Across Enemy Lines

Mr Scott's office was a spacious suite at the top of the building, decorated in blues and wood, wind breathing in from the open window. Monica could hear the sound of cars rushing by outside, the call of gulls. There was a cup of coffee in front of her on the desk, untouched.

Mr Scott cleared his throat. "I assume you know why you're here."

Her mouth formed a thin line. "Conflict of interest?"

The image on the email attachment loomed large in her memory. It didn't take a rocket scientist to work out who 'John Smith' was, or why he'd sent it. Business, not personal, Rupert had said, as if he was Charles'

consigliere

. She'd have been furious, if she wasn't so mortified. Walking across the floor in front of her colleagues that morning, absorbing their shocked and amused gazes, it had been the worst experience of her life. Next to being dumped by Charles, of course, but now when she thought of him she wanted to smash his face in, break that idle grin he always wore as if nothing in the world could bother him.

"Look, I'll be honest. There's someone leaking information to Halpern. Cross has been on the phone, and let's just say... he knows a lot more than he should."

"So of course, you think it's me."

"That's not an old photo, Monica. It was taken at the retreat, quite recently in fact."

She gritted her teeth. "OK, yes, Charles and I used to be together, a long time ago, when I was a student. And yes, something happened at the retreat. But I swear on my life, I'd never leak information to Charles or that scumbag Cross, or do anything to damage this company. I've given ten years of my life to you, I'd never throw it away on a..."

Cheap fuck

. That was all it had been. Charles hadn't even asked her to divulge any company information, but then she'd snuck off before he'd had the chance. Maybe he'd thought there was plenty of time, that he'd make love to her again and order breakfast in bed, and worm something out of her then.

Mr Scott folded his arms. "I'm not saying I don't believe you," he said. "But you understand, I can't let you be involved in this business anymore, this takeover bid. You should've told me this at the start. I'm going to find it very hard to protect you now. Once the shareholders get wind of this... I'll come under pressure to let you go. I'll do my best of course, but you've kind of tied my hands."

She stared at him miserably. "I understand."

"So. Just get back to your work. Those figures you turned in for the quarterly budget, there's a few little things that don't quite add up, I've highlighted them on the spreadsheet. You can get started with that."

She pulled her jacket around her as if it was a suit of armour that would deflect the stares of her colleagues. "I'll get to it."

The office was noisy with the sound of photocopiers and printers and the whispers underneath. Her skin prickled as she imagined all eyes turning to the traitor. That was what they were thinking, she was sure of it. She knew she had nothing to hide, but nevertheless slunk over to her desk and pulled the yukka plant to the side to shelter her from the gossip. It had grown tall since she'd been given it on her promotion, and she'd been tending its leaves with milk, making them shine. Charles had taught her that tip, a long time ago.

As her computer booted up, she lifted her phone to check her voicemail. Three new messages, all from yesterday, before the fateful email had been circulated and ruined her life. Her hands clenched into fists for a second, then she forced herself to relax.

The first was a quick message from Lydia Goldman, thanking her for the cookies. The second was a call from the gym, asking her if she wanted to renew her membership. And the third... she almost hung up at the sound of his voice.

"Monica! I was hoping to see you. I guess you didn't get my message on your home number? Anyway I'm free tomorrow lunchtime, if you fancy meeting up." Charles cleared his throat. "I'd like to see you."

Furious, she slammed the phone back into its socket. Of course Charles would like to see her. What better opportunity to show her he'd put her in her place? Humiliated in front of her entire company, another obstacle in the way of the takeover removed with one simple email. How easy it had all been for Charles! And what a fool she'd been. Then she became aware of someone hovering beside her.

"What," she growled. "I'm busy."

It was Nick, holding a brochure. "Look," he said, his ears turning pink. "I just wanted to say... well, you know everyone's seen it. I know what it's like to have your heart broken."

She stared into his green eyes, aghast. "So what are you saying? That makes it ok to go around blabbing company secrets to any man who worms his way into your pants? And you think that's what I've done."

He shook his head. "God, no. That didn't come out the way I meant it. Like I mean... sometimes you do stupid things when you're in love. It doesn't mean you lose all common sense. I know it isn't you who's been talking. I was just trying to... be supportive."

