Whiteout - Ken Follett [37]
He seemed irritated by the reminder, and Toni guessed that Marnie had thrown him over. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said sympathetically.
“Show your compassion in actions, not words. Have dinner with me tonight. I even have a table booked at La Chaumière.”
It was a swanky restaurant. He must have made the reservation some time ago—probably for Marnie. “I’m busy tonight.”
“You’re not still carrying a torch for Frank, are you?”
Toni laughed bitterly. “I did for a while, fool that I am, but I’m over him now. Very over.”
“Someone else, then?”
“I’m not seeing anyone.”
“But you’re interested in someone. It’s not the old professor, is it?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Toni said.
“You’re not blushing, are you?”
“I hope not, though any woman subjected to this kind of interrogation would be entitled to blush.”
“My God, you fancy Stanley Oxenford.” Carl was not good at taking rejection, and his face became ugly with resentment. “Of course, Stanley’s a widower, isn’t he? Children grown up. All that money, and just the two of you to spend it.”
“This is really offensive, Carl.”
“The truth so often is. You really like high flyers, don’t you? First Frank, the fastest-rising detective in the history of the Scottish police. And now a millionaire scientific entrepreneur. You’re a starfucker, Toni!”
She had to end this before she lost her temper. “Thank you for coming to the press conference,” she said. She held out her hand, and he shook it automatically. “Goodbye.” She turned and walked away.
She was shaking with anger. He had made her deepest emotions seem unworthy. She wanted to strangle him, not go out with him. She tried to make herself calm. She had a major professional crisis to deal with, and she could not let her feelings get in the way.
She went to the reception desk near the door and spoke to the supervisor of the security guards, Steve Tremlett. “Stay here until they’ve all left, and make sure none of them tries to take an unofficial tour.” A determined snoop might try to enter high-security areas by “tailgating”—waiting for someone with a pass then going through the door right behind.
“Leave it to me,” Steve said.
Toni began to feel calmer. She put on her coat and went outside. The snow was falling more heavily, but she could see the demonstration. She walked to the guard booth at the gate. Three canteen staff were handing out hot drinks. The protestors had temporarily stopped chanting and waving their banners, and were smiling and chatting instead.
And all the cameras were photographing them.
Everything had gone perfectly, Toni thought. So why did she feel depressed?
She returned to her office. She closed the door and stood still, grateful to be alone for a minute. She had controlled the press conference well, she thought. She had protected her boss from Osborne. And the idea of giving hot drinks to the demonstrators had worked like a charm. It would be unwise to celebrate before seeing the actual coverage, of course, but she felt that every decision she had made had been right.
So why did she feel so down?
Partly it was Osborne. Any encounter with him could leave a person feeling low. But mainly, she realized, it was Stanley. After all she had done for him this morning, he had slipped away with barely a word of thanks. That was what it meant to be the boss, she supposed. And she had long known how important his family was to him. She, by contrast, was just a colleague: valued, liked, respected—but not loved.
The phone rang. She looked at it for a moment, resenting its cheerful warble, not wanting to talk. Then she picked it up.
It was Stanley, calling from his car. “Why don’t you drop in at the house in an hour or so? We could watch the news, and learn our fate together.”
Her mood lifted instantly. She felt as if the sun had come out. “Of course,” she said. “I’d be delighted.”
“We might as well be crucified side by side,” he said.
“I would consider it an honor.”
12 NOON
THE snow became heavier as Miranda drove north. Big white flakes swooped onto the windshield of the Toyota Previa, to