Disclaimer: Barty isn't mine. Longest chapter yet, so I hope you enjoy it!
Nine
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Nathaniel woke up with a strange feeling about him, as if something had happened yet he could not quite remember what it was. It was an odd feeling, but the sound of voices downstairs shook it from him. He quickly got out of bed and got dressed, and, still quite tired, he made his way downstairs.
The sight before him was a surprising one. Mrs. Underwood was at the stove, as was her custom, and Mr. Underwood was at the table as he usually was. But someone else was sitting down next to him.
The person smiled. "Hello, Nathaniel."
He stared at her for several moments. Finally, he walked into the kitchen and took his seat opposite her.
"Hello, Ms. Lutyens," he said in response without blinking.
"How has your summer been?" she asked as she poured some sugar into her drink. "Good, I hope."
"Yes," he said. "It's been fine."
"Nathaniel's been working at Alexandria Books down by Druid's," Mrs. Underwood said from the stove. "How do you like your eggs, Rosanna?"
"Sunny side up," Ms. Lutyens replied. She looked back to Nathaniel. "Do you like it there?"
"It's a decent job."
She took a sip of her tea. "It's a good store. Not like those chain stores, either. Very cramped. I've bought several books there. Is the fellow with red hair still there?"
"Bartimaeus?" He nodded. "He's the owner. He's my boss."
"Yes, he's always interesting to talk to," she said. She chuckled once. "The last time I was in there he was chastising one of his employees for laziness, but the employee did not seem much perturbed."
"That was probably Ffoukes. He has a questionable work ethic, to say the least."
"Is that so?" she mused aloud. She beamed at him in a way that made his cheeks redden, not at all of his own volition. "And what of your work ethic? Pristine, I hope?"
"Yes," he answered almost instantaneously. "Better than Bartimaeus's, at least. It would be hypocritical of him to have a complaint with how hard I've worked."
She looked at her tea thoughtfully. "Mm. But it seems that those in a position of power do tend to be hypocrites more often than not."
"Now, now, Rosanna," Mr. Underwood said, miffed, "not all of them are like that. There are some decent men in high ranks."
"Undoubtedly so," she agreed. "But perhaps the ones that are hypocrites just get a tad more press coverage."
He folded over his paper and took a sip of his coffee. "Yes, well, that's not their fault, is it? I never said we had good P.R. people. In fact, they're tremendously incompetent. They're very good at nothing at all."
"Arthur!" Mrs. Underwood chided him from the stove. "Don't say such things about your coworkers! Most of them are very nice, Rosanna, don't listen to him."
"I never said they were unkind," he said, unaffected. "I just said they're complete nitwits. Very polite nitwits, but nitwits nonetheless."
"Arthur!"
"Fine," he muttered. He looked back to Ms. Lutyens with a very contrived smile. "What I really meant is that all of our P.R. people are quite fantastic. They're all very nice, and they're all very good at being nice. It's not their fault that they're never available for comment when journalists come knocking – which is essentially their job, really – and that those journalists then try to interview us, which only wastes our time and makes us prone to public embarrassment via the media. But honestly it's not their fault, I'm sure they were too busy being nice to talk to any silly old journalists."
"Oh, please excuse him for his grumpiness, Rosanna, he never has been a morning person." Mrs. Underwood fixed her husband with a fierce glare. "If you keep up with this I'm burning your toast. I thought you might like to know."
"I like burnt toast!" he declared defiantly.
"Arthur, no you don't," she responded. "And stop embarrassing us! I'm so sorry about all of this."
Ms. Lutyens answered with a brief laugh. "Oh, it's all right, Martha, it's nice to see a bit of passion about something. The administration at the school has been vexing me with its new policy for next year – basically they want us to censor out quite a bit in the history and language arts reading. It's infuriating, really, and takes the bite out of the subjects, if you ask me. Do you know what I'm talking about, Arthur?"
"I do," he said. "It's a nation-wide implementation. The bill just barely passed, one less vote and it would've been rejected. Somewhat controversial, too. They're trying to repeal it."
"We can only hope," she sighed. "Do you have any opinion on it?"
He shrugged. "Not really. He –" he jutted his finger at Nathaniel "– is out of school now so I haven't really paid much attention to any of the education legislation, unless it applies to any part of the university curriculum, that is. Besides that, education really isn't my forte."
"Ah. A pity." She dabbed at a drop of tea on the table with a napkin before looking up brightly at Nathaniel. "That reminds me. Have you heard back from any universities?"
He shook his head. "No. But Mrs. Underwood said we could hear back soon."
"That's what the counselor at the school told us, at least," Mrs. Underwood said as she scooped an egg out of the pan with a spatula and dropped it onto a plate. "Because we were late to apply there was some trouble, but she thinks we've sorted it out. We should be hearing back any day now."