"I'm not

in love

." Monica was slightly mollified. "But thanks."

He smiled. "Fran and I are going for sushi for lunch, if you want to join us."

She remembered Charles' invitation and bit her lip. Should she go? The damage had already been done. See what he had to say for himself after everything, why the hell not. "I have plans, but thanks." Sitting back in her desk, she studied Nick's handsome face, his black hair still untouched by grey, his skin fresh and unlined with years of work-induced stresses, late nights and coffee. "Who broke your heart?" His face fired red, and she regretted her question. "Sorry, it's none of my business."

He cleared his throat. "Well. It's an ongoing process. But I'll be ok."

"Well, when you get a bit older you'll look back and kick yourself, trust me. Don't waste your time. It's a cliché, but it's too precious to throw away on assholes."

He flashed her a pained smile and went back to his desk, and she frowned at her reflection in the computer screen. Lunch with Charles. She should tell Mr Scott, just to be on the safe side. Full disclosure, wasn't that what people were always talking about? And maybe she could use the meeting –

lunch

– to her advantage.

Charles was easy to reach. She dialled his direct line and he answered on the second ring.

"Halpern?"

Why did he always sound so damn pleasant and friendly? "It's me. Monica. Just returning your call. You wanted to meet?"

There was a silence. "To be honest," he said eventually, "I didn't think you'd want to."

Oh really. Because of a certain email?

She gripped the receiver in her hand as if she was choking the life out of it. "Well, I've got nothing else on."

Thanks to you.

"Smashing!" There was a surge of enthusiasm in his voice. "Let's say Café Boulevard at one? I'll have my chap book us a table by the garden."

Arrangements made, she hung up, chuckling to herself. Who the hell nowadays said

smashing

, or talked about their secretary as their

chap

? Only Charles, the idiot. She touched her finger against her smile and then cleared her throat and forced a frown. The

asshole

.

Lunch with Charles. Once upon a time she'd have danced around the table, her silly heart pounding blissfully. But now... Clearing her mind of all thoughts, she opened the spreadsheet Mr Scott had sent back and got to work.

= = = = =

Café Boulevard was an exclusive restaurant on the ground floor of the five star Garrison Hotel, overlooking a key garden that belonged to the three-storey Georgian homes behind. She sat at the table, fingering the crisp white tablecloth and watching a little girl playing in the garden on a tricycle as the sun cast shadows over the grass from the thick-trunked trees all around. A cool breeze from the air conditioner wafted down the back of her neck but she was still hot from her walk. She fanned herself with the menu and checked her Blackberry.

Charles was late. She smiled to herself. Some things never changed.

Yawning, she checked her reflection in her compact. Just a hint of gloss on her lips, a touch of blush, her lashes thickened with black mascara. It was enough. At thirty three, she was finding the old adage

less is more

to be very true indeed. She slipped her stilettos off under the table and started leafing through a copy of the Tatler to pass the time.

Advertisements for cosmetic surgery clinics, photos of smiling students in black mortar boards, wedding photos of all London's best and brightest just wanting to be

seen

. Well, Café Boulevard was a good place to be seen too, not that Monica cared about such upper class nonsense. Of course Charles would, he always had. He probably shopped at Waitrose to be

seen

there too. Or wait... his

chap

did. Charles had never known how much mundane things like

groceries

cost, only that they were there for his consumption and pleasure.

Then her eye caught something that made her do a double take.

It was a photograph taken at a racing track beside the winning thoroughbred. A slim, beautiful woman with blonde ringlets spilling over her bare shoulders, tanned in a cream dress and standing beside a tall man in a black suit. The caption underneath read

Alice Chapple-Leigh and Dale Swindon

, with the 'low down' underneath in a short paragraph.

Alice Chapple-Leigh, daughter of racing track owner and breeder Frederick Leigh, finds happiness at last with Dale Swindon, one of Farlborogh Children's Hospital's top surgeons. Ms Chapple-Leigh, formerly the fiancée of business mogul Charles Halpern, is seen with her father's latest winner...

Her eyes jumped back to the previous words and she felt her face start to redden with shock.

Charles had been

engaged?

