Nigel looks distracted. “About twenty years ago the company needed more money so the family sold sixty percent of the shares to private investors. About ten percent is held by people owning just a few shares, and the rest is split between five people. They’re all on the board, too.”

“But you must know all this,” Nigel continues, “because it’s all here.” He looks pointedly at the pile of paper I’d given him earlier.

“Oh, yes, yes of course,” I say dismissively, trying to ignore the hint of a smile on Nigel’s lips.

“The Learys wouldn’t be too happy if they knew that HG was going to shut down the company,” Nigel continues. “We’ve got to warn them. We’ve got to stop this!”

He’s looking all excited. I look at my watch. I’ve really got to go.

“Why don’t you send them a pink envelope, too?” I venture. “Then they can sort it all out.” I’m not too sure about all this “we” business. I mean, I don’t mind printing out Web pages and stuff, but to be honest I’ve got more important things on my mind than the possibility that Leary’s accounting products could be shut down. I mean, I’d hate for us to lose our jobs and everything, but right now I’ve got a Zip disk to get hold of.

“We could do . . .” says Nigel. “But they aren’t majority shareholders anymore. If the rest of the board votes for the merger, they’ll be outnumbered. And anyway, HG will no doubt be offering a superb deal to the board. They’ll be making some serious money out of this.”

“Maybe we should sleep on it,” I suggest. I’ve really got to go now.

“Maybe we should.”

Nigel is looking at his computer screen again. I’m about to go, but something makes me look at Nigel more closely. He looks really down and stressed out. I realize that he’s worked at Leary for, well, forever pretty much. And if he loses his job, I don’t know what he’ll do. I certainly can’t see anyone else employing him.

Squinting at some figures on the screen, Nigel takes his glasses off to clean them and for the first time ever I see his eyes properly. Actually, Nigel looks quite vulnerable without his glasses on—kind of like a mole or something. If he went out like that, he might have more luck with women; some girls have a real mothering instinct, and he could definitely take advantage. I consider suggesting this to him but before I can he puts his glasses back on and says “I believe you were on your way home?”

“Yes, yes I am. Look, Nigel, you’ll be okay, you know.”

“Course I will,” says Nigel with absolutely no feeling. “Look, it’s fine. I’m just going to look into this Taylor guy before I go home. I want something good to show Guy, not just overheard conversations.”

I look at my watch and it’s five to six. I’m going to be seriously late for David. Promising myself that I’m going to do everything I can to help Nigel keep his job, I grab my bag and turn to go.

But for a second time that evening I don’t make it past the door to the stairwell. I knew the name Taylor was familiar to me, and I think I’ve just remembered why.

“Nigel,” I breathe as I race back to his desk, “do a search under the AMG Group. I’m sure Duncan Taylor is involved in a scandal in the U.S.” It was on the news before “Top Gear” when I was in Italy. I’m sure it’s the same name.

Nigel quickly brings up pages and pages on the story. Sure enough, the picture of Duncan Taylor on the AMG site is the same as the one on the Tryton site.

“Georgie, I think you might have just done it,” Nigel grins as he begins to type a memo to Guy.

“I think this might just get Guy’s attention.”

I try to feel as excited as Nigel, but I can’t help thinking that sorting things out with David is going to be a lot more difficult.

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David’s wearing jeans. I only mention this because it’s very rare for David to wear jeans at the weekend, let alone on a Tuesday evening.

He sees me staring and grins sheepishly. “Just something I’m trying,” he says by way of explanation.

There are delicious smells emanating from the kitchen. When he leans down to kiss me I put my arms around him and give him a bear hug. I want to feel all wrapped up and safe, instead of wondering where the disk is.

“Sorry I’m late.” I look at David’s face. He has such a strong, open, honest face. I wonder if he’s been working on Mike’s “case” today.

“No problem. The food’s going to take a while anyway—I wanted to cook something nice. I thought trout might be just the ticket?”

“Sounds lovely.” I feel nervous. My eyes are flicking around the hallway as if looking for clues.

Usually I just walk straight into the sitting room and watch TV while David cooks, and he brings me wine and olives. Now I’m standing here awkwardly and haven’t even taken off my coat.

“Actually, now that you’re here, would you mind keeping an eye on the fish while I nip out quickly? I forgot to buy some wine on my way home.”

“Of course not.” Grateful for something to do, I take off my coat and go through to the kitchen.

A sauce is bubbling on the stove. I can’t exactly do much with the fish because they’re in the oven. The front door bangs as David leaves.

This is my chance. If I can find the disk now, I can forget about it for the rest of the evening, otherwise I’m not going to be able to enjoy a minute. Estimating that I’ve got around five minutes, possibly ten, I run round the flat looking everywhere for the disk—I check his bedroom, the spare bedroom, the study, and the sitting room. Nothing. I open his briefcase and go through every pocket, but it’s nowhere to be found. I can’t believe it. It’s got to be somewhere. I rummage through his desk again, opening up all the drawers, but they just have boring stuff on tax returns and contracts from builders and stuff. I notice an invoice and stare at it. Oh my God, did David really spend ?40K on his kitchen?

Suddenly I remember his laptop. Of course! The disk is probably inside it! I remember seeing it on his bed, so I run to David’s bedroom. I look to see if there’s a disk inside it but it’s one of those computers that won’t do anything, even allow you to open the disk drive, until it’s on. I boot it up and sit swearing at it to hurry up as icon after icon appears on the screen. There’s no way I’m going to have time to get the disk. I hear the door bang downstairs and I jump. If it’s David I’ve got next to no time. Finally it springs into action. With a huge sigh of relief I press the button to the disk drive just as I hear David’s key in the door. The drive opens and . . .

nothing. Nothing! I haven’t got time to shut the laptop down properly so I just slam it shut and run to the kitchen to find the sauce boiling over. David comes in and kisses me on the neck.