"I see," Ms. Lutyens said. "And why exactly was there trouble applying? I'm sure you've told me before, but it's been some time since we last spoke."
"There was trouble getting his documentation because of everything," Mrs. Underwood said, and that was all she had to offer on the subject.
Ms. Lutyens nodded. "Oh. Yes, now I remember."
They were silent for a while. What precisely "everything" was, everyone knew, but no one was very willing to talk about it. Nathaniel had discussed it before with Ms. Lutyens and was quite comfortable with the subject around her, but she probably did not feel completely comfortable with the subject around him yet, and Mrs. Underwood could probably guess that. There was an extremely large elephant in the room, and no one had any protests about ignoring it.
Mrs. Underwood broke the tension by delivering a full plate of food in front of each person at the table. "There we go," she said in an affected cheerful voice. "Eat up while it's hot."
They all began doing so, and she grabbed her own plate and sat down next to Nathaniel. Everyone was quiet for a few moments more as they chewed their food, and once more it came to Mrs. Underwood to end the silence.
"So, Rosanna, are you looking forward to the new school year?" she asked as she buttered her toast.
"Oh yes," Ms. Lutyens replied, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. "The new policy aside, it should be a good year. I've heard good things about the incoming class. Of course, they've got a lot to live up to."
Nathaniel blushed again, and Ms. Lutyens winked at him.
"And what of your family?" Mrs. Underwood continued. "Your brother's getting married, isn't he?"
The conversation went along in this vein for some time, and Nathaniel was relatively silent during this period. He knew little of Ms. Lutyens's personal details, and he was even less knowledgeable about the rest of the people the two gossiped about. Mr. Underwood seemed none too interested, either; he was quite content to read his paper and drink his coffee. So Nathaniel listened, and thought, and learned much he had no use for and daydreamed about random things, none of which involved sitting in a kitchen listening to gossiping women.
"Oh my, I'm sure we're boring Nathaniel here to death," Mrs. Underwood said finally, and Nathaniel agreed in his head with silent vigor. "There must be something else that we can talk of that perhaps will be a bit more engaging for him."
Ms. Lutyens looked up toward the clock hanging above the sink and let out a small gasp. "I'm so sorry, Martha, but I've really got to run. I'm supposed to help my brother and his fiancé with the flower arrangement at two, and it's already one-thirty."
"Pity," Mrs. Underwood said. She gestured her head to the sink. "Would you like to take some with you? We'll never finish it all. Nathaniel has a remarkably low appetite for a teenage boy. He only has three helpings of each meal."
"I do not!" Nathaniel protested, embarrassed.
"Oh relax, I'm only kidding." She rubbed his arm with genuine affection and grinned. "Rosanna knows that."
"I do," she said as she draped her coat over her shoulders. "I grew up with three brothers. They used to have competitions to see who could eat the most. We'd have to order three dinners for each of them when we went out to restaurants."
"But what of the leftovers?" Mrs. Underwood asked. "Will you have any?"
Ms. Lutyens smiled graciously and said, "No, I won't be able to drop them off at my flat before I go to my brother's house. They'll probably spoil in the car. I would just put them in his refrigerator, but it's full with flowers. So far this wedding has been madness, really."
"They always are."
"Indeed," agreed Mr. Underwood. "Ours was just chaos. All sorts of relatives in and out of the house constantly, calls from caterers and ministers and such. We should've just gotten married by the city if you ask me."
"Don't be such a curmudgeon, Arthur!" Mrs. Underwood stymied him with a stern glare, and he recoiled back behind his newspaper. "I'm sure it will be a wonderful wedding. But are you sure about the leftovers?"
"Yes, unfortunately. It was a wonderful meal, but the flowers seem to have thwarted our plans." She looked honestly disappointed, and Nathaniel thought that this satisfied Mrs. Underwood to some degree. "I should be going, I guess. Goodbye, Martha, Arthur. It was nice seeing you, Nathaniel. I expect that you'll be extremely busy studying this year, and if you slack off I expect that I will get a call immediately from Martha about it!"
It was a playful warning, but still semi-serious. Nathaniel smiled back. "Don't worry, I won't."
"Good," she said. "Goodbye, then. I'll drop by later on to tell you how everything went, Martha."
"Goodbye!"
She turned and left, and that was that. The rest of the day was filled with menial chores and reading, but not particularly in that order. Nathaniel spent some time hooking up the television with Mr. Underwood, which was an interesting experience in itself, filled with several mumbled curse words and numerous looks back to the instruction manual.
"That's it," he finally growled at one point. "I'm going to put it upon myself to see that some regulation be made for all of this. These instructions make no sense. It's practically criminal, really. This is ridiculous."
