Chapter 63
Ore
Ore was finally getting the hang of the layout and headed straight towards the kitchen. Inside, Carlos was nowhere to be found, but she helped herself to some of the fresh fruit in the fridge and sliced off a hunk of cheese to nibble on. Looking around the kitchen, Ore was awed. She was the kind of city dweller who often relied on the wealth of takeaway options available to her; being able to make a meal from scratch was a bona fide superpower in her eyes.
She hung around for a while, flipping through recipe books and looking through the cupboards, hoping that Carlos might return and save her from her hunger. When the door swung open though, it was Agatha standing before her, equally surprised.
‘Oh hi, sorry I was just waiting for Carlos …’ Ore explained.
‘Um, yeah, I’m looking for him as well …’ Agatha crossed her arms, but Ore thought she might try an olive branch, in the name of solidarity for the impractical and starving.
‘I sort of came in here with the intention of “whipping something up”, and then had to confront the fact that I can’t even boil an egg.’ Ore laughed nervously, and was relieved to see Agatha crack a smile, even if it was a small one.
‘When I was younger my older sister cooked all the time, but I usually did the cleaning and then when I left home I always ate in the college dining room,’ Agatha offered, still apprehensive.
‘Well sounds like you two were a parent’s dream. My mum literally did everything for me and my sister when we were little; I was more of a hindrance than a help.’ Ore noticed a change in Agatha’s expression straight away; gone was the glimmer of warmth.
‘I didn’t have a choice. My mum wasn’t really around. We didn’t have any money growing up, so she had to work all the time. We were very poor.’ Agatha said bluntly.
Ore was taken aback. She hadn’t expected that from Agatha – both that she had grown up poor, and that she would volunteer that information to Ore, of all people.
‘I er … I had no idea, Agatha. I’m sorry – that must have been tough.’
‘Yeah well, how would you? This haircut cost more than Mum used to make in a week, so …’ Agatha was looking down at her feet, as though embarrassed by her outburst.
The obvious signifier of class wasn’t just the haircut; it was Agatha’s voice, her clothes, even her makeup. All of it quietly luxe, as though imbued with money unstressfully spent. If it hadn’t been a sad spectacle, Ore would have been mostly impressed by how successfully Agatha must have studied the moneyed in her time at Oxford. Her attention to detail could not be faulted.
‘It was part of the reason that Chuck hired me, said something about “working class grit”.’ She laughed but it was a hollow sound. ‘That was before I realised how much he’dinherited from his grandfather. Did you know about that? Chuck’s father was disinherited, so all the money skipped a generation. It’s funny huh, how much rich people love to bang on about how poor they used to be? But if they really had been, I know they’d never want to think about it again; it’s like thinking about death on the happiest day of your life – morbid.’
Ore was at a loss for words. What was driving this confession? Agatha continued, ‘And then I guess I realised that he actually wanted me to be poor so I couldn’t leave. Because that’s the real difference isn’t it? Between us and them? They deal in control while we scramble for petty cash …’ Her eyes blazed. ‘Be careful, Ore, watch your back because he has more people on his payroll than you can even fathom.’
‘What exactly do you mean by that?’ Ore spoke gently. Agatha’s unpredictability was unsettling.
‘Always with the questions – you don’t believe me?’
Ore shrugged, something told her that despite Agatha’s hostility, she wanted more than anything to talk. But Ore hadn’t forgotten about Agatha’s strange meddling with Daniel, she knew now that there was always some other agenda at play.
Agatha crossed her arms, threatening silence. Finally though, she cracked. ‘Fine, well I’m just going to say that Chuck has a very good friend called Henry, who is also a journalist, I believe, an editor in fact …’ Agatha trailed off, waiting for Ore’s reaction.
Ore took a moment to catch up. ‘Wait, you mean like Henry from theNew York Herald, Henry Black … I’m confused, if they know each other then why did Henry commission me to …’
Agatha was exasperated. ‘Henry is in Chuck’s pocket, Ore; he does whatever Chuck wants. Did you know that he’s funding the fellowship that will pay your wage at theHerald? This is what I’m trying to tell you … He is pulling all the strings. You’ve just been hired to write a puff piece. It’s a publicity campaign.’ Agatha’s voice was getting louder. ‘He decided he wanted you on board and I sent the email inviting you.’
‘But why me?’
Agatha’s eyes glinted with something like pity. ‘Because he thinks you’re inexperienced, that you’re desperate for a job, that you’d do whatever you were told, but he underestimated you …’
Suddenly, Agatha took a step towards Ore, boiling with a quiet, white-hot rage, and then stilled, seeming to calm herself. Ore could feel the intensity dissipating as Agatha regained herself. And there was something else too, a familiar smell … jasmine.
Ore’s eyes widened with sudden comprehension. ‘It was you, who left me those documents,’ Ore said softly.
Agatha looked stunned for a second and then nodded, almost imperceptibly.
‘You have great taste in perfume. I must get some myself,’ Agatha said coyly before looking over her shoulder and dropping her voice, leaning in. ‘I don’t want to be named.’
‘Understood. I am not in the habit of outing my sources. The evidence stands alone … But if you would do an interview, even off the record …’ Agatha held up her hand before Ore could finish.
‘I’ve done as much as I can. Please don’t ask me for anything else, but do it for all of us.’ Agatha’s eyes swelled with angrytears. ‘And bring the bastard down.’ She turned and left, the kitchen door swinging in her wake.
