OING UP?”

There was a universal grunt and nodding of heads from inside the crammed elevator as the door opened on the second floor to an inquiring gentleman who looked in at the sleepy faces with hope. All but Lou responded, since he was too preoccupied with studying the gentleman’s shoes, which stepped over the narrow gap and into the confined space. Brown brogues shuffled in and then turned around 180 degrees, in order to face the front.

Lou was looking for red soles and black shoes. Alfred had arrived early and had lunch with black shoes. Black shoes left the office with red soles. If Lou could find out who owned the red soles, he’d know who she worked with, and then he’d know who Alfred was secretly meeting. This convoluted process made more sense to Lou than simply asking Alfred, which Lou thought said a lot about the nature of Alfred’s honesty.

“What floor do you want?” A muffled voice came from the corner of the elevator, where a man was well hidden—possibly squashed. As the only person with access to the buttons, he was forced to deal with the responsibility of comandeering the elevator stops.

“Thirteen, please,” the new arrival said.

There were a few sighs and one person tutted.

“There is no thirteenth floor,” the disembodied voice replied. “You either want the twelfth floor or the fourteenth floor. There’s no thirteen.”

“Surely he needs to get off on the fourteenth floor,” somebody else offered. “The fourteenth floor is technically the thirteenth floor.”

“So you want me to press fourteen?” the muffled voice asked impatiently.

“Em…” The man looked from one person to the other with confusion as the elevator ascended quickly. He watched the numbers go up on the monitor above and then dived into his briefcase to find his schedule.

Lou pondered the man’s confusion with irritation. It had been his suggestion that there be no number thirteen on the elevator panel, but of course there was a thirteenth floor. There wasn’t a gap with nothing before getting to the fourteenth floor; the fourteenth didn’t hover on some invisible bricks. The fourteenth was the thirteenth, the very floor his office was on. Perfectly simple.

He himself exited on the fourteenth floor, his feet immediately sinking into the spongy plush carpet there. He strode through reception toward his office and his secretary, arms swinging, lips whistling, while the lost man in the brown brogues wandered aimlessly in the wrong direction, eventually knocking lightly on the door of the broom closet at the end of the corridor.

“Good morning, Mr. Suffern.” His secretary, Alison, greeted him without looking up from her papers.

He stopped at her desk and looked at her with a puzzled expression. “Alison, call me Lou like you always do, please.”

“Of course, Mr. Suffern,” she responded, refusing to look him in the eye.

While he settled in and Alison moved about her desk, Lou tried to get a glimpse of the soles of her shoes. Once again avoiding his eye, she returned to her desk to type, and as inconspicuously as possible, Lou bent down to tie his shoelaces and peeked through the gap in her desk.

She frowned and crossed her long legs. “Is everything okay, Mr. Suffern?”

“Call me Lou,” he repeated, still puzzled.

“No,” she said rather moodily, and looked away. She grabbed the diary from her desk. “Shall we go through today’s appointments?” Standing, she made her way around the desk.

Tight silk blouse, tight skirt. His eyes scanned her body before getting to her shoes.

“How high are your heels?”

“Why?”

“Are they one hundred and twenty millimeters?”

“I’ve no idea. Who measures heels in millimeters?”

“I don’t know. Some people. Gabe.” He smiled, following her as they walked into his office and trying to get a glimpse of her soles.

“Who the hell is Gabe?” she muttered.

“Gabe is a homeless man.” He laughed.

As she turned around to question him, she caught him with his head tilted, studying her.

“Do you have red soles?” he asked her, making his way to the gigantic leather chair behind his desk, in which a family of four could live.

“Why, did I step in something?” She stood on one foot and hopped around lightly, trying to keep her balance while checking her soles, appearing to Lou like a dog trying to chase its tail.

“It doesn’t matter.” He sat down at his desk wearily.

She viewed him with suspicion before returning her attention to the schedule. “At eight thirty you have a phone call with Aonghus O’Sullibháin about needing to become a fluent Irish speaker in order to buy that plot in Connemara. However, I have arranged, for your benefit, for the conversation to be in English…” She smirked and threw back her head like a horse, pushing her mane of highlighted hair off her face. “At eight forty-five you have a meeting with Barry Brennan about the slugs they found on the Cork site—”

“Cross your fingers they’re not rare,” he groaned.

