So Stella explained about the job and James’s face darkened for a second but then, just as she had expected, he recovered himself and assumed the air of a wise doctor prescribing medicine to a sick patient. Lucidly, he laid out the pros and the cons. The pros he dispensed with quickly.
– You’d see more of the CEO, if that’s what you want. I also assume that this would mean more money and arguably might look good on your CV.
But then he settled into the cons, of which he found a larger number. He said it didn’t sound like a well-defined role. He pointed out that Stella was a gifted economist and that her intellect might not be satisfied in a more administrative job.
– It would also make your position in the company more vulnerable, he said. If you are someone whom Stephen has expressly promoted, if he falls then you will fall with him.
The more Stella listened to this negative case, the more positive about the job she became.
When she got home that night, she asked Charles what she should do. He was standing over the chopping board, beating ginger and coriander into a pulp for a marinade, and Stella explained the pros and cons of the job to his hunched back.
– You must do whatever you want to do, he said, bashing a clove of garlic with the back of a knife.
And she replied that she didn’t know what she wanted – that was the trouble. He then quoted his university tutor who had said that the harder a decision was to make the less it mattered which way you decided.
In twenty years of marriage he must have said this to her at least a hundred times, and each time she had disagreed. It might be true logically, but in her experience if a decision was hard to make that was because it was terribly important to get the outcome right.
Stella got to work before 8 a.m. the next morning to find that Rhys was in already.
The cleaner was just finishing, lugging the vacuum out of Stella’s office.
– Hello, said Stella. How are you? How is your daughter getting along?
On another early morning this woman had told Stella that she had a daughter who was the same age as Finn and who was doing exceptionally well at school.
– She’s working so hard.
– Wonderful, said Stella, looking towards Rhys.
He had taken his jacket off and his shirt, which was white with a thin grey stripe, had been carefully ironed. Had he ironed it himself, Stella found herself wondering.
As soon as the cleaner had gone, Rhys got up and wandered over.
– Hello, he said.
– What are you doing in this early? Stella asked. The question came out sounding rather more accusatory than she had intended.
– Loads of work, he said.
– I’m going downstairs to get a coffee. Do you want anything?
– I’ll come with you.
In the canteen they queued at the coffee machine and then, instead of taking their cardboard cups back upstairs, they hesitated by the sofas in what the facilities manager laughably called the ‘chill-out zone’.
Rhys sat down on the edge of the sofa, and she sat down next to him, feeling self-conscious and wishing that there was a table between them.
– So what’s up with this job? he said.
She repeated what Stephen had told her, and explained that it would mean being closer to the decision-making heart of the company.
– It sounds great, Rhys said, looking at her with an earnestness that she had not seen before.
– I’m not sure if I want it, she said.
– But why not? he demanded. It’s a massive promotion –
Stella wasn’t sure what she was doing sitting on this sofa and allowing a trainee to interrogate her like this. It was none of his business whether she took the job or not. But at the same time she could not help being flattered that he was taking such a keen interest in her career. Unlike James or even Charles, Rhys appeared to want to see her promoted.
– I mean, Rhys was saying, it’s a lot more power. And I assume it’d be a lot more money –?
– You may be right, said Stella doubtfully.
In fact she had not even thought to ask Stephen whether it would be more money or not.
– Doesn’t that matter to you?
– No, it doesn’t. I don’t think I’m really interested in power or money. I used to be, but now I think I’ve got enough of both.
He looked at her, his eyes narrowing.
– So what are you interested in?
– I’m not sure. I suppose I’ve never asked myself such a blunt question. But I guess I’m interested in having some control over my life, and in never being bored and – I suppose most of all – being thought to be good at what I’m doing. Does that sound priggish?
– Yes, he said. Disgustingly.
He laughed and so did she. Then he added: I also don’t believe it.
Stella stopped laughing. Was he claiming to know her better than she knew herself?
– You may not believe it, she said, a new coolness in her voice, but it happens to be the case.
