The Company

 

She was standing on the driveway. She was wearing gumboots and a pair of blue crocheted undies.

Andy wasn’t expecting this. As one of TeleNode’s lawyers, he’d spoken to Mrs Agnes Campbell on the phone a few days ago about her husband’s estate. She had sounded like a society wife, grieving maybe, but capably in charge of the behemoth that was her late husband’s sprawling, messy financial affairs. And here she was. Mrs Campbell, topless, holding a shovel in one hand and a chisel in the other.

‘It’s the plumbing,’ she said when she saw his glance at the shovel. ‘Toilet’s backed up.’ Then, ‘It’s easier to shower than wash all my clothes. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you so early.’

A green hose snaked from the house to a white pipe and piles of black dirt where Agnes had obviously dug around to find the evidence of the blockage. The air was rank with the smell of raw sewerage. Her undress was definitely not about trying to seduce a lawyer.

‘Plumber?’ Andy asked.

‘They won’t come out here,’ she replied. ‘There are the bills. Robbie hasn’t paid them. I’m sure they’d come out, knowing what’s happened but … you know … it’s pride. It’s ridiculous.’

He stared at her face to stop his gaze hitting her breasts, her pale stomach and legs. ‘The Company could pay.’