“Well, you never know, sir; they could be relatives of yours. You have some family in Cork, don’t you?” She still wouldn’t look at him. “At ten—”

“Hold on a minute.” Despite knowing he was alone with her in the room, Lou looked around, hoping for backup. “Why are you calling me sir? What’s gotten into you today?”

She looked away, mumbling what sounded like “Not you, that’s for sure.”

“What did you say?” But he didn’t wait for an answer. “I’ve a busy day. I could do without the sarcasm, thank you. What happened to my eight o’clock meeting? And why isn’t there anything at nine thirty?”

“I thought that it would be a good idea to make fewer appointments in the future.” She blushed slightly. “Instead of these manic days spent darting around, you could spend more time with fewer clients. Happier clients.”

“Yes, then Jerry Maguire and I will live happily ever after. Alison, you’re new to the company, so I’ll let this go, but this is how I like to do business, okay? I like to be busy. I don’t need two-hour lunch breaks and schoolwork at the kitchen table with the kids.” He narrowed his eyes. “You mentioned happier clients; have you had any complaints?”

“Your mother. Your wife,” she said through gritted teeth. “Your brother. Your sister. Your daughter.”

“My daughter is five years old.”

“Well, she called when you forgot to pick her up from Irish dancing lessons last Thursday.”

“That doesn’t count,” he said, rolling his eyes, “because my five-year-old daughter isn’t going to lose the company hundreds of millions of euro, is she?” Once again he didn’t wait for a response. “Have you received any complaints from people who do not share my surname?”

Alison thought hard. “Did your sister change her name back after the separation?”

He glared at her.

“Well then, no, sir.”

“Again, what’s with the sir thing?”

“I just thought,” she said, her faced flushed, “that if you’re going to treat me like a stranger, then that’s how I’ll treat you, too.”

“How am I treating you like a stranger?”

She looked away.

He lowered his voice. “Alison, we’re at the office; what do you want me to do? Tell you how much I enjoyed screwing your brains out in the middle of discussing our appointments?”

“You didn’t screw my brains out; we didn’t quite get that far.”

“Whatever.” He waved his hand dismissively.

Alison’s jaw tightened. “Oh yes, and Mr. Patterson’s secretary called to ask me to remind you not to miss any more meetings today.” She seemed to get satisfaction from relaying the message. “It seems Alfred mentioned to Mr. Patterson that you missed the meeting with Alan Fletcher yesterday.”

“Alfred made that appointment after he learned I’d be out for an hour,” Lou said, shooting up from his chair. “You know that.”

“Yes, I do.” She smiled sweetly.

“Did you tell Mr. Patterson that?”

“No, I—”

“Well, call him and tell him,” he snapped. “Make sure he knows.”

Lou’s blood boiled. He spent his life running from one thing to another, missing half of the first in order to make it to the end of the other. He did this all day, every day, always feeling like he was catching up in order to get ahead. It was long and hard and tiring work. He had made huge sacrifices to get where he was. He loved his work, was totally and utterly professional, and was dedicated to every aspect of it. So to be called out on missing one meeting that had not yet been scheduled when he had taken an hour off angered him.

It also angered him that it was family, his mother, that had caused this. It was she on the morning of the meeting whom he had had to collect from the hospital after a hip replacement. He felt angry at his wife for talking him into doing it when his suggestion to arrange a car had sent her into a rage. He felt angry at his younger sister, Marcia, and his older brother, Quentin, for not doing it instead. He was a busy man, and the one time he was forced to choose family over work, he had to pay the price. He hated the excuses that other colleagues used—funerals, weddings, christenings, illnesses—and swore he’d never bring his personal life into the office. To him, it was a lack of professionalism. Either you did the job or you didn’t.

He paced by his office window, biting down hard on his lip and feeling such anger he wanted to pick up the phone and call his entire family and tell them, “See? See, this is why I can’t always be there. See? Now look what you’ve done!”