Nathaniel was not sure whether to take him seriously or not, as he had recently been involved with a bill to regulate the volume control on car radios. After the initial legislation, Mr. Underwood had not spoken much of it. Nathaniel did not think it had gathered much support amongst the House of Commons.
Some time later they finally managed to hook it up and get it working to Mr. Underwood's satisfaction. Several of the channels still came up kind of fuzzy, but neither of them had enough energy to bother with looking back through the manual for help on that (or, heaven forbid, look on the internet for it).
For a while Nathaniel sat in front of the television with Mr. Underwood as he read his Disraeli biography. Occasionally Mr. Underwood would mutter something about the picture quality or remote sensitivity, but for the most part it was a fairly stress-free experience, and neither felt the need to converse with each other.
Later on they both helped out Mrs. Underwood in cleaning out the garage, and afterwards they all headed out for dinner in Mr. Underwood's car. It was a small car, and old, yet fairly nice in spite of its age. Mr. Underwood liked to refer to it as a "classic," although Nathaniel had the suspicion that he said this because it sounded much better than calling it a used car in decent condition. It began raining as they drove to the restaurant, which soured Mr. Underwood's mood considerably.
"Bloody rain," he muttered as he leaned over the steering wheel and looked up and out of the window. "I swear it's rained more this year than any summer I can care to remember. It's insane."
"This doesn't look like it'll stay around too long, at least," Mrs. Underwood said in a bright voice that contrasted Mr. Underwood's completely, and when Nathaniel looked out the window he saw that she was right. It was already clearing up, and by the time they parked and got out of the car it was only sprinkling.
Dinner was a quiet affair. Mr. and Mrs. Underwood chatted about this and that – incompetent coworkers, the lady next door, the water bill – and only occasionally called upon Nathaniel to say something, which did not bother him at all. His thoughts wandered randomly; he thought of university, and of what Ms. Lutyens had told him. He thought of Bartimaeus and silently hoped that the redheaded man would not be working tomorrow. At one moment he thought of the waitress from Druid's, Kitty Jones, but this did not last long before he caught himself. Bartimaeus would have just been giddy if he had found out about this, and with this motivation Nathaniel pushed all thoughts of her from his mind.
Dinner was very good. Nathaniel ordered salmon, as did Mr. Underwood, and it was filling. The ride back was considerably less talkative than the actually dinner had been, as they all were stuffed and too tired to really think. When they arrived back home, Nathaniel went straight into his room and flopped down on his bed. He tried to read for several minutes, but eventually decided he was too tired for even that, and he promptly fell asleep.
He woke up early the next day, which was no surprise as he'd gone to bed very early. He diddled around for a little while, performing boring tasks such as changing (he hadn't changed out of his clothes before going to sleep), washing up, and preparing a small breakfast. He was just pulling the milk carton from the refrigerator when Mrs. Underwood walked in the kitchen with a plastic bag hanging from her wrist.
"Has Arthur already left?" she asked as she set the bag down on the counter. "He said he'd probably not have left yet when I got back."
"I don't know," Nathaniel said as he poured himself a glass of milk. "I haven't seen him."
"I guess he has. Oh well." She opened the bag and extracted a large white box, which when opened revealed doughnuts and other such pastries. "I got these for you both, but if he's already gone he'll just to have them later. Don't bother making anything. We're out of bread and eggs, I'm afraid. I'll have to stop by the store today. If you don't want the doughnuts, there should be some leftovers from yesterday in the fridge."
As soon as she had said this she began walking out the door once more. He began pouring some chocolate syrup into his milk and leaned over to holler at her through the doorway.
"Where are you going off to?" he called. "Don't you want to eat?"
"No, no," she called back, "I'm good. I've had my coffee. I'm going to the store and then to the post office. It's my cousin's birthday next week, so I'm going to mail off her present. I don't think I'll be back before you have to leave for work. Don't be late!"
"Don't worry, I won't be."
The door closed behind her, and Nathaniel turned back to his milk, beginning to stir it with a spoon. His breakfast was very sweet, yet very good as well, and he stopped himself before he felt too stuffed. It wouldn't be good to come down with indigestion an hour into his shift.
He left some thirty minutes later for the bus stop. It was a quiet ride over to the store, and when he got off the bus he saw that he was the only one there. He waited for a while by himself, leaned against the wall dully. Fifteen minutes past ten Ffoukes showed up and looked at him curiously.
"What're you doing?" he asked.
"Waiting," Nathaniel replied. "Isn't it obvious?"
Ffoukes's eyes drifted to the door. "It's not open?"
"No." Nathaniel shifted his weight against the wall, and Ffoukes took a seat next to him. "Do you know if Bartimaeus is working today? Or is it Anne?"
