One Summer Night At The Ritz. Jenny Oliver

      He opened the diary pages. ‘Probably easiest if I name what I think is an appropriate fee.’

      Jane looked at him, confused. ‘What do you mean fee?’

      William did an incredulous snort. ‘Ms Williams.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘This is sensitive information about my family, we’d like it to remain within our control.’

      The Old Fashioned with a fraction more ice appeared on the counter.

      Jane looked down at her fifteen-pound glass of wine and felt all her nervous excitement trickle out of her. He was offering her money. To what? Keep quiet? She didn’t say anything for a moment as she considered his words. Then she turned back to William and said, ‘Didn’t you find it interesting? Didn’t you find it interesting learning about this story that had your grandfather in it? It’s beautiful, sad and…’ She paused and frowned at him. ‘Have you read all the pages?’ she asked.

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Not your secretary or your lawyer. You. You’ve read all the pages?’

      ‘I’ve had a skim through.’

      She made a face. ‘A skim?’

      She’d read them over and over. The idea that he’d just had a casual flick and passed them over to his lawyers made her furious. ‘This is your family,’ she said. In all her run-throughs of this part of the evening, it had never gone like this. There had been stilted chat about how fascinating the past can be, there had been him telling her all about what happened after the Blackwells’ part in the diaries ended. Like an episode of the Antiques Roadshow, there had been him maybe asking about her connection to Enid but there had never been this.

      ‘Yes it is my family,’ he replied. ‘And, interestingly enough, not yours. So I’m left to assume—’ he was about to continue, possibly to say something about the money again, but this time she cut him off.

      ‘Just so I’ve got this straight, you came here just with the intention of buying me off?’ she asked at a volume that made him flinch in his jacket and glance behind him to see if anyone was listening. Jane saw a couple of women in the corner give him an appraising once-over.

      The barman had edged closer as he dried some glasses.

      William did an awkward cough.

      ‘Are you going to answer my question?’ Jane could feel herself fuelled by annoyance. She wasn’t someone who raised her voice often, but she hated being talked down to, being made to feel small and insignificant. She’d felt it every time she went to hospital with her mum and was told that there was no more help available. That she would have to do herself harm before they could step in. And Jane would question how her mum was ever going to do herself harm while Jane was looking after her twenty-four/seven. And they would look pityingly at her.

      ‘I, er…’ William seemed embarrassed. Like he wished he’d sent his secretary to meet her and was still sitting at his desk in the office.

      Jane, who’d been sitting perched upright, shoulders back so she looked her best in her dress, shuffled backwards into her seat, leant against the chair rest, picked up her wine, and said, ‘Read them now.’

      ‘I’m sorry?’ He coughed into his Old Fashioned.

      ‘Read them now,’ she said.

      ‘I really don’t think…’

      ‘From the moment you sat down, you’ve treated this meeting like an inconvenience and you’ve insulted me. I would never have dreamt of taking this story to any journalist. All I thought would happen is that we’d have a quick chat about how interesting it all is and go on our separate ways. Had you taken the time to get to know me and talk to me about what’s written here you would have known that. But…’ she swallowed. ‘A better story for the press than this one in the diary would be the CEO of a hotel chain trying to bribe someone for information in a public bar. Don’t you think?’ She glanced up and the barman raised his brows as he looked back down at his glass. ‘Don’t you think that would make a better story, Mr Blackwell?’ she said, just loud enough to be asking the barman and perhaps anyone sitting behind William as well.

      ‘OK, Ms Williams, I take your point, calm down.’ He held a hand up.

      ‘Don’t tell me to calm down, Mr Blackwell.’

      He ran his tongue along the bottom of his top teeth. He clearly wanted to leave.

      Neither of them spoke.

      ‘OK, let’s start again,’ he said, as if this was the boardroom and he was taking control.

      ‘No.’ She shook her head, her foolish highlights flicking in front of her eyes. ‘I don’t want to start again. I want you to read the pages.’

      She sat back, arms folded across her chest. She’d had enough of being the one who did things for other people, who stayed calm when they didn’t. And she wasn’t leaving here with the taste in her mouth of being weak.

      He watched her for a moment, deep-brown eyes studying her, weighing her up as an opponent. She glared back at him. Slowly his lips twitched up into a hint of a smile. ‘OK, Ms Williams,’ he said with a laugh. ‘I’ll read the pages. Waiter? Same again,’ he added with a raise of his brow at the barman, as if he’d been chastised, and brought him in cahoots.

      Jane watched as he then unfolded the papers and leant back in his chair, pulling his jacket out either side of him and making himself comfortable and while she felt in theory she had won, it also seemed somehow like at the last minute he’d managed to turn the victory round onto himself.

       Chapter Five

       Earlier that day…

      ‘So what have you got on this Jane character?’ William leant back in his chair, hands behind his head while his PA sat in the chair opposite, the sunlight bouncing off the buildings of the wrap-around London view.

      ‘Nothing.’ Dolores shook her head. ‘Not even a Facebook page. She’s not on LinkedIn, I don’t know what she does. All I have is that she gave the eulogy at her mother’s funeral earlier in the year. One Angela Williams. Father Unknown on birth certificate.’

      ‘That’s interesting. Are we looking for him?’ William leant forward, flicked through some files open on his desk and glanced across at the list of emails building on his laptop.

      ‘Yes.’ Dolores carried on skimming down her list. ‘Oh and there is this… First prize in a dahlia competition at some Cherry Pie Island Show.’

      William glanced up. ‘I’m not sure I needed to know that.’

      ‘Well she won it with Emily Hunter-Brown, you know of Giles Fox fame? He left her at the altar – big Hollywood hoo-ha. There’s a connection there to the media. Possible risk.’

      William tapped his fingers to his lip. ‘Bollocks.’

      ‘Other than that, as I say, I have nothing.’ Dolores stood up, flipped her pad over and pushed her chair in. ‘You have meetings at four, five and six o’clock. You’re due at The Ritz at seven and then you have dinner with…’ She looked at her pad again as if she’d forgotten the name but Will knew Dolores never forgot anything. ‘Heidi,’ she said as if the name tasted sour. ‘At seven-thirty.’

      ‘The Ritz,’ Will sighed as he scrolled through, adding the dates and times on his iPhone. ‘It’s so old fashioned,’ he said, then paused, ‘I haven’t had an Old Fashioned for ages. Maybe I’ll have one there. So what, I’ve got quarter of an hour with her?’

      Dolores nodded. ‘You could possibly squeeze it to twenty minutes – if you get a taxi.’

      ‘No, no. Fifteen minutes is quite enough. Just enough time to drink an Old Fashioned.’