by Louise Bay
I’m sorry.
My stomach churned as snippets from the article raced to the front of my mind. She’d detailed how some people weren’t suited to big business and suggested I focus on small start-ups. Astro had been a small start-up once—I’d bloody built this firm from nothing. How dare she say I should just abandon it and move on? She’d said I liked to get my hands dirty and shunned the externally facing role, which may have a hint of truth in it. But I did every part of the job, took the good with the bad, the nitty gritty and the bit where I talked to shareholders and the market. She’d seen plenty of evidence of that.
I’d thought she knew me. And I knew her. How could I have been so wrong?
A knock at my office door shook me out of my tangle of frustration and Gretel appeared in the doorway. I tried not to groan but she really was the last person I wanted to see. I didn’t want to be berated by her for something that was entirely Madison’s responsibility.
I held up my hand. “I’m not having a discussion with you about this,” I said. “I gave her full access. I can’t be responsible for what she wrote.” I busied myself at my emails so I didn’t have to look at her scornful face.
She slumped in the chair opposite my desk. “I know.”
Surprised at her response, I glanced over at her. Her shoulders were slightly hunched—a total departure from the ramrod straight posture she usually demonstrated. And she was looking at me with a blank expression, her eyes dull and a bit listless. “What do you mean, you know?”
“You did everything I asked,” she replied. “You gave her access. You didn’t try to control the story.”
“Are you saying it’s not as bad as I think it is?” She can’t have read the same article if that’s what she came to tell me.
“No, it’s just as bad as you think it is.”
I might find Gretel irritating and her job unnecessary, but she’d always been honest with me and normally I appreciated that. Today she could have taken the edge off. “So, you’re telling me we can spin it and it’s not a big deal?” I’d expected her to come in on a whirlwind of energy, with a presentation on what to do next. But I wasn’t getting plan vibes from her.
“Honestly, Nathan, I have no idea. But I know this—she gave an honest account. It wasn’t what we wanted her to write, but there it is.”
“You’re not going to call up the editor and put pressure on him to change the slant of the article?” That’s what PR people were supposed to do, wasn’t it?
“Absolutely not. That would be immoral.”
She might be right but I was surprised she’d said it. “If it makes you feel any better,” she said, “I think it’s bullshit.”
“Madison’s article?”
She winced. “No, actually, I think she’s pretty spot on with that. I didn’t think so twenty-four hours ago. I was ready to hunt her down and feed her to the dog I don’t have. But having slept on it, what she said wasn’t rude. And it wasn’t wrong.”
Great. That wasn’t what I needed to hear from the person who was meant to be helping me weather this storm. “So, what exactly is bullshit?” I snapped.
“The entire reason I’m here. It’s insane. Okay, so maybe you like to be in the weeds too much. And maybe you have to be cajoled to charm the shareholders and business press.” She was full of compliments today. “But firstly, there are plenty of CEOs who are the same and I don’t see them bringing home the kind of results that Astro does under your leadership.”
Exactly, I thought, shocked that Gretel was making this point. I’d always assumed she was the enemy, or at least on the side of my enemies, which was why she was always so bloody annoying, telling me to change, to say this, that, and the other.
“And secondly,” she said without waiting for a response, “has anyone considered that time spent charming all these external stakeholders is a fucking waste of energy. That, actually, CEOs should spend their time focusing on the business? That builds real value, rather than the illusion of value.”
I couldn’t stop myself from grinning. Far from being the enemy, it seemed like Gretel was a kindred spirit.
“Well, you’re going to get no argument from me on either of those two points. But we have to deal with what we’ve got rather than what we’d like, as you would say. What’s the plan?” I asked.
She sighed. “I think I’d like to open up a bed and breakfast. And it wouldn’t even have to be in this country. I could set something up in America. Or Canada. I see myself by a lake in a wooden cabin, patchwork quilts on the bed. A frilly apron. I make great American pancakes. I could get a dog—do you know how long I’ve wanted a dog?” She glanced at me for a second as if she expected me to answer her. “But I work twenty hours a day. I’d have to outsource my dog to someone if I got one with this job. If I had a B&B, I could spend all day with them. I could get two. Maybe I’d even teach them to do tricks to impress the guests.” She looked wistfully into the middle distance, presumably imagining dancing dogs wearing patchwork coats.
The last couple of days, everything I’d thought was true had turned itself on its head. Madison and I clearly weren’t singing from the same hymn sheet, and the woman I dreaded meetings with apparently hated her job as much as I hated her job. All the same, I needed Gretel to be Gretel in this moment. She needed to break out of her fantasy and come back down to earth. We were in crisis mode. “While I think that sounds like a wonderful dream, I need you back on my planet, Gretel.”
She sighed and turned back to me. “What do you want to do?”
She was the one who was supposed to have all the ideas. “What are my options?” I asked, trying not to snap as she was clearly having a bad day too.
“Well, I can give you my professional opinion and I can give you a personal opinion.”
“I’ll take the professional option, please. That’s what I pay you for.”
