
Silence. I knew what was coming but I didn’t see why I should let him off the hook. I leaned back against the wall and folded my arms across my chest. Bill the Bear was turning from teddy to grizzly before my eyes, and I didn’t like the transformation. Finally, a few sighs later, Bill said, ‘Me moving is the logical step. My work’s more portable than hers. The jobs I’ve already been doing in Australia have given me some good contacts, while she has none in the rag trade over here. Besides, the weather’s nicer. And the wine.’ He tried a pleading, little-boy-lost smile on me.
It didn’t play. ‘So what happens to Mortensen and Brannigan?’ I demanded, my voice surprising even me with its harshness.
Bill picked up the curly Sherlock Holmes pipe he occasionally smokes when he’s stuck on a problem, and started fiddling with it. ‘I’m sorry, Kate, but I’m going to have to sell my share of the partnership. The problem I’ve got is that I need to realize the capital I’ve got tied up in the business so I can start again in Sydney.’
‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this,’ I said. ‘You think you can just
Bill scowled. ‘Of course I bloody can’t,’ he growled. ‘You didn’t go cap in hand to your father when you wanted to become a partner. You funded it yourself. Besides, life’s not exactly a bed of roses in cattle farming right now. I doubt they’ve got the cash to throw around.’
‘Fine,’ I said angrily. ‘So who have you sold out to?’
Bill looked shocked. ‘I haven’t sold to anyone,’ he protested. ‘How could you think I’d go behind your back like that?’
I shrugged. ‘Everything else seems to have been cut and dried without consulting me. Why should that be any different?’
‘Didn’t you bother reading the partnership agreement when we drew it up? Paragraph sixteen. If either of us wants to sell our share of the business, we have to offer first refusal to the other partner. And if the remaining partner doesn’t want to buy, they have the power of veto over the sale to any third party on any reasonable ground.’
‘“The final decision as to the reasonableness or otherwise of that ground to be taken by the partners in consultation with any employees of the firm,”’ I quoted from memory. I’d written most of the agreement; it wasn’t surprising I knew by heart what the key parts of it said. ‘It’s academic, Bill. You know I can’t afford to buy you out. And you also know damn well that I’m far too fond of you to stand in the way of what you want. So pick your buyer.’
I jumped to my feet and wrenched the door open. ‘I’m out of here,’ I said, hoping the disgust and anger I felt was as vivid to him as it was to me. Sometimes, the only things that make you feel good are the same ones that worked when you were five. Yes, I slammed the door.
I sat staring into the froth of a cappuccino in the Cigar Store café. The waitress was having an animated conversation with a couple of her friends drinking espressos in the corner, but apart from them, I had the place to myself. It wasn’t hard to tune out their gossip and focus on the implications of what Bill had said. I couldn’t believe what he planned to do to me. It undercut everything I thought I knew about Bill. It made me feel that my judgement wasn’t worth a bag of used cat litter. The man had been my friend before he became my business partner. I’d started my career process-serving for him as a way of eking out my student grant because the hours and the cash were better than bar work. I’d toiled with him or for him ever since I’d jacked in my law degree after the second year, when I realized I could never spend my working days in the company of wolves and settled for the blond bear instead.