SHE DIDN’T even want to go to the party. But Mum had insisted. Go on, love, you never get out. And maybe there’ll be a job in it, or you might meet someone. Jayne didn’t think the place to meet someone was at the corporate Christmas party of Land of Paper UK (first drink only free), the fourth-largest stationery company in the UK, where she had been temping for the past month, but it might lead to a permanent job, she supposed. Assuming she wanted to work permanently as the admin assistant to the Head of Paperclips. Also, she’d been told the party was mandatory unless you had a broken limb or were on your deathbed. She wasn’t sure if that was a joke or not. Brenda, the HR lady, had an odd sense of humour.
She’d dithered over her outfit as well, ordering and sending back several sparkly ensembles. Now, as she wobbled off the Tube in uncomfortably spindly heels, she wasn’t sure she’d made the right choice. The neckline was too low, surely, for a conservative place like Land of Paper UK. At least the venue for the party was nice, one of the fancy Mayfair hotels. The outside was so Christmassy, with glowing windows and twinkling lights set into fir branches. Jayne tripped going up the stairs, and the doorman in his hat and coat caught her elbow. “Be careful, miss.”
“Sorry. Um – can you tell me where the party is?”
“Of course, miss. Down the corridor to the left.” As she limped through the lobby, she felt like everyone was staring at her, no doubt disapproving of her high-street dress. A pianist was playing jazzy covers of Christmas songs, and fires roared in each corner. The corridor to the left was plush and silent, and her heels left deep impressions in the thick carpet. There were so many doors! How would she know which one it was? She opened a heavy wooden one tentatively, and was hit in the face by music and Christmas lights and the roar of conversation. This must be it.
Blinking under the shifting disco ball, she couldn’t see anyone she knew, but then she hardly knew anyone yet. Mr Bryant, the Head of Paperclips, wasn’t coming, as his ingrown toenail was playing up and had to be put in plaster for a week. Brenda, the chipper HR lady, must be here somewhere, though. A woman Jayne didn’t know, with liquorice-shiny black hair, was standing behind a table laden with name badges and glasses of fizzing champagne. Jayne spotted her name – well, it said Jane Smith. That had to be her. People were always writing her name without its extra Ys – and she didn’t blame them. Jayne Smyth was just an annoying way to spell it. She was used to the mistake, but it felt deflating, like the balloons that were slowly coming down from the ceiling. Like no one in this room knew or cared about her at all.
The woman behind the table glanced at the name-tag Jayne had picked up. “Oh, there you are! Here’s your free welcome drink.” Jayne wrinkled her nose at the fizzy liquid. She wasn’t a big drinker, and didn’t even like the taste of champagne, if she was being honest. But people got funny if you didn’t drink at a Christmas party. Maybe she could get something else? Something sweet, like a Malibu and Coke.
She moved towards the bar, carrying the glass at arm’s length, smiling vaguely at people. God, she didn’t know anyone! She’d hoped she might at least recognise a few people from the canteen or corridors, but not a single person so far. And the bar was queued three-deep. “Ridiculous, isn’t it,” complained a large red-faced man beside her. “They ought to have waiters going around. Twenty minutes I’ve been stood here – a man could die of thirst!”
“You’re welcome to have this if you like, I haven’t touched it.” She offered the glass. His name badge read Herbert Duddington.
“That’s very kind of you. Are you sure?”
“Very sure – I don’t really like fizzy wine.”
“Oh, well thank you, my dear, I’ll buy you something else when I finally get through this scrum.” He toasted her and took a large gulp. “So, what do you do here?”
“Just admin. I’m temping.”
“Well, I’m sure we have opportunities for a lovely young lady like yourself!” His voice was very loud. In fact, everyone was so loud, shouting over the Christmas music and chatter. And it was incredibly hot. Herbert was loosening his collar too, a fine sheen of sweat over his forehead. Jayne wasn’t sure why this was supposed to be fun.
“Um, I might just – it’s very loud here…”
“What’s that?” A drop of his sweat splashed onto her as he leaned forward.
“I said it’s very loud…”
“Can’t hear…” His eyes looked glazed.
“Sorry, are you OK?”
“Can’t – eyes… going.”
The half-drunk champagne smashed onto the floor, spilling over Jayne’s new shoes, as he suddenly collapsed, out cold.
Around her, people screamed and leaped out of the way, leaving a circle about him. “Give him air!”
“Call an ambulance!”
“What’s happened?”
“Too much to drink maybe, or…”
Jayne was on her knees, the floor gritty underneath them. He wasn’t breathing. She had given him her drink and now he wasn’t breathing. Trying desperately to remember the first aid she’d learned at school, she began to compress his chest in rhythm with the music no one had yet turned off. Urgh, she really didn’t want to press her mouth onto his open, drooling one, his tongue stained black from whatever he’d been drinking. But she would have to, if no one else came—
“Stand aside, miss.” A strong arm was moving her firmly but gently away. “It’s OK, I’ve got it from here.” It was a paramedic, with muscly arms and close-cropped hair. How did he get here so fast?