She took a sip of her water and stared at Alice's smiling face. If it wasn't for the other woman's slightly protruding teeth, she and Alice could have been sisters. She fought down the surge of irrational jealousy. It wasn't as if she'd led the life of a nun since Charles, although her boyfriends had been few and far between and none of them had amounted to much. Charles had every right to date whoever he wanted. And besides, Alice had clearly moved on, so there was nothing to worry about there.

Wake up, Monica

! She checked her make up again and chastised herself for being so stupid. None of that mattered. Charles – either directly or indirectly – was screwing up her professional life, and she meant to take action. She remembered the email and felt her cheeks prickle. Rupert Cross was going to get what was coming to him, for sure. Seeing Charles would mean she could cut out the middle man, and maybe get some helpful information because it was personal now, Rupert had made it so.

Then she heard a familiar voice making some flirty conversation about the weather with a twittering waitress. Charles had arrived. He looked over at the table and flashed Monica a smile.

She took in his sparkling blue eyes, his brown hair shorter than she remembered and sculpted into a spiky style, his broad shoulders. He was dressed in a dark grey suit and a pale pink silk shirt, and she couldn't help smiling. Only Charles could top that outfit with a Snoopy tie and still look damn

gorgeous.

"Hey," he said, and sat down. "Have you ordered? I hear the mussels are good."

"Mussels," she repeated faintly, then shook herself. "I think I'll have the steak."

"Ah, a good bit of meat." He winked at her and beckoned the waitress over. "Two steaks, well done."

He still remembered, and her heart softened for a moment. Then she thought about the email and frowned. The waiter came over, unbeckoned, with a bottle of champagne and an ice bucket. She stared at him and then looked at Charles. "What are we celebrating?"

"Oh, nothing," he said, grinning. "Isn't every day a celebration?"

"Oh please. You sound like an American greetings card."

"Ever the romantic, Monica."

She felt his foot brush against hers under the table, but she was sure as hell not backing off and jumping at his touch like a schoolgirl so she pretended not to notice and watched the waiter pouring the drinks.

"So what was it you wanted to talk about?" She sipped at the champagne and felt the fizz flare and die on her tongue.

He shrugged and smiled that lazy smile that still made her heart pound, no matter how much she tried to stop it. "I just wanted to see you," he said. "Isn't that enough?"

"So much so that you're prepared to launch a hostile takeover of my company?"

There was a silence. "Well, now you come to mention it."

She was suddenly furious. "Do you have

any

idea what you're doing?"

"Look, apparently it's a sound proposal. It's good for us and it's good for you. And yes, the idea of working with you had crossed my mind."

"What do you mean,

apparently

?"

He looked at the table, and there was a strange expression on his face. "I don't pay much attention to the day-to-day things anymore. Do we have to talk about business? I was rather hoping we could have a chat, about normal things."

"So basically you haven't got a clue what's going on in your own business. That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard." All the old jealousy was starting to seethe inside her. She'd worked so hard, studied so much, done so many late nights at the expense of her relationships. Charles had just had everything handed to him on a plate. It wasn't fair.

She gnawed her thumb and looked out at the garden, not trusting herself to speak.

"My father died last year," he said, playing with his napkin. "Sort of got me thinking, what's it all about, really."

All her anger disappeared like a burst balloon. "Oh Charles, I'm sorry."

Then he smiled and met her eyes. "You never liked him."

"

He

never liked

me

." She felt her cheeks start to redden.

There was a silence. "No, I suppose he didn't."

Monica's head was whirling. If Charles didn't take any interest in the day-to-day business anymore, then it was very possible he'd had nothing to do with that hateful email at all. And she hoped desperately that that was the case, because despite her anger, her humiliation, when she looked into those eyes something shifted in her chest. She remembered what she'd told Nick that morning.

I'm not in love.

Had she ever been out of it? And she couldn't bear to find out the truth, that if he'd had anything to do with it at all she'd be back to the weeping girl at the train station, broken all over again.

Then the waiter came over with two plates of food and set them down with a flourish. The steak lay thick and juicy on top of a puff of mash and glistening with gravy. A broccoli floret sat to the side, rings of onion hung on top under a garnish of parsley. Her stomach grumbled and she realised she was starving.

And Charles' foot was rubbing against her ankle.

She drew her feet back under the chair and lifted her knife and fork.

