The Fantastic Book of Everybody's Secrets by Sophie Hannah Read Free Book Online Page A

to pacify her. As for his own responses to life and the world, these he inspected under the microscope of privacy, like a secret, valuable stamp collection.
    Idris was grinning as the lift announced that they had reached floor number eight. He feels better, Tom thought glumly, now that he’s got a bit of the poisonous discontent out of his system. ‘Have you met our new line manager?’ asked Idris.
    â€˜Nora?’ said Tom. The two men stepped out of the lift and walked along the corridor, swinging their briefcases. Idris swung his higher.
    â€˜Yes. She’s just like a Nora. A dowdy, mumsy cow. In a meeting last week she showed me photos of her kids. Jesus! Nathan got a look at her CV – she’s a complete nonentity.’
    â€˜She seems friendly enough,’ said Tom, though what he would have liked to say was this: ‘She called me into her office last week and introduced herself. She made a point of being very, very nice to me. Instantly, I recognised a fellow non-straightforward person. There must have been an ulterior motive behind her pleasant and confiding manner. She cannotpossibly think I’m a good thing, because she’s in Gillian Bate’s pocket, and Gillian can’t stand me because she knows I know that she’s a lightweight who doesn’t deserve to be high up in any organisation. A suitable job for Gillian Bate would be circus accessory. To be tied to a revolving wheel and have knives thrown at her by a man with an impractical moustache – that would be about the right level for Gillian, given her intellect.’ Tom wanted to say all this to Idris, but couldn’t, even though he knew Idris would probably have become his best friend on the spot if he had. Tom would have found it easier to do the can-can naked in the atrium than to say what he really thought. Honesty, openness, the direct approach – Tom felt about these the way most people felt about hand grenades.
    â€˜She only got the job because she’s Gillian’s lapdog,’ said Idris. ‘As Sir Arthur Conan Doyle said, “Mediocrity only recognises itself. It takes talent to recognise genius.” Later, alligator.’ Idris unlocked his office and swung into it in one fluid movement.
    Tom sighed and carried on walking. Did that mean that Idris was a genius? Or that he thought he was? One advantage of Tom’s reveal-nothing approach was that he had an invigorating inner life. He conducted with himself all the stimulating conversations he failed to have with other people.
    He emptied his pigeonhole and took the contents to his office to read. He had six letters – two in internal mail envelopes – and two faxes. If he’d had seven letters, or three faxes, there would not have been room for him and all his correspondence in his airless cubicle. As it was, he and his mail fitted snugly.
    He tackled the two sky-blue envelopes first. Internal communications were always the deadliest and it was as well to get them out of the way. One was from Imrana Kabir in Human Resources. It told Tom that he was entitled to free eye tests and that he should contact her to arrange one. Heballed it up and threw it in the bin. The second was from Nora Connaughton, the new manager. It read as follows:
    Dear Tom,
    Ruth tells me that you were unable to come into the office last Thursday to collect the Burns Gimblett files and that you asked her to post them to you at home. I do hope you are not unwell. Please let me know if you are, and if there is anything I can do.
    Best wishes, Nora Connaughton (cc Gillian Bate)
    Tom seethed. Here it was, the first subtle attack. Oh, yes, there was no doubt that Nora was a fellow indirect communicator , an experienced passive aggressor. He knew what she must have wanted to say to him: ‘Why weren’t you in the office last Thursday? You didn’t ask my permission to work from home. Remember, I’m the new boss. Frankly, I doubt you were