“Okay,” she said, sounding exhausted. “We need to think internal—the board and employees—and we need to think external—the shareholders and press. Externally, we have you write some articles on how CEOs are becoming increasingly distant from the companies they run, but you’re a proponent for being in the weeds, looking after the customers and products and letting profits grow from there.” She sighed and continued in a flat, seen-it-all-before voice. “You talk about Astro’s performance a lot. You care about the company, spend time on the details because it’s the details that matter. And if you care, then you want to nurture and see things grow.”
I liked that idea. It turned Madison’s criticisms on their head and made them positives, qualities that should be valued in a CEO.
“Then internally,” she continued, “you get your strategy director and figure out what’s been put on the back burner—good ideas that have been forgotten about. You announce some new products. We need lots of internal energy and programs launched.”
“Okay, that sounds good. We’ll need to move quickly. No daydreaming about pancakes and dancing dogs.”
She stood. “I’ll get you through this, and then you’ll have my resignation,” she said matter-of-factly, as if she’d just said she was going to put in a holiday request form. “I don’t want to be juggling bullshit for the rest of my life. I need a break. I’m burned out from bullying and cajoling people into doing things I don’t believe in. This isn’t what I thought I’d end up doing when I started my career. I thought I’d be helping people communicate their message and instead I feel like my soul is being eaten away. Do you know my sister lives in Canada and I’ve not seen her in two years? I’ve been careering from one corporate crisis to another, never taking a break.” I shook my head but didn’t say anything. This wasn’t a two-way conversation. I’d thought she was kidding about the bed and breakfast, but perhaps it was more thought-out than the Pinterest fantasy I’d assumed it was. “None of this matters, Nathan. It’s all corporate nonsense. Family matters. People matter. Love matters.”
She paused but I didn’t know what to say in response. I und
erstood that Astro didn’t matter to her. Why would it? For her, it was just a job. But for me, it was far more than that. Astro was proof of my success, proof that I could be valuable without a medical degree, that I could build a company with unimpeachable integrity. So much integrity, in fact, that my private social life had become a point of contention with the board. Was there any greater evidence that I’d built something beyond reproach? “I think you’ve done a great job while you’ve been here and we’ll be very sorry to see you go,” I replied, hoping she knew I meant it.
“I’ll have a plan to you and a draft article that we can discuss by the end of the day.”
“Thanks, Gretel. I appreciate it.” As she turned to go, I remembered something she’d said to me earlier. “For the record, what was the personal advice you would have given me?”
She headed toward the door. “I’d tell you to resign and go find something to do that you love. It might not be a bed and breakfast, but it’s not this.” She didn’t wait for a response, just shrugged and shut the door behind her.
Resign? There was no way I was going down without a fight. But first I needed to get out of here. I had to clear my head and figure stuff out. Astro wouldn’t collapse if I took the day off, and there was somewhere else I needed to be.
Twenty-Seven
Madison
As I made my way through a lounge in the Covent Garden Hotel, the contrasting colors and patterns on the curtains, carpets, and sofas were so vivid, I could barely see the door off to the left that the receptionist had directed me to.
Audrey had cancelled the meeting Nathan had arranged and hadn’t returned any of my calls for the last week. It wasn’t so surprising. I’d given up hope that I’d ever hear from her again after what I’d done to Nathan. Yesterday she picked up, asked me to meet her here at two, then hung up again. She was either going to give me a piece of her mind for writing what I had about Nathan, or she wanted to talk about her story.
I wanted to talk about her story. I couldn’t face even thinking about Nathan. Every time I did, it was like diving into a pit of regret and self-pity.
She greeted me as I entered what looked like a library. “Hi,” she said, shuffling around me and closing the large oak door behind me. “Good to see you again.”
“Yes, and you,” I replied.
She gave me a sharp nod before turning her back. I was definitely going to get a telling off at the very least. “Will they mind us closing the door?” We were in a public hotel after all, and if the door was open, she might not be quite so brutal with me.
“No, they said it was fine.” She took a seat on one of the overstuffed sofas and nodded at the tray on the huge footstool between us. “I ordered us tea. Is that okay?”
I nodded and sat in the chair next to the sofa.
“Thanks for coming,” she said. “I’m nervous, so excuse me if I’m a little . . . off.”
“Thanks for answering the phone. I’m a little nervous too.”
She sighed and clutched her hands together in her lap. “Sorry about all your missed calls. If Mark can have a secret bank account in the Cayman Islands, then he can certainly bug my phone. And I’m too scared to go and buy another one. If he was to find it, he’d know I was up to something.”
I’d been so caught up in my own drama, I’d not thought that Audrey might not be picking up because of Mark.
“But you’re not up to anything,” I reassured her. “He’s the one hiding stuff from you. You’re just protecting yourself.”
She smiled tightly as she handed me a cup and saucer. “Yes. That’s what Nathan keeps saying. He’s been so good to me.”
That’s who Nathan was—fiercely loyal to people close to him. It’s why he would have taken what I’d written about him so badly. As much as I could try to justify what I’d done as truth-telling, I knew he wouldn’t see it that way. I took a sip of my too-hot tea and tried to focus on Audrey.
“So where do we start?” she asked.