“Right.” His heart began to slow down, now realizing what was going on. His dear friend Alfred was up to his tricks. Tricks that Lou had assumed, up until now, he was exempt from. Alfred never did things by the book. He looked at everything from an awkward angle, came at every conversation from an unusual perspective, always trying to figure out the best way he could come out of any situation at someone else’s cost.

Lou’s eyes searched his desk. “Where’s my mail?”

“It’s on the twelfth floor. The intern got confused by the missing thirteenth floor.”

“The thirteenth floor isn’t missing! We are on it! What is with everyone today? Tell the intern to take the stairs from now on and count his way up. That way he won’t get confused. Why is an intern handling the mail anyway?”

“Harry says they’re short-staffed.”

“Short-staffed? It only takes one person to get in the elevator and bring my bloody mail up.” His voice went up a few octaves. “A monkey could do that job. There are people out there on the streets who’d die to work in a place like…”

“What?” Alison asked, but she got only the back of Lou’s head because he’d turned around and was looking out his floor-to-ceiling windows at the pavement below, a peculiar expression on his face reflected in the glass.

She got up and slowly began to walk away. For the first time in the past few weeks, she felt a light relief that their fling, albeit a fumble in the dark, was going no further, because perhaps she’d misjudged him, perhaps there was something wrong with him. She was new to the company and hadn’t quite sussed him out yet. All she knew of him was that he reminded her of the White Rabbit in Alice in Wonderland, always seeming late, late, late for a very important date, but managing to get to every appointment just in the nick of time. He was cordial to everybody he met and was successful at his job. Plus, he was handsome and charming and drove a Porsche, and those things she valued more than anything else. Sure, she’d felt a slight twinge of guilt when she had spoken to his wife on the phone, but then it was quickly erased by his wife’s absolute naïveté when it came to her husband’s infidelities. Besides, everybody had a weak spot, and any man could be forgiven if his Achilles’ heel just happened to be Alison.

“What shoes does Alfred wear?” Lou called out, just before she closed his office door.

She stepped back inside. “Alfred who?”

“Berkeley.”

“I don’t know.” She frowned. “Why do you want to know?”

“For a Christmas present.”

“Shoes? You want to get Alfred a pair of shoes? But I’ve already ordered the Brown Thomas hampers for everyone, like you asked.”

“Just find out for me. But don’t make it obvious. Just casually inquire, I want to surprise him.”

She narrowed her eyes with suspicion. “Sure.”

“Oh, and that new girl in accounts. What’s her name…Sandra, Sarah?”

“Deirdre.”

“Check her shoes, too. Let me know if they’ve got red soles.”

“They don’t. They’re from Top Shop. Black ankle boots, suede, with watermarks. I bought a pair of them last year. When they were in fashion.” With that, she left.

Lou sighed, collapsed into his oversized chair, and held his fingers to the bridge of his nose, hoping to stop the migraine that loomed. Maybe he was coming down with something. He’d already wasted fifteen minutes of his morning talking to a homeless man, which was totally out of character for him, but he’d felt compelled to stop for some reason. Something about the young man demanded that Lou stop and offer him his coffee.

Unable to concentrate on his schedule, Lou once again turned to look out at the city below. Gigantic Christmas decorations adorned the quays and bridges—oversized mistletoe and bells that swayed from one side to the other, thanks to the festive magic of neon lights. The river Liffey was at full capacity and gushed by his window and out to Dublin Bay. The pavements were aflow with people charging to work, keeping in time with the currents, following the same direction as the tide. They power walked by the gaunt copper figures dressed in rags, statues that had been constructed to commemorate those during the famine who had been forced to walk these very quays to emigrate. Instead of carrying small parcels of belongings, Irish people of today’s district now carried Starbucks coffee in one hand, briefcases in the other. Women walked to the office wearing power suits and sneakers, their high heels packed away in their bags. A whole different destiny and endless opportunities awaiting them.

The only thing that was static out there was Gabe, tucked away in a doorway near the building entrance, wrapped up on the ground and watching the shoes march by, the opportunities for him not quite as hopeful. Though only slightly bigger than a dot on the pavement thirteen floors down, Lou could see Gabe’s arm rise and fall as he sipped from his cup, making every mouthful last, even if by now the coffee was surely cold.

