Catch Me When I Fall by Nicci French Page A

startled. 'What are you '
     'You didn't think you'd not see me again, did you? I told you
I wouldn't go that easily."
'What do you want?"
     "What do I want? What do I want? I want my job. I want to keep my fiat. I want my self-respect back. I want an apology. I want you to grovel. Or, failing that, I want to take you to the cleaners. And I will, you'll see.'
     I managed a shrug that I thought might look as if I wasn't bothered. "If you've anything to say, you need to talk to our lawyer.'
     "Yeah, yeah, we're dealing with Mr. Graham. But I wanted to deal with you too. In person. You can't just wreck someone's life and expect to hand it all over to a solicitor.'

    I looked at her, the creamy face and thick brows and red lips. "Look, Deborah, I don't want to discuss this here "
     "You don't want to discuss it,' said Deborah. 'Don't want to? Poor Holly.'
     She took a step forward, and I backed away so I was wedged against the bar.
"I think you need help,' I said. 'Medical help.'
     Her whole face seemed to shiver with rage. It was like seeing a mask crack open, and I couldn't take my eyes off her.
     'How dare you suggest there's anything wrong with me?' she hissed. 'How dare you? First you fire me, then you say I'm sick. The only thing I'm sick of is you.'
     And she raised her hand and took a wild swipe at me, knocking the glass from my hand. Tomato juice flew in an arc, splattering both of us. I looked at her, with a red stain down her white shirt and her face trickling with thick juice. 'Oops! You look like a Jackson Pollock painting,' I said cheerfully.
'Holly, are you all right? Can I be of any help?'
     A tall, gangly man with a hooked nose, slightly close-together eyes and a flop of fair, greying hair. White shirt, black-leather jacket, grey cords, laced, high-ankled suede shoes. Stuart from the weekend. The premature-ejaculation man, who felt invisible with his sons. I smiled at him. For once I was pleased to meet a client out of office hours. 'I bet I know where all your items of furniture come from,' I said, and gave a giggle that even
recognized as a bit mad.
"Furniture?'
     'Gap. That's definitely a classic Gap shirt, anyway. And, yes, since you asked, you can help. You can ask Deborah -this is Deborah, by the way -to buy me another tomato juice. I'll waive the cleaning bill.'
     'Is this another of your lovers?" asked Deborah. 'Another of the men you string along? Watch it,' she said, turning to Stuart.
    'she'll kick you out as soon as she has no more use for you.'
     'We're late for the exhibition,' said Stuart to me, though he was staring at Deborah with fascination. "Put your coat on and we'll go.'
     'I'm not done with you,' said Deborah, as I slid into my coat. 'You wait and see. You don't go wrecking people's lives on a whim and then just walk away.'
I took Stuart's arm. 'Let's go."
     'Goodbye,' he said to Deborah, with curiously chivalric
formality. 'I'm sorry we met in these circumstances.'
'Oh, come on.'
     He hesitated, gazing into Deborah's furious, beautiful face, en turned away.
'I'll ruin you,' she called after us. 'Don't think I won't. Bitch.'
     'Thanks so much for that," I said, dropping Stuart's arm as we reached the street. 'I dread to think what you made of it.'
     'It was fun. I felt like your knight in shining armour. What did you do to her?'
'Just a problem in the office.'
     'Hmm. It looks like a problem that's got out of hand.'
     'Yeah,' I said. My legs were shaking. 'You're probably right.
Maybe she was right to call me a bitch. I don't know."
'What did you do?"
     'Fired her, basically. I had to. We're only a little company, a bit like a family. We've all got to trust each other or the whole thing collapses. But I kno,v I can be confrontational. Compromise isn't my strong suit. Charlie always says that in an argument I miss out all the build-up part and go nuclear at once. But I guess we should try to come to some agreement. We'll all lose out if we spend months with solicitors involved. I