"No clue. Both were working yesterday, but Bart had Saturday off. It was me and Anne and Jenkins that day." He began untying and then tightening his shoelaces unceremoniously. "Third straight day I've worked. If Bart doesn't come up with a normal shift chart soon I'll go mad."
"I know," Nathaniel agreed. "It's madness. I never know when I'm working or who I'm working with."
"I can't really blame him, though. I don't think I'd really want to make one up, either. But Anne would. Without her this store would go down the drain."
Nathaniel was interested by this. "Really?"
"Oh yeah," Ffoukes replied. "She and Bart go way back. He used to be pretty overworked when the store opened or whatnot. He knew she worked at another store so he called her up and hired her. She's pretty much runs it with him, even if she doesn't own it. I know she gets paid much better than the rest of us."
"As she should."
"Yeah." He sighed and tilted his head back up against the wall. "This is great. I actually got here before him. There's no way Anne's working today, she would've been here an hour ago. It has to be Bart. He can't ever call me lazy again."
As soon as he'd said that Bartimaeus came ambling up to the store. Surprisingly, he looked rather energetic and even slightly cheerful. He didn't look bothered at all by his own tardiness.
"Hullo," he greeted them, tone amiable. "Wonderful day."
"I've noticed," Nathaniel replied, frowning. "I've been sitting outside for thirty minutes. Where've you been?"
"Overslept," he said simply. "Alarm clock didn't wake me up. What a shame."
"You seem happy," Ffoukes noted as Bartimaeus unlocked the front door. "I thought you'd be hung over. Were you out drinking last night?"
"Yes, but I didn't get drunk. I hate hangovers, you know." He opened the doors and they all entered the store. He stayed behind for a moment to prop open the doors. "I just overslept."
"Aren't you at all irritated about that?" Nathaniel questioned. "I mean, we probably lost about thirty minutes of business because of that."
Bartimaeus shrugged nonchalantly. "Oh well. The first thirty minutes we never have any customers, anyways. Besides, I'm the owner. I can do whatever the hell I want. It's a nice feeling, that. I've got a… well, not a friend exactly. I've got an acquaintance who's the manager at a big corporate bookstore. He enjoys boasting about the largeness of his store, but I always bring up the freedom this store allows me. It gets him every time."
"So the moral of the story is to buy your own store?" Ffoukes said, unsure.
"I dunno. I'm not a philosopher. I just know I can do whatever I want, I'm my own boss." He stopped himself suddenly, and Nathaniel thought that something must have just occurred to him. "Don't tell Anne, though. I don't want her nagging me about it."
"So much for freedom," Ffoukes muttered quietly, out of earshot from Bartimaeus.
"Now," Bartimaeus said, clapping his hands together, "who's got what? I've got desk."
"Store," Nathaniel blurted so quickly that his words were almost incoherent. Ffoukes swore.
"Fine, I guess I've got the back," he grumbled. "Don't expect much, though. If you're going to make me work out back, I'm going to fully take advantage of the situation by not doing any work."
Bartimaeus did not seem troubled by this. "Oh well. I just won't pay you for today, then. No skin off my back."
"Fine, I'll do my work! Don't get your knickers in a bunch."
Ffoukes, still mumbling under his breath, stomped off to the back room and quickly disappeared behind a row of bookshelves. Bartimaeus gave Nathaniel a cheeky grin.
"Good job, Nat," he said happily. "You've managed to find a way to make Ffoukes actually do his work. You haven't been working here that long, so perhaps you don't realize just what a feat that is. I must say, I'm quite impressed."
"You have no idea how much your words mean to me, Bartimaeus," Nathaniel said, not bothering to hide his sarcasm. "Look, a customer. I must be off. So sorry to leave you."
He hurried off to help said customer, and when he returned to the front of the store Bartimaeus had taken his seat behind the desk. Quickly the store began to receive some traffic, which was somewhat unusual for a Monday morning, but Nathaniel did not have time to think about it as he was kept busy assisting customers.
Around noon business picked up even more, and for an hour and a half Nathaniel was busy darting back and forth between shelves to answer the calls of customers, several of which were not very pleasant at all and left him wishing to push a shelf down on them when he was done, or at least throw a book at them.
After one particularly irritating exchange, Nathaniel made his way to the back room. The customer in question had been a lady who did not really know what she was looking for and was having a conversation on her cell phone. It took him fifteen minutes to find out even what category of book she was interested in purchasing. Seeing Ffoukes's misery would cheer him up, though, or so he hoped. With his luck Ffoukes would be thoroughly enjoying reorganizing things for some odd reason.
When he poked his head into the back room he saw that he wasn't. Of course, if Ffoukes had actually been awake he very well might have, so it was tough to say.
"Ffoukes!" he called. The man did not stir. "Ffoukes!"
