‘You know, I really shouldn’t have to point out to senior staff like yourself that their first duty is to this company. Personal matters come second. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Depressingly.’
Montague bridled at Steven’s choice of word but chose not to push things further.
‘How can I help you?’ asked Steven, already regretting the use of it. The art of biting his tongue had yet to be fully mastered.
‘What d’you mean?’
‘You said you were looking for me earlier.’
‘Oh, yes. I wanted to talk to you about security screening of the accountants we are tasking with the preparation of our bid.’
‘I’ve just read who they will be,’ said Steven, holding up the internal note.
‘It’s absolutely imperative that nothing leaks out. I can’t stress that enough.’
‘Absolutely.’
‘And it will be your job to see that it doesn’t.’
‘Right.’
‘Just so we understand each other.’
‘We do,’ said Steven calmly.
‘And consider what I said earlier about conflicts of professional and personal interests.’
‘I will.’
Montague exited, leaving Steven staring at the closed door. He was experiencing inner conflict over the choice of a word to describe Montague. A toughie, but just another challenge to be faced in the wonderful world of commerce. He turned to his computer and started going through his email.
SIX
‘How was he?’ asked Tally, when Steven got in just after seven.
‘Not good.’
‘Do they know if it’s malignant yet?’
‘No. I had a word with his doctor afterwards who showed me the scans. They’re going to have to remove it but it’s not going to be easy. They’ve told John fifty-fifty.’
Tally’s eyes asked the question.
‘On a good day.’
‘Could you have a conversation with him?’
‘Yes, he was very tired but quite compos mentis. He wants me to take over at Sci-Med if the worst should come to the worst. I declined.’
‘How did he take that?’
‘He was… disappointed. He seems convinced that something awful is about to happen.’
‘The one-last-mission gambit,’ said Tally.
‘Maybe,’ said Steven, impressed as always by Tally’s understanding of the games people play.
‘It must have been hard to turn down a dying man, especially a good friend. What reason did you give?’
‘I couldn’t afford to lose you.’
The reply stopped Tally in her tracks. She swallowed and unconvincingly changed the subject. ‘You’re back late.’
‘I went to the London flat to make sure it was okay and then called in at work on the way home to go through the mail — shouldn’t have bothered. Got my wrist slapped by Lionel Montague for putting personal considerations before work and swanning off to London, as he saw it.’
‘What?’ exclaimed Tally, her eyes widening like saucers. ‘But you’re… No, no, no, this is all wrong. This shouldn’t have happened.’ She started to pace around the room as if wrestling with some inner conflict.
‘Hey, it’s no big deal,’ Steven tried to assure her, feeling alarmed and not quite understanding her reaction.
Tally shook her head. ‘No. It’s not just this. I’ve been kidding myself. This is all wrong. I’ve been hoping against hope that our life together could work but it’s not going to. You’re not like other people, Steven. You really are special… and I thank you for trying to change for my benefit but I can’t allow it any longer. You must tell John that you’ll go back to Sci-Med.’
Steven was stunned. ‘But what about us? We made a bargain. I agreed to walk away from it all.’
‘We can’t be the kind of “us” I hoped for. I’m just going to have to accept that; we’ll have to work round it. You are Steven Dunbar, the kindest of the kind, the bravest of the brave, and the fact of the matter is that one day with you is worth a life-time with any nine-to-five, arse-kissing, pen-pushing emasculated excuse for a man who’d put the company before the wishes of a dying friend — the sort of man I was trying to turn you into and I’m so, so sorry.’
Steven felt her warm, wet tears on his cheek as he held her close. ‘Maybe we should sleep on this and talk about it in the morning.’
‘No,’ said Tally, pulling away slightly and trying to regain her composure, wiping her cheeks with her palms and smoothing back her hair, which was still tied back the way she wore it to work. ‘I’ve decided.’
With Steven’s pharmaceutical company suitably compensated by Her Majesty’s Government for taking their employee away without notice, he endured an excruciating farewell sherry party in Lionel Montague’s office, smiling his way through jokes about his having found life in the private sector a bit too tough and scuttling back to the safety of public sector life.
‘Tosser,’ whispered Rachel Collins at his elbow.
Steven’s smile simply became broader. He was just so happy to be leaving. He felt as if he had wings on his heels as he ran down the stairs for the last time and drove out of the car park. He and Tally went out to dinner at the French restaurant they’d used when they’d first met, an easy relaxed affair now that neither was playing a part and all their cards were on the table. They’d never felt closer, despite the fact that Steven would set off for London in the morning.
‘Did you hear how Sir John was today?’ Tally asked.
‘No real change. He’s holding his own.’
‘No doubt boosted by the imminent return of his star investigator.’
‘All I’ve agreed to do is take a look at the thing that was worrying him.’
Tally took Steven’s hands in hers. ‘You don’t think he could have faked the whole thing just to get you back, do you?’ she said earnestly.
‘Of course not,’ exclaimed Steven, and then was relieved to see it had been a joke as the smile appeared on Tally’s face at his reaction.
‘Good, otherwise he’d have another thing worrying him and she’d have a scalpel in her hand.’
Next morning Steven drove straight to the flat in London and parked the Honda in the basement garage, taking his gear up in the lift. Only two journeys were required; he’d left as much as possible in Leicester in an effort to minimise the change. The heating gurgled and protested for a bit but finally sorted out its problems and settled down to a steady hum before he left for the Home Office. He had changed into a dark suit and tie, Macmillan’s stipulated dress code; he wouldn’t be there but somehow it seemed only right.
‘How nice to see you,’ exclaimed Jean Roberts when Steven appeared in her office. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I heard the rumours about your coming back; I’m so glad they were true.’
Steven and Jean had known each other a long time, and it was good to be exchanging pleasantries again. Jean asked to be brought up to date on Jenny and her life in Scotland, and Steven got the latest details about the Bach Choir, of which Jean was an enthusiastic member. When they reached a natural hiatus, Jean asked, ‘Will you be using Sir John’s office?’
Steven shook his head. ‘No I’ll use the small one for the time being. Let’s not give up on him yet. Apart from anything else, I’ve only agreed to take a look at the thing that’s been concerning him most. I take it you have some notes for me?’
‘Quite a lot, actually.’ Jean pulled out several files from her desk drawer. ‘In the absence of any specific requests from Sir John, I had to go for blanket cover.’
‘Wow,’ said Steven, surveying the pile. ‘Where do I begin?’
Jean smiled. ‘How much do you know?’
‘Let’s see. Almost twenty years ago, a journalist went up to Newcastle to cover a story and never came back. He, his editor and several others died. Officially the story he was covering was about an operation that went wrong in a hospital where a new health scheme was being introduced at the time — the very successful brainchild of the then health secretary, John Carlisle. The scheme was abandoned for some unknown reason, Carlisle dropped off the radar and ended up taking his own life last week. Someone else connected with the scheme was recently blown to bits in Paris. How am I doing?’