Cold Hearts

by Malcolm Richards

  Now, as Valence Industries loomed on the horizon, a silver fortress of steel towers, turrets, and pipes, Emily hoped that bringing Helen on board had been the right choice.

  “Here, put this on.”

  Helen handed her a Star News Chronicle ID badge. Her temporary moniker, Meryl Silkwood, was printed to the right of her photograph. The word INTERN was printed in large red letters at the top. Emily clipped it to her shirt, just as the car approached a security barrier.

  “Helen Carlson, Star News Chronicle. I have an appointment with Jonathan Hunt.”

  The security guard peered down from his cabin. Helen flashed her ID badge and a toothy smile. The guard’s steely eyes examined the badge, then the car’s passengers.

  “One moment.”

  As he called up to the plant, Emily and Helen shared a look that was equal parts excitement and nerves. The guard hung up the phone. The security barrier began to lift and the guard waved them through.

  They drove the rest of the way in silence. Valence Industries loomed up ahead like a futuristic city. It was such a strange, alien construct, like nothing Emily had seen before.

  Helen drove into the car park and killed the engine.

  “Nervous?” she asked, handing Emily a stick of eyeliner.

  Emily pulled down the visor and began applying the makeup. “Are you?”

  “Nerves are healthy. They keep you on your toes. Overconfidence leads to mistakes.”

  One eye quickly made up, Emily went to work on the other. When she was done, she leaned back a little and peered at her reflection. Meryl Silkwood stared back.

  “Okay,” Helen said, nodding in approval. “Let’s go make an ass out of Jonathan Hunt.”

  ***

  Reception was through double doors and past a second security guard, who searched their bags and checked their badges. The receptionist, a dark-haired woman with a polite if slightly aloof manner, signed them in and asked them to take a seat. By the time Jonathan Hunt arrived ten minutes later, Emily’s anxiety had worked its way into her limbs, making them shift from one uncomfortable position to the next, and prompting Helen to put a firm hand on her shoulder.

  Jonathan Hunt was in his mid-fifties, tall, with a shock of peppery hair slicked to one side. His expensive suit had been well-tailored, tucking in at the right places to disguise his paunch. As he approached, his stern face broke into a measured smile. There was nothing genuine about it, Emily noted. His smile was pure PR.

  “Mr Hunt,” Helen said. A similar smile spread across her lips as she shook his hand. “Helen Carlson, Star News Chronicle. Thank you so much for agreeing to speak with me.”

  “Oh the pleasure’s mine, Miss Carlson.” His voice was solid, confident, like a man well-rehearsed in dealing with the press. Until he eyed Emily. “And who’s this?”

  Confusion momentarily rippled across his face. It was then, Emily realised that Helen had not informed Hunt of her presence. It was a bold move; one that could end the interview before it had started. Emily silently wondered again if she’d made the right decision.

  “This is Meryl, our intern,” Helen said. “My apologies, Mr Hunt. I should have phoned ahead and asked if I could bring her along, but in my excitement, she completely slipped my mind.”

  Jonathan Hunt’s eyes were fixed on Emily’s own. The temptation to look away was almost overwhelming, but she returned his stare and smiled politely.

  “She’ll just be sitting quietly, taking notes. Or if it’s too much trouble, I’m sure Meryl won’t mind waiting in the car.”

  The CEO’s gaze shifted back to Helen.

  “There’s no need for that. We all have to start our careers somewhere.” He leaned in and inspected Emily’s ID badge. “Isn’t that right, Miss Silkwood?”

  “Of course.” Emily nodded, then mentally recounted her new name over and over, as Jonathan Hunt led them past the reception desk and through a labyrinth of corridors. Just outside of his office, they were greeted by an attractive young woman. Hunt smiled at her as they approached.

  “Tanya, I’m in a meeting now for the next forty minutes or so. Take any messages. And would you mind bringing some coffee?”

  “Of course, Mr Hunt.” The young PA eyed the women as they were ushered into his office.

