Trust No One. Alex Walters

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СКАЧАТЬ have accidents,’ she said. ‘Not in this game.’

      Salter smiled wearily, as if he too had once shared this utopian view of life. ‘Yes, well, sis. We’re all human, aren’t we?’ He paused, his smile broadening as if they were sharing some private joke. ‘Even you.’

       Chapter 6

      She’d first met Jake Morton at one of Jeff Kerridge’s charity events. It had been during her first few months undercover, when she was working to build herself a network and some credibility, using all the contacts that Salter and her predecessor had passed on to her. It was hard work. She found herself parked endlessly on the phone, trying to set up meetings, pitch her wares, drum up some interest. In the end, she was little different from any other business start-up, struggling to get herself noticed in a market where everyone had a million better things to do than listen to her.

      Slowly, though, she was making progress. Her persistence, along with a glowing recommendation from her predecessor, had secured her a meeting with Jeff Kerridge, supposedly to discuss his printing needs. Kerridge had ducked out at the last minute, presumably to demonstrate that he was far too busy for the likes of her. But she’d had a decent meeting with some not-too-junior underling and had come away with a trial print order and some heavy hints about other, less legitimate services that they might consider. More surprisingly, a week or so later, she’d received a lavishly printed invitation to a charity dinner that Kerridge was hosting at some country house hotel in deepest moneyed Cheshire.

      ‘You better go for it, sis,’ Salter had said. ‘It’ll be Kerridge’s first test. If you’re not generous enough towards his favoured bunch of disadvantaged kiddies, you can kiss any future orders goodbye. Just don’t go donating too much if you’re expecting to claim it on expenses.’

      Even in less tense circumstances, this kind of event would have been her idea of hell in a posh frock. As it was, she was still finding her feet, working out where to pitch things. The first part of the evening was a charity auction, dominated by macho local businessmen trying to outdo each other to buy football shirts autographed by United or City players even Marie had vaguely heard of. Through a mix of boredom and embarrassment, she ended up bidding far too much for a designer dress donated by some local upmarket clothier. But no one seemed to mind, or even to notice much. By then the drink had been flowing freely and – as everyone kept reminding her – it was all in a good cause. The main good cause being, as far as she could make out, their own individual business interests.

      At the formal dinner that followed, she was amused to find herself seated at the top table, just a few seats along from Kerridge himself. She had no illusions about why she’d been accorded this honour, or indeed why she’d been invited in the first place. In this world, unattached, semi-presentable women were always at a premium. She’d spent most of her time batting off half-hearted passes made by overweight businessmen whose wives were generally no more distant than the other side of the room.

      ‘Why do we put ourselves through it, eh?’ the man on her left said, as if echoing her thoughts. ‘All this crap.’

      ‘It’s all in a good cause,’ she said, echoing the mantra of the evening.

      ‘Oh, right,’ the man said. ‘Nearly forgot that. Surprised nobody mentioned it earlier. Jake Morton, by the way.’

      He wasn’t exactly George Clooney, but he was an improvement on most of the men in the room. Trim with neat, slightly greying hair, an expression of amused tolerance on a slightly battered face. A former rugby player, from the look of it. A few years older than her, probably, but not enough to matter.

      Jesus. She had to keep reminding herself that she wasn’t single. It was one of the problems of this job. You threw yourself wholeheartedly into a fictitious life, and soon it seemed more real than the world you’d left behind.

      ‘Marie Donovan,’ she said.

      He nodded. ‘You bought the dress,’ he said. ‘Must have thought it was a bloody good cause to pay that much.’ He leaned back in his chair and eyed her body appraisingly. ‘Mind you, it’ll look great on you.’

      She thought that she ought to feel offended, but his tone was good-natured, perhaps even slightly satirical, rather than straightforwardly lecherous. More to the point, he was attractive enough for her to feel mildly flattered.

      ‘At that price, I’d hope so,’ she said. ‘At that price, I’d expect it to look good on you.’

      He laughed. Around them, bored-looking waitresses were serving the starter – some overdressed variant on a prawn cocktail.

      ‘I get the impression this isn’t your natural environment,’ he said.

      ‘Is it anybody’s?’

      ‘Oh, yes.’ He gestured towards the rows of tables in front of them. ‘Look at them. Enjoying every moment. Every mouthful of rubber chicken.’

      ‘Rubber prawn,’ she pointed out. ‘Rubber chicken’s next.’ She was beginning to find herself intrigued by this man. ‘So – why are you here?’

      He pointed along the table. ‘Work for Jeff. Three-line whip for his top team.’

      That was interesting, she thought. She hadn’t registered the name at first, but now she recalled her briefing notes, all the details that she’d painstakingly squirrelled away in her memory. James Morton. Apparently known as Jake. Director of finance for Kerridge’s legitimate holding company. But rumoured also to be a significant player in the other, more clandestine parts of Kerridge’s business. Definitely someone worth getting to know.

      ‘He does a lot of this, does he? This is my first time.’

      He shrugged. ‘Well, that’s Jeff for you. Likes to do his bit for the community.’

      ‘Very commendable.’

      ‘Especially his own community. Local councillors. Business types. People he wants to get onside. Customers. The big customers. And a few suppliers like yourself, if you’re very good.’

      She raised an eyebrow. ‘You know who I am, then?’

      ‘You’re the print lady, aren’t you? Came highly recommended, I understand.’ There was an undertone to his words that was unmistakable.

      ‘Glad to hear it,’ she said. ‘I hope I’ve lived up to expectations.’ She’d already completed the trial order, ahead of schedule and at what she knew was a very competitive price.

      ‘Done some good work so far, from what I hear. Printing, and all that.’

      ‘And all that,’ she agreed.

      ‘Jeff appreciates a good supplier. So far I’m told you’ve done well.’

      ‘Not the cheapest, but the best.’

      ‘Something like that.’ He smiled. ‘Mind you, don’t get me wrong. Jeff appreciates a cheap supplier as well.’

      ‘I’ll bear that in mind. And that you’re the finance director.’

      ‘Got me sussed too, then? Well, yes, that’s my job.’ He paused. ‘For what it’s worth.’

      ‘Quite СКАЧАТЬ