There was a flop of brown hair and Ffoukes was looking at him through squinted eyes. "Wuzzat?"
"Ffoukes, wake up!" Nathaniel hissed. He tried his best not to grin. "Bartimaeus is coming! Get up!"
"What? Why didn't you say so?" Ffoukes exclaimed. He hurriedly began mussing up his hair and trying to find something to work on. "Damn it! How close is he?"
"He's just a few shelves away!" Nathaniel lied. "Hurry!"
Ffoukes pulled out a box and began going through it with a contrived air of casualness. Finally, Nathaniel let out a laugh. It was just too amusing.
"What's so funny?" Ffoukes demanded, still messing around with the contents of the box. "What is it? What – oh. I hate you."
"You were the one sleeping, not me." Nathaniel crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. "You should be working anyways.'
"Yes, well, you don't have to scare me like that. That's just rude."
"Oh, boo hoo. You deserved it."
Ffoukes grunted and set down the box. "You're not going to tell him, are you? That would just be over the line. No one likes a snitch, Nat. C'mon."
"Don't worry, I won't," Nathaniel assured him. "Although it would be such fun."
"Don't you dare," Ffoukes warned him in a low voice. "I'll personally make sure you can't snitch on anyone again if you do."
"Ooh, scary. That'll stop me." Nathaniel shook his head. "Stop worrying so much. I'm not that much of a git."
"Good," breathed Ffoukes, and he lay his head down once more. "Because if you were –"
He made a violent gesture with his hand that was probably meant to intimidate Nathaniel but only resulted in his further amusement. He decided that he'd had enough fun with Ffoukes by now, and so he left him to his sleep.
"He's not working, is he?" Bartimaeus asked when he returned to the front.
"He is," Nathaniel replied, not quite looking his employer in the eye.
"He's sleeping, isn't he?" Bartimaeus continued, ignoring his previous comment. "God. He's sleeping on the job. Oh well. Don't bother waking him up. Let him sleep. I want to catch him at it later. This should be fun."
"I never said he was sleeping," Nathaniel stated as Bartimaeus rose from his seat.
"You didn't have to. Don't worry, I'm not going to say you snitched on him or anything." He placed the pencil in his hand on the desk and began looking around for something. "I'm going out for lunch. When I get back I'll check on Ffoukes again. Don't go warn him or anything, or else you really will be a snitch."
"Fine."
Bartimaeus began feeling around his pockets for something and muttered in a low voice, "Where is my wallet? Blast it all. I – oh. There we go. I'm off. You'll have to take up the desk while I'm gone. You both can take lunch when I get back."
Nathaniel was about to say something in reply when he noticed someone standing outside the door. He narrowed his eyes for several seconds – the person looked familiar. They were staring at something in their hands and talking on the phone, so he couldn't get a glimpse at their face. Finally, they turned for a split-second and he mumbled a curse word under his breath and ducked behind a shelf.
He heard Bartimaeus's voice from the other side of the shelf. "What are you –"
He was interrupted by the sound of the door opening, and clearly Bartimaeus too was stunned by the arrival.
"I will be over there in two minutes, I'm just across the street right now," he was saying into his phone. "Don't go anywhere. It's been hard enough to set this meeting up as it was. Yes. Very well. Goodbye, Ms. Harknett."
There was a clasping sound, as if he had closed his phone.
"Hullo," Bartimaeus said. "Can I help you?"
"Yes, I was looking for a book for my girlfriend," came the voice of Simon Lovelace from the other side of the shelf. "It's a relatively new book, and has something to do with a woman who works in public relations for some major company when –"
"Her brother dies? Yeah, we've got that one in hardback. It's a big seller. We don't have the paperback, unfortunately."
"It's no matter. The hardback is fine."
"Good. Right this way."
Nathaniel knew that book as well, and luckily it was on the other side of the store. He waited until they were comfortably out of earshot before he darted out from behind the bookshelf and hurried over to the front desk. There was a shelf near the front desk, a magazine rack that no one ever looked at, and he crouched down there for the moment.
This was not good. He had successfully avoided telling Bartimaeus about the Lovelace incident so far – if Lovelace saw him then that would completely go down the drain, and any small victories Nathaniel had won against Bartimaeus in the time since would be made obsolete. He'd never hear the end of this. What was more interesting, though, was the mention of Ms. Harknett, the same lady that Lovelace had been talking to the time before. And he had mentioned being across the street, too. There were several businesses across the street, but only one made sense.
Druid's.
He was cut off from any further thought of the situation, however, by the sounds of their approaching footsteps. He pulled his knees closer to his body and held his breath anxiously.
"Is that going to be all for you?" he heard Bartimaeus ask. He could hear him right against the counter and could tell he was about to come behind the desk.
