The Undomestic Goddess

The line goes dead before I can say any more. I slowly put down the phone and stare at a butterfly fluttering outside the window.

That wasn’t right. That wasn’t a natural reaction. He got rid of me as soon as I mentioned his son-in-law.

Something is going on. Something is definitely going on.

I have totally abandoned the housework for the afternoon and am sitting on my bed with a pad of paper and pencil, trying to work out the possibilities.

Who stands to gain? I stare at my scribbled facts and arrows of connection yet again. Two brothers. Millions of pounds being transferred between banks and companies. Think. Think …

With a small cry of frustration I rip out the page and crumple it. Let’s start again. Let’s get everything in logical order. Glazerbrooks went into receivership. Third Union Bank lost their money. BLLC Holdings jumped ahead in the queue.…

I tap my pencil impatiently on the paper. But so what? They only get back the money they loaned. They don’t get any advantage, they don’t get any benefit, it’s pointless.

Unless—unless they never paid over anything in the first place.

The thought comes to me out of nowhere. I sit bolt upright, unable to breathe. What if that’s it? What if it’s a scam?

My mind starts to race. Suppose there are two brothers. They know that Glazerbrooks is in serious financial trouble. They know that the bank has just paid in fifty million but the bank’s charge wasn’t registered. That means there’s a fifty-million unsecured loan swilling around in the company, up for grabs by anyone else who registers a charge.…

I can’t sit anymore. I’m pacing backward and forward, feverishly gnawing my pencil, my brain sparking like an electrical circuit. It works. It works. They fiddle the figures. BLLC Holdings gets the money that Third Union Bank paid over, Carter Spink’s insurers foot the bill—

I pause in my striding. No. It doesn’t work. I’m being stupid. The insurers are only covering the fifty million because I was negligent. That’s the crucial element. The whole plan would have depended on me, Samantha Sweeting, making that particular mistake.

But I mean … how on earth could they have planned that? It makes no sense. It’s impossible. You can’t plan a mistake in advance. You can’t make someone forget to do something, you can’t make someone fuck up—

And then I stop dead. My skin suddenly feels clammy. The memo.

I never saw that memo on my desk until it was too late. I know I didn’t.

What if—

Oh, my God.

I sink onto the window seat, my legs like rubber. What if someone planted that memo on my desk? Slipped it into a pile of papers after the deadline had passed?

What if I didn’t make a mistake?

I feel like everything is cracking and reshaping around me. What if Arnold deliberately didn’t register the bank charge—and made it look like my fault?

Like a looped tape, my conversation with Arnold that day is playing over and over in my mind. When I said I couldn’t remember seeing the memo on my desk. And he immediately changed the subject.

I assumed the memo was there all the time. I assumed it was my error. My inefficiency. But what if it wasn’t? Everyone at Carter Spink knew I had the messiest desk in the firm. It would be easy to slip it into a pile of papers. Make it look as if it had been there for weeks.

I’m breathing harder and harder, till I’m almost hyperventilating. For the first time I’m realizing the huge strain I’ve been under. I have lived with that mistake for more than a month. It’s been there every morning when I wake up and every day when I go to bed. Like a constant background ache that I’ve gotten used to, like a chorus in my head: Samantha Sweeting ruined her life. Samantha Sweeting fucked up.

But … what if I was used? What if it wasn’t my fault? What if I didn’t make a mistake after all?

I have to know. I have to know the truth. Right now. With a shaking hand I reach for my mobile phone and punch in the number again.

“Lara, I need to speak to Arnold again,” I say as soon as I’m connected.

“Samantha …” Lara sounds awkward. “I’m afraid Arnold won’t take any more calls from you. And he asked me to tell you that you’re not to pester him about your job anymore.”

I’m in shock. What has he been saying about me?

“Lara, I’m not pestering him about my job,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “I just need to talk to him about a … matter. If he won’t talk to me, I’ll come to the office. Can you make me an appointment, please?”

“Samantha.” She sounds even more embarrassed than before. “Arnold told me to inform you … if you try to come here to the offices, Security will eject you.”