Eventually the kitchen fell silent. Fiona peered in through the window, her heart pounding like a drum. George wasrummaging through a cupboard, his back turned to her; Ru was cleaning a knife. There was no sign of Josh. The back door swung open, and she glimpsed the kitchen porter’s silhouette. She heard a soft click, then saw the blue glow of his vape, a brief light in the darkness.
Watching Josh jog down to the street, she felt a mix of relief and trepidation. She tracked the light of his vape as he moved away before she ran up the back steps and strode through the deserted reception area. Her whole body was shaking, a combination of adrenaline and the anticipation of confrontation.
The only person in the kitchen was Ru.
‘Where is he?’ she whispered. Ru turned and winked at her, refreshing her confidence. He pointed at the storeroom, from which George was backing out. Her heart pounded. Frustration mixed with vindication as she glared at her near destroyer.
‘A word please, George,’ she said, battling to keep her voice calm.
He spun round, his eyes fiery. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he snapped.
‘Not in here,’ said Ru, shaking his head. He took off his hat and apron. ‘George, can we have a moment in the staffroom, please.’
The room was quiet and cold despite the radiator ticking weakly in the corner. Fiona stood near the table, her eyes glued to a single hook along the row on the wall. It was empty now, but she could still see her lavender coat hanging there, feel the thump of the Krug heavy against her leg as she had pulled on her coat that night.
George was sitting by the radiator, his face weary, his hands fidgeting with a loose thread on his apron. Ru stood close beside her, his hand on her arm, a silent pillar of support. His expression was tense, his jaw set as he watched George. She looked at the hook once more, feeling the familiar burn ofresentment.
When George spoke, he sounded almost fatherly. ‘Look, Ruben, you’ve had a long day. Go home, put your feet up. I’ll deal with Fiona.’
Ru crossed his arms and grinned. ‘I’ll hang around, thanks.’
Clearly unused to Ru standing his ground, George’s eyes narrowed. Then he smiled awkwardly. ‘Well, that doesn’t change anything, does it? Fiona, you’re not worming your way back into your job. No one’s asking Ruben to work alongside a thief. You know me. I’m a decent bloke.’
A decent bloke?she thought, barely containing her frustration. She spoke in a tight, clipped voice, ‘A decent bloke who plants evidence? You’re not doing anyone any favours, George. Not me, not yourself. This ... thismessof yours isn’t just going to go away.’
‘Mymess? That’s a bit rich,’ blustered George. ‘You think you can stroll back in and play the victim? Now please go home. I promise to speak to Rose, try and convince her not to call the police.’
Ru took a step closer to George.‘You seem awfully keen to bring this meeting to a close without even asking what we want to talk to you about. Almost like you’ve got something to hide.’
His voice shaking slightly, George said, ‘I don’t have to explain myself to either of you! I have a business to run.’
‘George,’ said Fiona, ‘isn’t it time to come clean?’
Helooked away, seemingly unable to meet Fiona’s eyes. ‘Get out. Both of you.’
Fiona pulled out the sheet which she had taken from George’s desk, laying it on the table, together with the gambling slip.
‘What’s that?’ George asked, his voice cracking.
‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ she said, her voice steady but cold. George had been prepared to see her branded a thief to protect his own reputation. This explained why he hadn’t wanted hiswife to investigate. At least he’d tried to protect the team – he knew they were all innocent – but when Rose wouldn’t back off, he’d sacrificed Fiona to save his own skin. ‘That is a list of some of your gambling debts.’
Beside her Ru was looking at George with barely contained rage. ‘You allowed Fi to take the blame.’
George stared at the page, his eyes narrowing as if searching for a way out. He opened his mouth to speak, but Fiona cut him off. ‘Don’t bother,’ she said, her voice sharper now. ‘You sold the wine to fund your gambling.’ She felt a strange mix of satisfaction and sorrow as she spoke, knowing George was a victim himself, a gambling addict who needed help.
‘Those pouches weren’t for herb rubs, it was wine. I know how those companies operate – they’re the perfect channel for selling the odd bottle here and there without leaving too much of a mark. But your email traffic will prove I’m right. There will be stacks of emails chasing up their offers to buy whatever you offered them.’
In the silence that followed, George seemed to struggle for words. Then he put his head in his hands. ‘I’m sorry! I thought I could stop ...’
Fiona had a sudden thought. ‘You’ve done this before, haven’t you? In London, you were the thief there too. No wonder Rose never caught you – she would never suspect it was her own husband.’
He let out a long sigh, his lips vibrating. ‘In London, she caught me gambling but never connected it with the missing booze. I promised her I’d quit when we moved here, turn over a new leaf. For I while I managed, but ...’
‘You need help, George,’ said Ru. ‘It’s a disease.’
George blew out a breath, scraping the evidence into a pile. ‘Are you going to tell Rose?’ he asked.
‘No,’ said Ru emphatically. ‘Youare.’