"Yes," said Lovelace. Nathaniel could now see Bartimaeus behind the desk, but luckily he himself wasn't seen. He pushed his body back against the shelf as hard as he could and just listened.
"Very well. One moment." He could hear a receipt being printed and then torn off. "There you go. Have a nice day."
He heard Lovelace exit, and he waited several moments before getting up and coming out from behind the shelf. Bartimaeus paid him no mind at first; he was organizing several of the bills in the register. Only when Nathaniel drew near did he notice.
"What were you doing back there?" he asked. "I don't see any customers there."
"I was looking at a magazine," Nathaniel said, keeping a straight face. "There aren't any customers anywhere."
Bartimaeus smirked, as if he knew Nathaniel was about to get very irritated. "You're wrong about that. Your boy Simon Lovelace just walked in."
"Really?" Nathaniel tried to look disappointed. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Must've slipped my mind," Bartimaeus muttered. He was looking at Nathaniel suspiciously, as if he didn't quite believe the ruse. "You don't seem so put out."
"I am, just tired," Nathaniel replied, perhaps a bit too quickly.
"Yeah," said Bartimaeus. He didn't look convinced. "Right. Well, anyways, I'm going to go out now. I'll see you in a bit."
He left, and Nathaniel was left to his thoughts. On one hand, he'd successfully avoided Lovelace and any further embarrassment, but on the other hand, it seemed Lovelace was meeting this Ms. Harknett only across the street at Druid's right at that very moment. His conversation at Druid's before had been interesting, and Nathaniel suspected the seeds for scandal had already been planted. Try as he might, he could not fight his own curiosity – what exactly was going on behind the scenes with Lovelace?
Finally this thirst to find out overtook him, and he was about to walk out of the door when he realized there was a problem. Bartimaeus was gone and had explicitly ordered him not to leave until his return. And if Nathaniel left, there would be no one at the desk. On the other hand, if he left he could easily make it back before Bartimaeus, and there had to be a way to fix the desk situation.
Nathaniel grimaced. This wouldn't be fun.
He hurried to the back room, where Ffoukes surprisingly was awake, albeit lying down and not doing his work.
"What do you want?" Ffoukes asked, annoyed. "You haven't gone and snitched on me, have you?"
"No, I haven't." Nathaniel gritted his teeth and swallowed his pride. "Listen, Ffoukes, I need a favor."
"Pardon?" Ffoukes nearly fell off of his bed of boxes. "I must have misheard. I thought you said you needed a favor."
Nathaniel had no wish to play this game, but he knew he must, so he tried to control his temper. "You know very well that I did."
"Oh goody, I thought you did." Ffoukes was now excitable, even to the point of sitting up from his resting position. "This is fun. Just let me enjoy this moment for a bit, I just want to take it all in –"
"Ffoukes, I need you to take the front desk," Nathaniel said impatiently. "Bartimaeus has gone, and I need to go somewhere, but we're supposed to stay here while he's gone."
"But you need to leave," Ffoukes finished. "Interesting. You'd better hope I'm not a snitch, eh?"
"I don't have much time, Ffoukes. Just do this for me! Just get out there and don't tell Bartimaeus, I'll only be a few minutes –"
"And why would I do that?" Ffoukes asked. "You were threatening me only a little while ago. Or perhaps you don't remember?"
"I do remember," Nathaniel replied sharply, "and I'll do it again. Ffoukes, if you don't do this for me, I'll tell Bartimaeus you were sleeping on the job. You won't get paid for today. But, you know, it's all right if you don't want to. It's your paycheck, after all."
Ffoukes gave him a look of the utmost loathing. "Oh, you are evil, aren't you? You're seriously going to threaten me with that again to get what you want?"
"What can I say, I'm a bad person. Ffoukes, I really need to leave. Just cover me."
"Fine," he sighed as he got to his feet. "Just don't ask me for anything else after this. We're even."
"Deal."
He wasted no time in making his way back to the front and out of the store. Traffic was picking up, and he had to wait for a rare moment of inactivity before he could scurry across the street. He paused outside the patio area as he looked for Lovelace, and he finally located the businessman on the other side, near where the stage had been the week before.
"You need something?" asked the hostess, jarring him from his little piece of scouting.
He shook his head. "No. My friends are over there, I'll just go sit with them."
He made his way over to Lovelace with great care, and occasionally he'd duck behind a table if he saw Lovelace so much as twitch in his general direction. By the time Nathaniel had gotten within a few tables of the politician, he was practically crawling. He came to a crouch near a table right behind Lovelace; summoning his final ounce of courage, he stood up and slid into a seat. Lovelace was sitting with his back to him, and now the only things separating them were a table, a chair, and two feet of cement pavement. Nathaniel grabbed a menu and held it as high up to his face as he possibly could without looking like a complete idiot, barely even risking a glance at Lovelace over the menu every now and then.