  Hunt waved to a sofa and armchairs, where the three of them sat down. It was a large room with a view of the marshland. In the far distance, the Thames estuary could just be seen winding its way towards the North Sea.

  Now seated, Emily pulled out her notebook and pen, and turned to a clean page. From her bag, Helen took out a small recorder and set it down on the coffee table.

  “A recording and notes. Is this an interrogation?” Mr Hunt said, a teasing smile on his lips.

  “It’s a good opportunity for Meryl to practise her Teeline shorthand. The recording is for me. After all, I would hate to misquote you.” Helen’s finger hovered over the record button. “May I?”

  “Of course. After all, I do hate being misquoted—you know how journalists can be. Present company excluded, I’m sure.” Hunt clasped his hands together. “Shall we dive right in? I’m afraid time is against us.”

  “Of course.”

  Coffee arrived. The young PA placed the tray wordlessly onto the table, then retreated back to her desk. Emily sat up straight, ignoring the feverish beating inside her chest.

  Helen went to work. Her first set of questions covered the evolution of Valence Industries, tracking its growth from a small plant in Illinois to its current status as dominant global empire. Next, she delved straight into the company’s reasons for implementing a sustainable development department.

  Jonathan Hunt listened to each question, leaning slightly forward, head cocked at an angle, eyes fixed on Helen. Each answer he gave was carefully worded as if he were reading from a teleprompter.

  “We were aware of the negative impact the chemicals industry can have on the environment,” he said. “But it wasn’t until we conducted research into the subject that we realised just how destructive that impact is. Yes, advances are being made every day in the field of chemistry towards more environmentally-friendly processes and materials, but the question I ask is: are we doing enough? I, for one, do not want to bear the responsibility of my children and my grandchildren growing up in a world where crops do not grow, or water is poisoned, or the very air they breathe is toxic. Which is why I set up the sustainability department.”

  He paused, eyes shifting from Helen to Emily, a fixed, self-congratulatory smile on his lips. Emily returned his smile as she jotted down some notes. If Valence Industries were responsible for selling TEL in developing countries, then Hunt was either in the dark about it, or he was a convincing liar.

  Helen said, “So, you would say the environment is something you’ve always been passionate about?”

  The CEO gazed at Emily for a second longer, then turned his attention to Helen.

  “Let’s say it was a gradual process. I’ll admit I had a lot to learn at first. My daughter will be pleased to hear that she was instrumental in opening my eyes to all manners of environmental issues. It was through her that I learned just how much industrial pollution is contributing to the very real threat of climate change.” He paused, eyeing his captive audience. “I want Valence Industries to be a pioneer of change within the chemicals industry, Miss Carlson. To lead by example. The sustainability department was just the beginning. But it was a good place to start. Within the first three years of the department’s inception, we’d reduced our greenhouse gas and energy emissions by almost twenty percent, and we’ve introduced water and waste reduction programmes with very promising results. You see, I believe that to tackle a global problem, you must first begin at home. Only then can you extend a helping hand to the Third World.”

  Helen nodded. “All those reductions must save a little money as well.”

  “It’s an agreeable by-product, shall we say? But the money we save is used to further our research into more sustainable
and safer processing methods of our products. And of course, we also invest heavily into other environmental causes.”

  “Such as the Clean Water Project?”

  “Among them, yes.”

  Helen smiled, then leaned over, making a play of checking Emily’s notes. “Perhaps you’d like to tell us a bit more about the Clean Water Project. How you became involved, who set it up, how successful it’s been.”

  Emily listened as Hunt spent the next five minutes reiterating much of what she’d already learned about the Clean Water Project. Unsurprisingly, there was no mention of Max Edwards. Emily chewed her lower lip, desperate to fire some of her own questions at the CEO. As Hunt spoke, his eyes wandered back to Emily, then moved down to her hands. She had stopped taking notes. Distracting him with a smile, she picked up her pen again and began scribbling on the page. By the time Hunt had finished talking, his gaze was like a pendulum, swinging back and forth between Helen and her intriguingly quiet intern.