“Smells lovely,” he says, giving me a hug. I manage a smile. Two things keep going through my mind: where is the disk, and does David know about me and Mike? He’s acting so relaxed that I start to believe Mike was wrong, that David did think it was coincidence that I was in Rome. Or is he just putting on a brave face?

All I want to do is stir the food, but David puts his hands around my face and lifts it up so I’m looking right into his eyes. “Georgie, thank you for coming tonight. Look, I’m sorry about Rome, I really am. But we had a fantastic time, didn’t we? I’d have loved to have spent Sunday with you as well, but maybe another time.”

“Of course,” I smile, turning back to the sauce.

“So what did you get up to when I was working?” David puts his arms around me and starts kissing the back of my neck. His words make me freeze, but I force myself to carry on talking as if everything is fine.

“Oh, just a bit of shopping. Actually, I went to Gucci.”

“Gucci! Blimey. Sounds like you’re turning into an expensive woman!”

“What do you mean ‘turning into’? I’ve always been expensive,” I say as David goes off to open the wine. Actually that’s a lie, but dammit, if David can spend ?40K on a kitchen, he’s going to start spending more on me.

The food is really good. And the wine is lovely, too. I gradually find myself feeling less and less awkward and relax into the evening. “It Had to Be You” is playing on the stereo and David is singing along, particularly when it gets to the bit “with all your faults, I love you still.” He keeps adding the wordmany before the wordfaults and then laughs to himself and winks at me.

I look at him closely. Could this lovely, open man really be doing everything he can to ensure that Mike’s company doesn’t succeed? I can’t quite believe it, but then I remember the letter I found at Mike’s.

We’re eating at the table in the kitchen and David is fussing round me, giving me more salad and more wine. It’s all warm and cozy and David has taken off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt a bit. It’s a shirt I bought him, I notice.

“So the glamour puss is just a work colleague, is she?”

I promised myself that I wasn’t going to mention the bitch from Rome. That I was going to rise above it and just worry about the disk. But the more I look at David, the more I need him to reassure me one more time.

“Georgie, she’s my partner,” David says with a sigh. “On a case. Honestly, I never thought you’d be the jealous type. I’m rather flattered actually.” He grins, obviously in an attempt to diffuse the situation, but I’m not ready to stop—not yet.

“What case?” I’m playing with fire here, but I can’t help myself.

“Darling, it’s work—just a boring fraud case,” he says dismissively, as if he wants to move the conversation on.

I blink. For some strange reason I am close to tears. Why won’t David tell me the truth? Doesn’t he trust me? If only he would tell me everything, then we could straighten everything out without all the secrecy.

“Georgie, I love you,” David says seriously, taking my hand. “I know I’ve been working too hard and I know I haven’t been giving you enough attention. But in a couple of weeks I’m going to have a lot more time on my hands. I thought maybe we could go away somewhere properly.

What do you say?”

“I’d love to,” I smile. Maybe it’s too much to expect David to confide in me. Maybe I’ve got to earn his trust and convince him that Mike and me are really history. The important thing is that David loves me. And when this is all over we can go away somewhere and everything will be okay.

David leans over and kisses me. I love the smell of him. I put my arms around his neck and he kisses me again. Tender, sweet kisses turn into urgent, passionate kisses.

“Now, get your kit off,” he murmurs as he takes off my top. I lean my head against his broad shoulders as he kisses my neck, kisses my breasts. I wrap myself around him and he lays me down on the kitchen floor. And then, in a seamless movement he takes his coat off the back of the chair and puts it under me. That’s so like David—even in the heat of passion, he thinks about the cold limestone on my bare bottom. We make love for a long time. Urgent one minute, gentle the next. All I want to do is to hold on to David, hold him so tight he’ll never get away. I know absolutely that I belong in these arms. And I totally understand why David hates Mike so much.

If I thought the bitch from Rome was making a play for David, I’d happily try to get her fired.

When it’s all over we lie in silence for a few minutes. I stretch contentedly and try to shift myself a bit to the left because something is digging into my back, but David’s weight is preventing me from moving. I reach down to move the coat a bit, and find my hand inside David’s pocket.

Absentmindedly, my hand closes around something that I assume is his wallet. And then I take a sharp intake of breath. It isn’t a wallet at all. In fact, it feels exactly like a Zip disk.

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David drives me to work. It isn’t really on his way, but he drives me anyway. He plays an Oasis album on the way, and we sing along loudly. David used to always listen to the “Today Programme” on Radio 4, but I once told him he was old before his time and since then he’s been buying albums at random so he can show off to me that he knows all about pop music. He actually introduced me to the White Stripes, which I find really impressive, even if he still calls them the White Strips.

Usually I would love David driving me to work. I love his fantastic big car that purrs along, and the heated leather seats that you can adjust to perfectly suit you. I love the fact that he’s bought me coffee and a croissant and doesn’t seem to mind that crumbs are going everywhere. It’s just that I have a disk in my bag that doesn’t belong to me. Not that it belongs to David either, but I don’t feel good about going into his pockets and stealing something, even if my intentions are honorable. And they are honorable. I’m going to give the disk to Mike but only so that this whole sorry tale can come to an end. David will just have to drop the whole thing, and everything will be okay. But I still feel very uneasy. Would David ever forgive me if he found out? The very thought makes me sick to my stomach. Not so sick that I can’t finish my croissant, but still pretty bad.