‘Oh yeah, performance – what was I saying?’
He swallowed hard and ventured, ‘You were talking about my performance?’
‘Damned right I was.’ Now he had her full attention and he quailed in his chair.
‘You just don’t cut it. When I think about my team, my people, hell, even my chauffeur, everyone cuts it – if they don’t, they don’t stay around for long. Even the maid and the cook have to cut it. Otherwise –’ she made a slitting motion with one hand across her own throat ‘– otherwise, they’re toast.’ There was another beeping from a screen beside her and again she picked up the phone.
Phew. Calm down, keep some perspective. This is not the end of the world. You are still a valid, worthwhile individual. You count. You have a past and a future. Don’t succumb. His therapist’s words had a hollow ring to them. He sucked in his stomach and thrust out his jaw – look manly. She was shaking her head and muttering under her breath as the door opened and Samantha came in, clutching the Laidlaw accumulation file. She looked up, irritated, as Samantha placed the file on the desk in front of her. Putting her hand over the receiver, she picked up the file and threw it across the room, scattering papers on the floor. Samantha, an averagely pretty twenty-six-year-old with a Harvard MBA, leapt back from the desk as if she had been stung.
‘Get the fuck out of here – I needed this file three minutes ago. We deal in real time here – real time!’
Samantha retreated rapidly, sparing him a sympathetic glance tinged with relief that she had herself survived the encounter.
Good God, there is such a thing as pride. Does she do this to everyone she surrounds herself with? He straightened this back and stared at her whilst she took the call. Finally she ended it with a clipped, ‘Yeah – go ahead, deal.’
She turned back to him, again with a kind of ‘Are you still here’ look on her face. ‘Now, where were we?’
Suddenly feeling bold, he was startled to find himself saying, ‘That’s a good question – why don’t you tell me? I had a bright future here before I ever heard of you – I was the top-ranked analyst in my sector and I could name my price at any firm in the City. I had gold-plated prospects – but now where am I? As far as the City’s concerned, I’ve disappeared. I could be dead for all they know. Tell me about this great deal you’re offering me.’ He leant forward, challenging her across the desk. Christ, maybe the therapy is working.
‘Goddamn – that’s the attitude I like. Now where’s it been these past twelve months?’ She flashed him a brilliant smile, and to his irritation it still had the same knee-weakening, pulse-quickening effect. But now he knew it was only a business technique – something she used to charm everyone from the prime minister to the maid, depending on the occasion.
Oh well – in for a penny, in for a pound. ‘I guess what I am is unwanted. Surplus to requirements. I don’t actually think you have a clear vision of what you want from me at all. You talk about performance management, you throw around phrases and jargon and bullshit business-school speak, but what does it actually mean? You’re going non-stop at ninety thousand miles an hour and you have the attention span of an ant – no, actually it’s probably worse than that. And as for long-term objectives – things like future strategy, planning ahead, measurable goals, I don’t think you really know what you want – from me or anyone else, including yourself.’
Damn – that was too much. Shouldn’t have challenged her at the end. Attitude is fine, but never challenge her directly.
She stared at him for almost half a minute, unblinking, the perfect poker face. He knew that behind the calm facade she was working out the odds, planning and strategising with a ruthlessness that he could not hope to compete with. Finally she nodded. ‘OK…’
The phone rang. Damn. Her ‘special’ lines, the one that only the heads of trading at the biggest investment banks were allowed to use. She snatched it up as he shook his head in despair.
‘Hi Eric. Yeah, yeah…’ She was nodding and grinning, typing into the screen at her side and checking out a stock whose name he could not see. ‘You got it, Eric – how much are we in for? Five hundred. Perfect.’ She hung up, a big grin on her face.
Christ, that’s the cat that’s got the cream.
She gestured at the phone. ‘Now that’s a good call.’
He smiled half-heartedly. ‘I’m sure.’
She pointed at his chest. ‘From you, on the other hand, I don’t get any good calls. Not any more.’
‘Have you ever thought why that might be?’
‘No – and I shouldn’t need to. You,’ she picked up a silver letter-opener and pointed it at him. ‘You need to keep me happy. That’s the way it works – or at least the way it’s meant to.’
‘To hell with this!’ He stood up indignantly, staring grimly at her. ‘Emma, I’m a man and I have pride – I was a top-rated analyst, not some desperate wannabe flunky like Samantha. I had options before and I can have them again – I don’t need to be here.’