  “I have to say I’m impressed,” Helen said. “It’s refreshing to hear such a global company as Valence Industries acting so conscientiously. You and your sustainability team should be commended.” Helen leaned forward an inch, her smile fading. “There is one thing that confuses me, Mr Hunt. And I’m sure it’s some sort of misunderstanding...”

  Emily turned her head towards Helen. Her heart thumped. What was Helen about to say?

  Jonathan Hunt leaned back in his chair, his charismatic charm momentarily withdrawing enough to see a glimpse of something underneath. Suspicion perhaps.

  “Oh yes?” he said. “And what’s that?”

  Emily swivelled her head back towards Helen. Don’t, she thought. Don’t you dare. But it was too late.

  “It’s just that we’ve heard rumblings of Valence’s involvement in the processing and exportation of TEL, I believe it’s called. Tetraethyl Lead? Am I pronouncing that right?”

  Jonathan Hunt was unmoving, frozen like a snake eyeing its prey. Emily swallowed and dropped her eyes to her notes. Inside, anger burned its way through her body. The one question Helen was not supposed to ask had just been dumped in Jonathan Hunt’s lap like a pile of shit. The silence in the room grew thick and unpleasant, like the air before a thunderstorm.

  Emily tried to keep herself as still as possible. Her eyes flicked towards Jonathan Hunt. Now the question was out, and as incensed as she was about it, she was still curious to see how he would answer. Hunt’s expression remained unchanging; a half-smile frozen on his lips.

  “I thought we were here today to discuss our positive impact on the environment,” he said.

  It was all over. But no one had told Helen that.

  “We certainly are, Mr Hunt. But don’t you think it’s an issue that should be addressed? The export of TEL to developing countries does seem to be in conflict with everything we’ve discussed today. After all, TEL has been banned in almost every corner of the world, and with very good reason.”

  Hunt’s left eye twitched once, then was still.

  “Suddenly, I have the distinct feeling that there may be an ulterior motive for this interview,” he said.

  “I can assure you there are no ulterior motives,” Helen said. “I’m sure it’s probably some sort of miscommunication. After all, it makes no sense that Valence Industries would be involved in something so unethical—no matter how legal—when your passion for the environment and for the health of our children is so abundantly clear.”

  Helen smiled. Unaware that she was holding her breath, Emily’s eyes swivelled between interviewer and interviewee.

  “Quite.” Jonathan Hunt smiled, coolly. He nodded towards the wall clock. “Unfortunately, that’s all I have time for today. If you have any further appropriate questions, please email them over.”

  He stood, buttoned his jacket, then shook hands with his visitors.

  Helen flashed him one last smile. “Thank you for your time, Mr Hunt.”

  “I shall look forward to reading your article with great interest.” He walked them out to the PA’s desk. “Tanya would you mind showing our guests out?”

  He nodded goodbye. Then, giving Emily one last look, he withdrew into his office and closed the door.

  Tanya led Emily and Helen back to reception. Emily held in her anger until they were in the car.

  ***

  “Did you see him squirm? I can’t possibly comment, my ass!”

  The chemical plant shrank in the distance as the blue Renault made its way along the private road, back towards civilisation.

  “What the hell have you done?” Emily hissed. “One question, Helen! One question and you had to let your overinflated ego ruin it all!”

  “Relax, would you? We have him on tape practically orgasming over how committed he is to saving the planet. Did you hear his exact words? He didn’t want his grandkids breathing in toxic air! Do you know how amazing that quote’s going to be right next to a picture of kids sucking on exhaust pipes? Shame on him!”

  “You already had your quote, so why go and mention TEL?” Emily bit down on her lip. She was furious. But more than that, she was scared. “You’re reckless, Helen. And bloody arrogant!”

  Helen slowed the car. They were approaching the security barrier. “Everything will be fine. Now turn that frown upside down and smile.”