Relieved that we were here to talk about the story, I reached into my bag and pulled out a notepad. “Why don’t we just talk a little. Do you mind if I take some notes?”
“Yes, that’s fine. And you know you can’t publish anything until—”
“Until you tell me I can.”
Audrey smiled, gratitude in her eyes. “Nathan said you’d be the right person to talk to.”
Perhaps Nathan hadn’t told her about what I’d done. When she found out, there was no way she’d want me on the story. But I wasn’t going to leave. Audrey looked like she needed to talk to someone and I was happy to be that person, even if it never led to a newspaper article.
By the time we had finished our second teapot, I realized I’d been completely entranced by what Audrey had to say.
“And when he was head and shoulders the most successful fund manager in Europe, that didn’t make you suspicious?” I asked.
“No, I was proud of him. He’d always been ambitious and worked hard. It seemed like he was reaping what he sowed.” She put her head in her hands and I patted her back. “I’m a fool,” she said, sitting up and shrugging me off. “A bloody fool.”
“You did nothing wrong,” I said, meaning it.
“But everyone is going to ask the same question. Madison, we were on private yachts and taking private jets. It was insane when I look back.”
“If you thought you had the money, it’s not so crazy,” I replied.
“But look at Nathan. He’s earned a fortune and I doubt he’s ever set foot on a yacht.”
I couldn’t argue with that. “Well, everyone likes to holiday differently.”
She shook her head as if she couldn’t believe she’d been so stupid.
“Nathan mentioned that your immunity agreement with the police means you have to testify against Mark.”
“Yes,” she said, picking up her cup and fiddling with the handle. “I don’t have anything to hide, and it’s the only way I could be sure I wouldn’t be implicated. I don’t want to end up in prison.” She sounded like she was trying to persuade me she’d done the right thing but I didn’t need to hear the argument. I was already convinced.
“Of course, you have nothing to hide.” Nathan had been quite right. It was clear Audrey knew nothing of what Mark had been up to. “And you have to protect yourself. The stakes are high.”
Her shoulders dropped as if she was relieved I understood. “Exactly. He shouldn’t have anything to hide either, if he was the man I thought I married. The man he pretended to be. You don’t think . . . You don’t think I’m a terrible wife?”
“Of course not. Why should his actions put you in prison? Your life is going to be difficult enough as it is.”
She sighed and shook her head. “I spoke to the police yesterday. I answered all their questions as well as I could, but I really can’t tell them anything other than verify dates and times of when we were in this country or abroad. And I can tell them where the bank accounts I know about are. But really, at this point, they know far more than I do.”
“How are you holding up?” The dark circles under her eyes told me she wasn’t sleeping much.
“I’m okay. It sounds awful but I just want him arrested and everything to be out in the open. I hate sharing a bed with him. I’m avoiding being in the house as much as possible. He tried to hug me yesterday morning and I told him I was in a rush for a meeting. I’m staying out late at night just so I don’t have to see him.”
“Will you stay living at your house?” I asked.
She shrugged. “God knows where I’ll end up. But the police have said that the money I’ve made over the last few years should be mine to keep. At least I won’t be penniless.”
“That’s good,” I said, though I knew Nathan would look after her, too. He wasn’t about to leave a friend in need.
“Do you think the Post will be interested in my story?” Audrey asked.
“I think they’ll be very interested.”
Audrey’s eyes lit up.
I hated to see them dim again but having heard her story, I really wanted what was best for her.
“But I don’t think the Post is the best place for it,” I said. I knew telling Audrey as much might cost me a career-making story, but my ambition shouldn’t trump what was in Audrey’s best interests.
Her body sagged and her eyes dipped to her lap. “Oh God,” she said simply.
“Hear me out. I think lots of people will want to read your story. Not just the part about what’s happening now, but the whole thing—how you and Mark met, who you both were at the beginning of your relationship, how he became someone you don’t recognize. All of it.”
She glanced up at me, her eyes narrowed. “I don’t get it. Then—”
“This is a book, Audrey, not some article that gets thrown away or scrolled over.”
She sucked in a breath. “Where would I even start?”
“I can help you. We get you an agent. They get you a book deal and then the publishing house will assign a writer who will work with you—”
“No!” she said. “I want to work with you. Nathan trusts you and so do I.”
It was as if she had her fist clamped around my heart and was squeezing. I had to tell her that Nathan’s feelings about me had changed quite considerably over the last week.
“Audrey, it would be dishonest of me not to tell you that Nathan and I aren’t on the best of terms right now. The Post published the article I wrote about him and . . .” How could I explain it? “I didn’t think it through and—”
“I read the article,” Audrey said brightly.
“You did?” I was surprised she’d agreed to meet me, let alone choose me to write her story.
She sighed. “He’s not really talked to me about it. But I read it the day it came out.”
I braced myself for her verdict.
“I’ve seen a definite change in Nathan since he took Astro public,” she said, “and I see that from the outside. But you showed me how he was inside Astro, too. Work was always a passion for Nathan. He was always focused on the next goal and the next mountain to climb. But since the float it’s like he’s in the midst of a constant battle. He’s more stressed than I’ve ever seen him. He’s lost his spark.”