She was nodding, her eyebrows slightly raised in puzzlement. ‘Exactly. That’s exactly my view – you don’t need to be here and you’re not needed here anymore. You’ve outlived your usefulness and it’s goodbye. I’m afraid you’re just not value-added anymore.’
He was stunned. For a second, he wondered if he had heard her properly. ‘Y-you what?’
‘I’m sacking you.’
‘Sacking me? What do you mean?’
‘Firing you.’ She repeated the throat-slitting motion. ‘You’re toast. Pack your bags and get out of here. My lawyers will be in touch.’
‘Y-your lawyers will be in touch? But… how can you? What about our kids? Adam’s not even a year old. What about our future?’
She shrugged. ‘Half of all the marriages in this country end in divorce. People move jobs, they move house, sometimes they even move country – why not move spouse too? And like I said, your performance has been lamentable. Would you close the door on your way out, darling?’
The Right Position
‘I UNDERSTAND YOU worked for Nick Cornish, at Barton’s?’
She smiled and leant back confidently in her chair. She was obviously a seasoned interviewee. ‘That’s right. I was his PA.’
‘But you’d only been there a few months. Why are you moving on?’
‘The department’s been restructured. The bank’s pulling out of corporate finance – too competitive. Too much fee-cutting.’ She shrugged. ‘Too much overhead and not enough profit. The board ran out of patience.’
She certainly had a good head on her shoulders – in every sense. Long dark hair that cascaded down her back, enormous dark eyes that flashed as she spoke, and a natural pout.
‘Don’t tell me – the whole business is going down the pan. But let’s hope that when the market picks up, those of us who are still standing will clean up.’
‘Let’s hope so.’ She smiled again. A mile-wide, radiant smile. Absolutely stunning – a perfect ten, he thought, as he glanced at her CV again. Why on earth had Nick let her go? He was a bastard, and a tough competitor, but he wasn’t stupid. Times must really be hard at Barton’s. She’d be the last one he would ever let go. She was wearing a dark-grey trouser suit – unusual for a woman in an interview – and a white silk blouse that did up almost to her neck. Very conservative, and hardly likely to show her at her best, but still – everything else was promising. And even underneath the trouser suit, it was clear she had an amazing figure – slim, with large breasts and a tiny waist: perfect.
‘So are you technically under notice from Barton’s, or are you free to start immediately?’
‘I can start immediately.’ She smiled again and looked him straight in the eye. ‘I can start whenever you want me to.’
‘Excellent.’ She had a steady glance, self-confident without being arrogant, the tiniest bit challenging without being provocative. Definite potential. ‘And as far as Nick was concerned, what exactly did you do for him?’
�
�Oh, I did everything.’
‘Everything?’
‘Everything. His daily schedule, organising travel, meetings, typing and dictation, proof-reading documents, client en tertainment…’
‘Client entertainment? What sort of client entertainment did you do?’
‘Whatever was needed.’
He looked her in the eye and smiled. ‘And what was needed?’
‘Oh, everything, really.’
‘Everything?’
‘Yes. Drinks parties, dinners, sporting events… everything.’
‘Oh? And what was your role in all this? Did you just make the bookings?’
‘Not at all. When Maria – Mrs Cornish – was out of town, Nick liked me to act as hostess. Mostly at his flat in Chelsea, but sometimes in restaurants.’
‘His flat? You’ve been to his flat in Chelsea?’
She smiled. ‘Many times.’
‘I’ve heard it’s quite something.’
‘It is.’
‘And what else did you do for Nick?’
‘I went with him to conferences and off-sites, whenever he felt he needed support.’
‘Did he need much support?’
‘A lot. We often went away together. Maria used to joke that he was spending more time with me then he was with her.’ She laughed. ‘A funny lady, Maria.’
‘Yes. I’ve met her once or twice, at receptions and such-like, though my wife knows her better than I do. I always had the impression that Nick had a pretty tough old time at home – a lot on his plate, one way or another.’
‘Yes, but he was always able to cope. He always found time to relax.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes – certainly when I was with him, we always managed to have a good time. Especially away from the office.’
‘Really?’
‘Definitely.’ Her eyes were sparkling. ‘Work hard and play hard – that was Nick’s motto.’