  The security guard watched them through the cabin window. Emily looked straight ahead. On the other side of the barrier, a car was approaching; a silver, sporty number that looked like it cost more than Emily’s annual rent.

  “You better hope everything will be fine,” Emily said, with a forced smile. “But I can guarantee that Evan will not be happy.”

  The security barrier was lifting. Helen rolled the car forwards.

  “Leave that teddy bear to me. I agree it was a risky move, but it was one I was prepared to make. Sometimes, the risky questions get you the best answers.”

  “Well, not in this case.” Emily glanced into the wing mirror and saw the chemical plant in the distance. Valence Industries were making a fortune selling their poison to the vulnerable, and they were creating that poison right here, right behind her. “I hope for everyone’s sake you haven’t just complicated matters.”

  “It’s fine. We have the quote. End of story.”

  Emily shook her head. The muscles in her shoulders were knotted and tight. She was about to tell Helen how it very probably wasn’t the end, when she glanced across at the other car.

  “Shit!” Emily immediately turned her head. “That’s Tim Marsden!”

  Helen pressed down on the accelerator, sailing through security and past the silver car.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course, I’m sure!”

  “Did he see you?”

  Emily spun around, trying to get a glimpse through the back window. “I don’t know. Perhaps.”

  Helen hit the accelerator, as if putting distance between them and Tim Marsden would solve the problem.

  “Well, let’s not panic just yet. Let’s go meet Evan and figure out our next move.”

  But as they zipped along country roads, heading back towards the A2, Emily could do nothing but panic. She knew only too well what happened when corrupt men in power discovered you were watching them. It was bad enough that Helen had possibly informed Valence Industries that they were being investigated, but what about Tim Marsden? Emily was now convinced he had seen her. That their eyes had met. The question was, would he tell Jonathan Hunt? When she had met him in the West End last week, his loyalty to the company had been resolute.

  Emily pressed her head against the window and closed her eyes. As London’s cityscape appeared in the distance, glinting in the emerging sun like Emerald City, she counted her breaths in and out, and wondered if they’d just made a terrible error by revealing themselves to Valence Industries.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Evan Holt lived on the thirteenth floor of a local authority-owned tower block; the kind that, all over London, were being sol
d to property developers, who would then splash around some magnolia paint, put down laminate flooring, and advertise the property as modern apartments to rent with panoramic city views. However, Evan lived in a less than desirable part of Elephant and Castle, where most people feared to tread at night. The chances of his tower block being snatched up for redevelopment were minimal.

  In some respects, Evan’s flat reminded Emily of Harriet Golding’s home. Stacks of newspapers and magazines covered most available surfaces, making sizeable rooms feel cramped and closed in. But unlike Harriet, Evan seemed unused to receiving visitors. Emily watched as he picked up journals to make space on the sofa, then spent the next few moments turning in slow circles as he attempted to find the journals a new home.

  Once they were sitting down, Emily and Helen reported back on this afternoon’s visit to Valence Industries. Helen played select extracts from the recording of her interview with Jonathan Hunt. She then surprised Emily by admitting to Evan that she had asked Hunt about TEL.

  “It was impulsive,” she explained. “Sometimes you have to ask the risky questions, right?”

  Evan’s pensive expression remained the same. If he was angry, he wasn’t letting on.

  “Well, it’s out there now, I suppose.” He scratched the stubble on his chin. “The question is, will Hunt do anything about it?”

  “There’s something else,” Emily said. “Tim Marsden saw me as we were driving out.”

  “He may have seen you,” Helen corrected.

  “But if he did, there’s a chance he would have mentioned it to Jonathan Hunt. It won’t take more than a few seconds to work out Meryl Silkwood doesn’t exist.”

  Evan surprised Emily by laughing. “Meryl Silkwood? What kind of alias is that?”

  Helen picked up a magazine and pretended to examine its cover.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it,” she said. “As soon I mentioned TEL, alarm bells would have gone off. It won’t take long for Hunt’s people to do a little digging and find out who I really write for. Then they’ll think they’re being investigated by London Truth. So let them.”