Gabe intrigued Lou. Not least because of his talent for recanting every pair of shoes that belonged in the building, as if he had a photographic memory, but, more alarmingly, because the person behind those crystal-blue eyes was remarkably familiar. In fact, Gabe reminded Lou of himself. The two men were similar in age, and, given the right grooming, Gabe could very easily have been mistaken for Lou. He seemed a personable, friendly, capable man. Yet how different their lives were.

At that very instant, as though feeling Lou’s eyes on him, Gabe looked up. Thirteen floors up and Lou felt like Gabe was staring straight at his soul, his eyes searing into him.

This confused Lou. He knew that the glass on the outside of the building was reflective, knew beyond any reasonable doubt Gabe couldn’t possibly have been able to see Lou. But there he stood staring up, his chin to the air, with a hand across his forehead to block out the light, in almost a kind of salute. He was probably looking at a reflection of something, Lou reasoned; a bird perhaps had swooped by and caught his eye. That’s right, a reflection was all it could be. But so intent was Gabe’s gaze, which reached up the full thirteen floors to Lou’s office window and all the way into Lou’s eyes, that it made Lou wonder. Before he knew it he lifted up his hand, smiled tightly, and gave a small salute to the man below. But before he could wait for a reaction, he wheeled his chair away from the window and spun around, his pulse rate quickening as though he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

The phone rang. It was Alison, and she didn’t sound happy.

“Before I tell you what I’m about to tell you, I just want to remind you that I qualified from UCD with a business degree.”

“Congratulations,” Lou said.

She cleared her throat. “Here you go. Alfred wears size eight brown loafers. Apparently he’s got ten pairs of the same shoes and he wears them every day, so I don’t think the idea of another pair as a Christmas gift would go down too well.” She took a breath. “As for the shoes with the red soles, Melissa bought a new pair and wore them last week, but they cut into her ankle so she went to return them, but the shop wouldn’t take them back because it was obvious she’d worn them because the red sole had begun to wear off.”

“Who’s Melissa?”

“Mr. Patterson’s secretary.”

“I’ll need you to find out from her who she left work with every day last week.”

“No way, that’s not in my job description!”

“You can leave work early if you find out for me.”

“Okay.”

“Thank you for cracking under such pressure.”

“No problem, it means I can get started on my Christmas shopping.”

“Don’t forget my list.”

So Gabe had been right about the shoes and wasn’t a lunatic, as Lou had secretly suspected. He remembered Gabe asking if Lou needed an observant eye around the building, and right then and there he rethought his earlier decision.

“And can you get me Harry from the mailroom on the phone. I’m going to cure his little short-staffing problem. Then take my spare shirt, tie, and trousers downstairs to the guy sitting at the entrance. Take him to the men’s room first, make sure he’s tidied up, and then show him down to the mailroom. Harry will be expecting him. His name is Gabe.”

“What?”

“Gabe. It’s short for Gabriel. But call him Gabe.”

“No, I meant—”

“Just do it. Oh, and Alison?”

“What?”

“I really enjoyed our kiss last week, and I look forward to screwing your brains out in the future.”

He heard a light laugh slip from her throat before the phone went dead.

He’d done it again. While in the process of telling the truth, he told a total and utter lie. Almost an admirable quality, really. And through helping Gabe, Lou was also helping himself; a good deed was indeed a triumph for the soul. But Lou also knew that somewhere beneath his plotting and soul saving there lay another plot, a saving of a very different kind. That of his own skin. And even deeper down in this onion man’s complexities, he knew that this outreach was prompted by fear. Not just by the very fear that—had all reason and luck failed him—Lou could so easily be in Gabe’s position at this very moment. In a layer so deeply buried from the surface, there lay the fear of a reported crack—a blip in the fine engineering of Lou’s career. As much as he wanted to ignore it, it niggled. The fear was there; it was there all the time, but it was merely disguised as something else for others to see.

Just like the thirteenth floor.