‘And it’s a good one. I believe much the same myself. And I’m certainly looking for someone who’ll fit in – someone who’ll do whatever’s necessary to keep the whole show on the road, and keep me smiling.’
‘Sounds like me. It’s certainly what I’m used to with Nick.’
‘Yes, it sounds as if he’s broken you in nicely – unless it was you who broke him in!’
‘Believe me – I’m a real pro. I’d be amazed if you’ve ever come across anyone like me before.’
‘Oh, I’ve come across my fair share – but you’re right. Probably not anyone quite like you.’
They both laughed. He paused to gather his thoughts, anxious not to appear too eager.
‘Are there any questions you want to ask me?’
‘Yes, there are. I suppose my main question is what you’d really expect of me outside normal working hours. What kind of commitment?’
He could not help grinning as he replied, ‘Oh, I expect full commitment. My situation’s much like Nick’s – my wife’s mostly at our place in the country, so I’m on my own in town. And I expect… how can I put this? Full service.’
‘Full service?’ She was grinning back at him, with the faintest hint of a blush. She had dimples in her cheeks, and a mischievous, playful look in her eyes.
‘That’s right. Especially in the evenings. Weekends are different, obviously, because I tend to be in the country. But in return, I’m prepared to offer the kind of package that will knock your socks off – as it were,’ he added, grinning.
‘It takes a lot to knock my socks off.’
‘How about thirty thousand a year to start with, plus overtime, mortgage subsidy, private healthcare, and a discretionary bonus – at my discretion, of course. A performance-related bonus. And then, I’d settle privately with you for extras.’
‘Extras?’ She was smiling.
‘Sure – anything non-bank related would be an extra. Something we’d settle privately between us.’
She relaxed and nodded enthusiastically. ‘That’s amazing.’
‘And it’s only for what we might call a starting position. An entry-level position.’
‘Oh, really? And how far might I go from there?’
‘That’s up to you – performance should always be well rewarded. And I would expect someone like you to be a really top performer. You could make fifty or sixty thousand in your first year – depending, as I said, on performance.’
‘Oh, you won’t be disappointed with my performance.’
He glanced again at her CV. ‘I suppose…’
‘Yes?’
‘I suppose, there’s just one thing I’m not sure about.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Motivation. That’s the one area I’m not certain about – everything else is fine.’
‘Motivation? In what sense?’
‘In the sense of how much you really want the job.’ He looked at her sharply. ‘And I mean really want it. You’ll have to help me out here, it’s hard to put this into words, but is there anything you can do – anything at all – to demonstrate clearly to me how much you want this job – we’re not just talking any job, after all, but specifically a position under me, looking after me, keeping me happy.’
‘Well…’ She glanced modestly at the desk, showing off her beautiful, long eyelashes. There was the slightest hint of a smile on her face.
‘Well?’
‘Well, I can think of one thing I could do for you right now – one thing that would really make an impact. Something you wouldn’t forget in a long while. Something I daresay you’ve never experienced before – well, not quite like this, anyway.’ She looked up and smiled mischievously.
‘Really?’ He pushed his chair back from the table, stretched his legs out and grinned.
‘Go for it.’
She smiled, stood up and walked around the table, kneeling in front of him. He was breathing fast, anticipating the excitement to come, and glanced nervously at the interview-room door. Her smile was so confident, the smile of someone who was absolutely in charge, who knew what she was doing. ‘Go ahead. Show me.’
She nodded and reached down to unbutton her jacket. ‘I could show you this.’
‘What’s that?’ He looked down at her, puzzled.
‘It’s the radio mike under my lapel. This one.’ She pulled up her lapel to reveal a thin wire leading under her jacket. ‘My real name’s Jane Bell. I’m a reporter for the Sunday News Insider team. We’re doing an investigative feature on MBAs in the City. That’s why Nick had to let me go – when he found out.’
‘You – what? MBAs? Masters of Business Administration?’
‘No – Married But Availables. It’s commonplace in the City, and we’re doing a feature on it – an investigative feature. Nick dumped you in it when he caught me and I told him what I was up to – we needed to tape a live interview, see how it might work in practice. Nick thought it was a scream. And he said you’d understand. He said all’s fair in love and business – big business, anyway. You don’t mind if all this is on the record for this Sunday’s edition, do you?’
Dave Hart Omnibus II Page 48