Just as I approached the motorway, I heard the beep of a message from deep inside my bag. I took the first exit and parked on an industrial estate to check my phone. The message was from the number I’d called in the car park. It said:

If you call me again you’ll be sorry.

CHAPTER 15

Ruby

I drove back to the flat in a fury. As soon as I was in my living room I opened my laptop and looked at the e-mails Alan Walker had sent me. He was the one who’d suggested I drive forty miles to meet him and then hadn’t shown up. I’d heard of guys doing that on dates, but for an interview? And had he sent me that text? I was going to let this guy know what I thought of him.

I looked him up again on LinkedIn. He was beaming away in the photo, looking so happy with himself. It was just after five o’clock now. I opened my e-mail and started to write a message, but after a few lines I guessed he’d just ignore it and I couldn’t hang around waiting for his reply. I saved it as a draft just in case I needed it later and tried the number that he’d given me. As soon as it rang, the call was cut off. Furious now, I called his office’s direct line instead.

“Good afternoon, Alan Walker’s office,” said a young woman.

“I’d like to speak to Mr. Walker. It’s a private matter.”

“Who’s speaking?”

“Ruby Dean.”

She went away for a moment, then came back. “Could you tell me what it’s about? I’m his personal assistant.”

“I think he would prefer it if I didn’t.” It didn’t sound as though she knew she was about to be replaced and I didn’t want to be the one to tell her.

A minute or two later, a man spoke. “Alan Walker here. Who’s calling?”

“It’s Ruby Dean.”

There was a pause, then he said, “Sorry, have we met?”

“Good question. We should have met but we haven’t.”

He sounded confused. “I’m sorry?”

“We were supposed to meet today in Manchester. I wondered whether you wanted to reconvene.”

Now he sounded bewildered. “A meeting? Who are you?”

I said again, “I’m Ruby Dean. You invited me to interview at the North West Conference Centre today.”

“What?” There was no mistaking his confusion. “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

“You e-mailed me earlier today. You said you were looking for a PA.”

“Not me,” he said firmly. “I’ve got a PA. You’ve just spoken to her. What was the sender’s e-mail address?”

I found it on my laptop and read it out to him.