The paramedic worked on Mr Duddington, loosening his shirt and placing an oxygen mask over his face. “Will he be OK?” she asked.
The paramedic fixed her with intense brown eyes. “I hope so, miss.” Then he lowered his voice. “You’re compromised. Get out now.”
“What?” She didn’t understand. Did he mean she was going to be fired over this? But it hadn’t been her fault – had it? “What do you…?”
“Why did you go so early? Plan was in half an hour! I was hardly ready.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Someone else was taking Jayne aside then, pulling her to her feet and leading her away into the press of the crowd. It was the woman from the welcome desk with the shiny hair. “You’ve had a shock, poor thing. Why don’t you come to the bathroom with me?”
“Um, I’m OK.”
“No, come on, you’re shaking. A bit of fresh air will do you good.”
How would there be fresh air in the bathroom? Jayne felt woolly-headed, but she followed the woman along, assuming this was someone else from HR, not scatty but friendly Brenda who’d hired her for the temp role. “What do you think happened to him?” She noticed the HR woman wasn’t wearing a name badge herself, which seemed odd. She had a long red dress with a slit up the side, but underneath she was wearing sturdy-looking flat black boots. That was also odd. Maybe Mum was wrong, and no one wore heels to parties anymore. Hers were already pinching, so she bent down and took them off, hobbling along the corridor after the woman. There seemed to be another party in the room opposite, the sound of ‘Merry Christmas, Everyone’ spilling out. “The poor man. Do you think he was ill?”
“Hmm? Oh, heart attack, most likely. Very common at that age. Nothing to worry about. Just follow me.”
“It’s just… it seemed to happen after he drank my drink?”
“Here we are.” The woman in the red dress opened the door to the ladies, dragged Jayne inside. She stooped to see if anyone was in a cubicle, which Jayne didn’t quite understand either. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?”
“I’m really OK—”
“Make-up. Here.” She rummaged in a small, sparkly clutch and took out a lipstick in a gold case. “Please, allow me.”
Jayne shied away as the woman wielded the lipstick at her face. “No, really, I hardly wear lipstick. I look weird in it. I’m fine, I just need a glass of water or something.”
The woman looked annoyed. “All right, if you insist. Stay right here.”
Jayne had no intention of staying there, but it was nice to have a moment alone to breathe. And she did look terrible, pale and trembling, her unaccustomed mascara already creeping down her face. What had happened to Herbert Duddington? Was it really a heart attack, and just a coincidence he collapsed right after drinking the champagne – her champagne? And what had the paramedic meant that she was compromised? He seemed too muscular to be a paramedic, somehow. Or maybe the uniform wasn’t quite right? Something about it had just felt wrong. Weren’t people always talking about the shocking state of ambulance wait times? And yet he’d been there within seconds!
Before the overbearing HR lady could come back, Jayne smoothed down her hair and crept out of the ladies, shoes in hand. She would just go home. She had tried, but there was no one at the party she knew, and she was too upset to chat and dance. If she left now, she could get into her onesie and watch a few Christmas episodes of Friends instead. She’d tell Mum she felt ill or something.
But as she came out, the paramedic was wheeling Herbert away on a kind of chair with straps. He looked out cold but at least breathing. That was a relief. His poor family if he’d died right before Christmas. “Is he OK?” she asked.
The paramedic – also no name badge, she noticed – looked shocked to see her. “I told you to get out! I thought you’d left!”
“I’m sorry, it wasn’t my fault, or at least I didn’t mean to…”
He hissed, “Juliet, what’s going on? I said abort. They know. I assumed that’s why you drugged him early?”
Drugged? Abort? Her head spun. “Juliet? No, my name is Jayne Smyth, but with a Y in both. They’ve spelled it wrong, but that happens all the time, and…”
At that moment two things happened. First, the paramedic’s look of confusion cleared, and he said, “Jayne Smyth, with two Ys?” Then the door to the other party opened and Brenda staggered out, reindeer antlers on her head, large gin and tonic in hand.
“Jayne! There you are, dear. We thought you weren’t coming!”
“But I thought…” She could now clearly see a little iPad on the wall by the door Brenda had come out of. Land of Paper UK Christmas Party. “Oh no – I went to the wrong party!” No wonder she hadn’t known anyone.
“Well, never mind, join us now. Must tinkle.” Brenda staggered towards the ladies, leaving her glass on a small table which held a large floral arrangement.
The paramedic grabbed Jayne’s arm and hissed at her. “What did you say – you were at the wrong party? Your name really is Jayne, and you know nothing about TranspoCorp?”
“What’s TranspoCorp? Oh, the other company? What do they do exactly?”
“Import–export,” he snapped. “And on the side, arms dealing.”