"I must say, Ms. Harknett, I was surprised when I got your call," Lovelace was saying when Nathaniel stopped squirming enough to hear him. "So far you have been avoiding me. Your sudden desire to talk is somewhat perplexing, I will admit that."
"I've thought everything over, and I've come to a decision," the woman across him said, not averting her eyes from him. Nathaniel could see her over Lovelace's shoulder and saw that she was very pretty and had medium-length, well-kept light brown hair and seductive blue eyes. "So that's why I wanted to speak with you."
"I certainly hope you've come to see my side of things. It would be very unfortunate if that were not the case."
"Perhaps it would be." They were testing each other now, but Nathaniel had the strong feeling that Simon Lovelace was not one to be tested, and that this Ms. Harknett was about to get herself into a good deal of trouble. "Would it be right, though?"
"I certainly think so, obviously," Lovelace retorted. "Ms. Harknett, I have made you every possible offer, and you have declined each and every one. I really don't know what to do now. I am a decent man, but the next logical step for me would be much less pleasant for you, I'm afraid."
She stared at him with a steely determination. "If I weren't so sure of your noble intentions, Mr. Lovelace, I would have to say that that very much sounded like a threat."
"Perhaps," he said breezily. "Or I could have just been trying to warn you of the consequences of your actions. Either one."
Things were just getting interested when Nathaniel's spy work was interrupted by a tap on his shoulder. Startled, he looked up and promptly let out a quiet curse word.
"What are you doing here?" hissed Kitty Jones, an empty tray in her hands. Her eyes darted to Lovelace. "Are you – are you listening to their conversation?"
"Sh!" he hushed her, and he glanced to the other table. The two looked too involved in their own discussion to hear him, thankfully. "Just either sit down or go away! I'll explain later!"
"Why –"
"Please, Ms. Jones, I'm begging you!" he urged her in a quiet voice. He sighed. "Just sit."
She looked him over for several seconds before grudgingly obliging. She set down the tray and leaned over to him.
"What's going on?" she said (thankfully in a whisper).
"I'll explain later," he said. "Just listen."
He thought she was going to argue, but to his surprise she just pursed her mouth and sat back in her chair. Lovelace's voice had raised in volume now, and he sounded somewhat dangerous.
"Ms. Harknett, I am pleading with you," he said with abject iciness. "I have made a fair offer. You have declined my generosity, which is vexing, but I will forgive you for your boldness. Just take it, take what I've offered you. This does not need to become an issue."
"Do you not have any morals, Mr. Lovelace?" Ms. Harknett retorted in an equally loud tone. "I will not be bought out! She deserves to know! Perhaps you will tell her? That would satisfy me."
"You know as well as I do that I have no intention of doing that, and I would hope that you didn't either." His voice was lower again, yet it still sounded equally threatening. "This is my last offer, Ms. Harknett –"
"I do not believe you!" she burst out, her face contorted into an expression of anger. "First you lie and tell me you are an eligible bachelor, only for me to find out later – after we've already had an affair! – that you are in fact in a serious relationship! And now you wish to hide the truth from the one person who rightfully deserves to know! I am not seeking attention, Mr. Lovelace; I do not threaten to go to the media. I am only going to go to Amanda herself. She deserves at least that."
"Why does she need to know?" Lovelace asked. "And if she does learn of it, she herself will make sure the media knows! It's her job, after all!"
"That's not my problem, Mr. Lovelace," she replied.
He chuckled, but nothing was funny. "Yes, it very much is, Ms. Harknett. I've made my final offer. If you do not acquiesce to my requests, I will have to resort to other methods. And yes, that is a threat."
"I'll go to the police –"
"Oh, please do. I shall be quite amused if you do." He paused and took a sip of coffee. "The offer will stand for two days, Ms. Harknett. After that, I will send other negotiators to deal with you."
Her face paled as she realized exactly what this meant, and Nathaniel let out a gasp. This was huge! Simon Lovelace, a prominent businessman and politician, was openly threatening this woman! And with such nonchalance, as well!
"You wouldn't," she breathed, eyes wide.
"You're entitled to your own opinion," Lovelace replied smoothly. A fly buzzed near his head, and he watched it lazily for a few moments before catching it with his bare hand. When he opened his hand, it lay dead in his palm. "If I were you, I'd just hope that you are not wrong."
At this point Nathaniel was shoved in the arm rather forcefully, and he looked over to Kitty Jones with a look of irritation. "What?"
"Why are we eavesdropping on them?" she hissed. "What's so important about this conversation?"
"Can't you hear it?" he replied. "Lovelace is threatening this woman! This is scandal, this is! If this reaches the media, this will be huge! Lovelace's campaign will go down the drain!"
