‘Yes. Let’s pray we see no words like“riddled”or—’
‘Let’s not worry about something that might or might not happen.’ Ward attempts a smile, but it looks more like a grimace. ‘Next!’ he goes on, as if whipping a tired horse.
At the end of the meeting I want to flee downstairs. Sending brochures or even wading through the historical notes is preferable to being alone with Ward.
‘Hang on,’ he says, catching Lucie, Graham and me halfway out of the door, Graham probably determined to get his hands on his bacon sandwich. ‘I want fifteen minutes with each of you, time for me to get to know you, time for you to get to know me, although some people,’ Ward looks my way, ‘already have a head start.’
I sit down opposite Ward, noticing a framed picture of Marina on the bookshelf behind his desk. I clear my throat, already dry. ‘Ward, about last night.’
He pours us both a glass of water. ‘How’s the head this morning?’
‘Fine.’ Spud jumps up against my thighs, sensing I’m in trouble. Flustered, I push him down. ‘Um. I wanted to say, well, I wanted to say how sorry I am for—’
‘Calling me a bit of a shit?’ Is that a glimmer of a smile behind his dark eyes?
‘Obviously I was wrong to talk to your wife, but the thing is I didn’t know who I was talking to, not that that’s any excuse, and I was nervous, and when I’m nervous I say stupid things.’
‘I’m not interested in gossip, January, and nor should you be.’
‘I’m not, I’m—’
‘I’ve heard a lot about you too, although I tend to make up my own mind about people.’
I look at him, still feeling ashamed.
‘I can be tough.’ He shrugs. ‘You don’t get to the top of the game being Mr Softy.’ I sense he wants to add, ‘like Jeremy’. ‘But I’m happy to put it behind us if you are?’
I nod, suddenly wishing Jeremy was opposite, talking to me about the dogs or how he’s just discovered a delicious granola with pecan nuts.
‘I’m planning on visiting some of our country offices next week,’ Ward informs me.
‘So, I need you to sort out some appointments.’ The way Sherwoods works is that we deal with selling houses within seventy-five to one hundred miles of London, but we are often called in to help with the high-profile valuable properties further afield.
‘I’d like to visit Marlborough, Princes Risborough…’
Hearing that name reminds me of my first interview with Jeremy and makes me miss him even more. I scan the list of various offices and partners he wants to meet. ‘I imagine you don’t want accommodation.’
‘That won’t be necessary.’ He takes off his glasses, rubs his eyes. ‘So, Jeremy mentioned you have a daughter. How old is she?’
‘Eleven,’ I reply, taken aback by the change of subject.
‘She hasn’t reached the teenage slam the door, you have ruined my life phase yet?’
‘With any luck I have all that to come. Do you have children?’ I look at the picture of his wife again.
‘One day, I hope. Jeremy also mentioned…’ His mobile rings. He looks at the screen, sighs. ‘Thanks, January,’ he says, as if that will be all, although our fifteen minutes is barely up. ‘Shut the door on your way out.’
I walk away strangely disappointed, before hearing an ominous trickling sound, and glancing over my shoulder see Spud cocking his leg on the corner of Ward’s desk.
Later that morning, after scrubbing Ward’s carpet with soda water – talk aboutyetmore humiliation – I’m back at my desk dealing with his appointments. At least we cleared the air. I look at Spud again and picture Ward’s face as he’d realised exactly what was happening, glancing down at the golden puddle on the floor.
Graham crouches down beside me, his knees clicking. ‘Arthritis. So, Ward wants a few changes around here. He banged on about how he accepts that I can do my own thing but he won’t tolerate me being late to meetings, blahblah blah. What did he say to you?’
I tell Graham he’s planning on visiting some of our offices next week.
‘Great, we’ll have the place to ourselves for a few days.’ He breathes in deeply. ‘I called my GP a minute ago, told him that it feels like there’s this knife in my chest.’
‘Ouch.’