“What? I’m sorry, I’ve no idea what’s going on. I just gave him my drink and he went down.”
The man spoke into his wrist. “Operation compromised. Operative codename Jane Smith missing in action. Attempt on her life thwarted but cover is blown.”
“What?” exclaimed Jayne. “You mean…”
“Jane Smith, no Ys, that was our undercover operative. She’s been embedded in the company for six months and we were going to bust them tonight. She was supposed to slip Herbert here a little sedative so I could get him away. But you took her name badge.”
“Bust them… so you’re… police?”
“Special Ops.”
“And I ruined it all?” Oh, she was so stupid.
“No! You saved her life. Someone is on to her, clearly. The drink was meant to kill her, and it would have killed you. Luckily, Herbert has a bigger body mass, so he should be alright. But you need to get out of here. We have to bring in the SWAT team or the company bosses will all be on private jets to non-extradition countries before we can say ‘tinsel’.”
Jayne was nodding slowly, backing away. This was insane. She had gone to the wrong party, the party of an arms-dealing company, and somehow got herself mixed up in a plot to kill people. She’d known it was a bad idea to leave the house. “What can I…?”
“Leave that man,” came a voice from the end of the corridor. It was the HR woman, emerging from the loos, now holding a knife to Brenda’s neck. “Who is that? It’s not Jane Smith, clearly. You had two moles in TranspoCorp?”
The paramedic moved his body in front of Jayne and the unconscious Herbert. “It’s too late. The hotel is surrounded. What have you done with Jane? I mean, the first Jane?”
“You mean Juliet? I was told to look out for her and give her that drink. Who’s this, if it’s not your operative?” She waved the knife towards Jayne. Brenda gave a small squeak of terror.
Jayne cleared her throat and stepped in front of the fake paramedic. “That’s right, I’m the operative you didn’t know about. So you’d better let that lady go or you’re looking at some serious prison time. Isn’t that right, eh…?”
“Matt,” he whispered. Then he said, confidently: “She’s right, Yolanda. I know your name too, see. There were two moles. Jane and… Jayne. With a Y.”
Yolanda sounded desperate. “Look, they said I had to create a diversion, let them get away. But we need Mr Duddington – he’s the only one who can access the financial paper trail. Let him go.”
“He’s seriously ill – thanks to whatever you put in the drink!”
“They told me to do it! Honestly, I don’t get paid enough for this. I’m just a temp, you know! I’ve never even met the first Jane!”
Seeing her moment, Jayne didn’t think twice. She launched one of her stupid impractical shoes down the corridor, as if throwing a winning strike in the bowling alley near her home, catching the red-dress woman on the hand, making the knife fly harmlessly to the ground. She yelped. “Ow, that hurt!” Brenda, showing the presence of mind that had let her stay Head of HR for twenty years, darted to grab it.
“Now, now, dear, that’s enough of that. Someone’s getting a written warning, I think.”
And then a dozen SWAT operatives burst into the corridor, headed by a tall, muscular woman in a black silk trouser suit, wielding a gun. “Matt! They’re on to me!”
He sighed. “Thanks, Juliet, I kind of got that. Hope you blocked the exits, or the top brass will soon be on their way to the Caymans.”
“We got them. Just missing a Herbert Duddington, the CFO? We’ll need his evidence.”
At that moment, Mr Duddington let out a wet snore. “He’s not going anywhere soon,” said Matt. “So, where the hell were you?”
“Eh, well, you won’t believe this but – there are actually two hotels with this name in London. I went to the wrong one.”
“For God’s sake.”
“Sorry, sorry! Anyway, it’s all sewn up now, no harm done.” She nodded to Yolanda, who looked as if she were seriously reconsidering her career options. “You. Hands up.”
“Um – can I have immunity if I tell you everything I know?”
“We’ll think about it. Now – put them up!”
The red-dress woman sulkily put her hands up, as Brenda handed the knife over to one of the SWAT team, who put it into an evidence bag. “Well!” exclaimed Brenda, adjusting her antlers and retrieving her gin from the table. “What a bit of excitement! Don’t be long, Jayne dear, we’re about to start the conga line.” And she went back to the other party, pushing her way through the crowds of bewildered TranspoCorp employees who were being herded out of their room by armed officers.
The paramedic – Matt, not actually a paramedic – turned to Jayne. “That was seriously impressive. You can cut the cover story now. Who do you really work for?”
“Um, Land of Paper UK? But I’m just a temp.”
“Seriously? Where’d you learn to throw like that?”
She shrugged. “Dad used to take me bowling on his days off.”
“Well, Jayne with a Y, we could use skills like yours. How would you like a permanent job?”
Jayne began to limp down the corridor to retrieve her shoe. Painful as they were, the pavements were way too dirty to go home barefoot. “That depends. There’s not a mandatory office Christmas party, is there?”