"This looks great," she said, and started hacking at the steak. Taking a bite, she savoured the tangy gravy for a second then said casually, "how's Rupert?"

Charles looked surprised. "He's fine. Working very hard, as usual. Honestly, I don't know what I'd have done this last year without him. He's been a rock, a true friend."

"So he's sort of taken the reins."

"There's no one I trust more."

She kept her eyes on the plate. How could Charles be so blind? But then he'd always been like that, blind, and

weak

. He hadn't fought very hard for her, and in the end, just cut her loose like a fisherman that had pulled in a catfish instead of a salmon. And then she found herself thinking about something else Charles had said; maybe the takeover might be good for her company. What was the harm at looking at the proposal? Mr Scott had been sketchy with the details, maybe it was time to... But no! What a ridiculous thing to consider. She didn't want her company to be swallowed into the huge conglomerate that was Halpern Industries. The lines had been drawn and she'd taken her side. Now she had to see it through.

"You know Monica, you have a nice little business. And I'm tired of this whole

the new Richard Branson

nonsense. It would be nice to work in a normal job for once, not to have to be responsible for everything all the time. And working with you would be rather pleasant, I imagine. You're so driven, it's one of the things I used to ..." His voice tailed off and he finished the last of his steak, staring at her as he chewed.

She looked at him, shocked. "Well," she said, finding her voice. "I'm sure Mr Scott would give you a job, if you applied for one."

He dabbed at his mouth with the napkin and looked at her with a twinkle in his eye. "Maybe."

His foot was touching hers again; this time she didn't pull away.

"You know, I've got a room upstairs."

"Have you, now." She finished her steak and drained the last of her champagne. "Presumptuous as always, Charles. I have to go back to the office."

"Do you, now."

She gritted her teeth. "Yes."

"Well, let me get this." He threw down his napkin onto the plate and stood up. "A pleasure, as always."

They walked in silence over to the bar where Charles paid up, and Monica took a mint from the bowl. She unwrapped it and popped it into her mouth, her head a battleground of conflicting thoughts. She didn't want to think about business anymore, the takeover, the repulsive Rupert Cross. The humiliation of the morning seemed far away, faint under the buzz of the champagne. She followed Charles into the lobby, looking around at the white walls, the plush sofas, the golden mirrors. Guests were milling around the reception and in and out of the door, chatting to the bellboys who were wearing fancy red uniforms edged with gold.

The buzzing from her Blackberry shook her out of her daze. It was Mr Scott, and she frowned. He knew where she was, why couldn't he just wait until she got back? "Sorry Charles," she said. "I have to take this." She moved away from him, into the quiet side corridor beside the dark golden doors of the elevator.

"Hello?"

"Monica." There was a hum of chatter in the background. "Any developments?"

She sighed. "Well from all we've talked about, it seems Charles is just the figurehead of the organisation these days. Cross is the one behind it, the takeover and the email too, no doubt." She told him about the conversation in the bakery and listened to his silence.

"Well," he said eventually. "The banks aren't so keen to fund Cross now we're taking on DIS, and that's bought us some time. On the other hand, they've now acquired more than 45% of our shares. So... if you can find anything at all from Halpern that would help us, that would be... great."

"So you trust me now, is that what you're saying?" She looked across at where Charles was standing, adjusting his Snoopy tie in the mirror. If Mr Scott was pressing her for information like this, things must be getting desperate at the top level. She watched Charles grinning at himself and picking some green out of his teeth, and felt a sense of despair.

"Look, the most important thing right now is stopping this mole Cross has from allowing him to access non-public information – which he's certainly using to his advantage - and if he's prepared to try and destroy your reputation like that, then it would seem to me that you're the last on the list of suspects. That's assuming

he

sent the email of course. There are a lot of people in this company too who'd like your job, don't forget that. Anyway, I'll see you later."

She slipped the Blackberry back into her bag, gobsmacked. She'd been so taken up by her age-old dislike of Charles' best friend that she hadn't even considered the possibility that the email could have come from someone else. It could just be a simple case of plain, simple jealousy, an opportunist who saw a way to clear an obstacle out of their path up the company ladder. And practically the whole of the senior staff had been at the retreat, anyone could have taken that photo.