"Please," she snorted, and it was easy to tell that she was unimpressed, "politicians have survived cheating on their spouses before. It happens all the time."
"Perhaps," he said. "But do they also survive a murder scheme?"
Her expression changed noticeably. "You think that's what he's threatening? You think he'll murder her to keep this secret?"
"Yes! Have you not been listening, Ms. Jones?" He was quite exasperated now, but he did his best to keep his cool. "What do you think he meant by 'negotiators?' Did you even see that bit with the fly? That was straight out of a murder mystery movie!"
"I can't deny the fly thing," Kitty Jones acknowledged seriously with a nod of her head. "I may not like Simon Lovelace, but I can't believe that he'd murder this girl. It doesn't make sense."
"Oh, but it does!" he exclaimed. "Do you remember the other night, how Lovelace was on the phone when – well, you know? I heard his conversation, and he was talking to this same woman! This has been going on for a while, and Lovelace sounded desperate. He's been practically begging this woman not to say anything, and now he's threatening her! He is determined to keep this affair secret, and yes, I think he'll kill to do it!"
She took a deep breath and looked over to Lovelace's table before turning her attention back to Nathaniel. "You know what I think? I think you're crazy."
"Well – wait, what? What is that supposed to mean?"
"I think you just want there to be some scandal, because then you'd be in on something big and important," she continued. He wasn't sure, but he thought she was goading him, and he was none too happy about it. "That's just me, though!"
"Of course not! If you'd just listen, you'd realize that I'm right!" His voice had raised to a higher volume now, and if he had been inconspicuous at one point, he wasn't now. "You've got to admit, at least, that something suspect is going on!"
"Yes," she said, "but that doesn't have to mean there's some evil plot to murder this lady."
"Oh really?" he responded angrily. "So what do you think Lovelace's 'other solution' is? A light pinch on the cheek?"
She stared him down for a few seconds, and he thought she was just going to walk away from him. But she didn't. "I think he's bluffing."
Nathaniel had to seriously consider this for several seconds, because as much as he hated to admit it, it did make a good deal of sense. Lovelace had exhausted all other methods and had now turned to threats, but perhaps they were just that – threats. Perhaps he had no intention on following through on his promises, and was just trying to scare Ms. Harknett into submission. Of course, this also ran the risk of Harknett telling the police, but he had not seemed scared by that at all. No, this was not just a threat. There was something deeper going on here, a corruption that ran much further than he had earlier anticipated. Lovelace had hinted that he had the police under his thumb, and if that was true, murder was very much a possibility.
"It's logically possible, but I doubt it," he finally replied, voicing his previous thought process. "Remember when she said that she'd go to the police? He didn't even flinch. No, there's something else going on here, some real large-scale corruption. I think he means it."
She sighed. "Whatever. You can think whatever you want. I guess you could be right, but I think he's bluffing." She picked up her tray, hoisted it to her shoulder, and got up from her seat, pushing her chair under the table. "I've got to get back to work now. I'll be back in a little while. Listen, don't do anything stupid, will you? Don't confront him or anything."
"Don't worry, I won't," he said. "I'm not an idiot."
She gave him a look that told him she was not at all sure of that fact. "I'm off in fifteen minutes. If you stick around, I'll talk about it afterwards with you."
"Fine." Nathaniel pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling very weary. "I'll see you then."
She lingered for a moment before going off to some other table, and he returned his attention to Lovelace once more.
"You're bluffing," Ms. Harknett was saying, eerily echoing Kitty's thoughts. "You wouldn't dare."
"As I said, you can think what you want," he said. "If you do not accept my previous offer, I will turn to other methods of persuasion. I do not think I need to elaborate further. I do hope, however, that you accept my offer while it still stands."
"I – I'll think about it."
"Good."
Nathaniel tried to stop it, but a loud sneeze came upon him, and Lovelace twitched.
"Ms. Harknett, did you know the boy sitting behind me has been at his table for twenty minutes yet has still not even bothered to buy a drink, even when a waitress came and sat with him?" he said in a calm voice, and Nathaniel's face paled. "Quite odd. It's almost as if he's spying on us."
He turned around in his chair, smiling widely at Nathaniel, who was too stunned to move.
"I thought it was you," he stated. "I recognize you from last week. You seem to have a knack for ending up near me when I'm in the middle of an important conversation."
"Mr. Lovelace, I –"
"Oh, my dear boy, don't be so shy!" Lovelace was grinning now, which unsettled Nathaniel immensely. There was a twinkle in his eyes, and it was not at all kind. "If you wanted to join our conversation, all you had to do was ask!"
Nathaniel just tightened his grip on the chair and tried not to faint.
-