– Sorry, he said. It is just really weird to me. I’ve always wanted to be incredibly successful and to make a lot of money. When I was a kid I used to sell crisps at a 100 per cent mark-up in the playground, and at Oxford I used to sell my essays to posh thickos who couldn’t write their own. I suppose I just about understand that you aren’t interested in money, I mean if you’ve always had it then maybe you take it for granted –
Stella winced at the chippy edge to his voice.
– But I don’t believe that you’re not ambitious, he went on.
– Really, Stella protested, I don’t think I am. Well, I must be a bit, or I wouldn’t be where I am. But when new things are offered to me I never really want to take them. It’s not that I feel I should be with my children more – though that does come into it. It’s more to do with fear. I’m really terrified of things that I think I won’t be able to do.
– You’re frightened, he repeated, looking at her incredulously.
Stella felt she had gone too far. She didn’t want him to see her weakness, and so she asked: What about you? What do you really want?
– After I left Oxford I didn’t apply for any of the jobs that my friends applied for, which was partly because none of the jobs appealed to me, but also because my mum was ill and I needed to be in Wales to be close to her. I got involved in this property business run by a friend of my cousin’s, and we made shedloads renovating warehouses in Cardiff and Swansea, and at one point we were both worth about £5m on paper. We were going to cash in, but then Northern Rock happened and we lost everything and the company went bust. It was a crap time, and now I’m playing safe and doing the company man bit for a while.
Stella bristled at the idea that he was playing safe at AE, that it was the place to be when one’s grander ambitions had failed.
– I must go and do some work, she said suddenly, standing up. There’s a mountain of emails waiting for me. What I was going to say was would you like to come to supper with us next week? I was planning to ask Beate too. Do bring your girlfriend – Rosie? – I know that Charles would love to discuss film school with her.
– Rosa, he said. And yes, thanks, that’d be great.
Bella
Bella had been looking forward to James’s return from Russia, and that morning she had got dressed in new pair of black trousers and a pink shirt and applied two coats of mascara. When she got into the office she found her boss bent over his emails, moving his lower jaw from side to side in the way he did when he was concentrating. He did not look up at her arrival.
Presently she heard a crash. James had slammed his fist down on his desk.
– Bloody hell! Do you know anything about this?
He got up from his desk and came to face her accusingly.
– This is insane. I’m told that I’m not allowed two PAs. And at the same time as Stephen is beefing up his department taking on any number of bag carriers, I’m expected to perform the jobs that us
ed to be done by two people, and then I’m told I can’t have one more sodding person to help with the admin.
Bella said nothing, as he didn’t seem to be talking to her.
– I’m sorry, he said an hour or so later. That was a mad rant. And I meant to say thank you very much indeed for taking the tickets to my wife. I know she greatly appreciated it. In fact she was much taken with you.
Bella thought this unlikely, and said: Well, I thought she seemed lovely.
Which wasn’t true either.
– In any case, Bella continued, I’m completely cool with anger. My ex-partner used to lose it all the time and throw furniture around.
James laughed uneasily, not sure if she was joking. But Bella hadn’t been joking, in fact she had been putting a positive gloss on it. During one of his rages, Xan had punched a hole in the wall and come at Bella with a chair over his head, and he would have smashed it down on her if his mobile hadn’t gone, distracting him for just long enough to allow her to get out of the way.
James went on: I try to refrain from throwing furniture about. Still, I do find it aggravating to have arbitrary rules imposed on me by imbeciles, though what really made me angry about the edict is that for the first time in ages I have someone really intelligent working for me.
He looked at her briefly and then looked away. Bella didn’t know what to say. She picked up her iPod to hide her confusion and carefully started winding the headphones around the body of it, waiting for him to go. But he didn’t go. He went on standing there.
– What do you listen to on that? he asked.
She pushed the gadget towards him, and he scrolled down through the names.
– Who are these people? Franz Ferdinand? Kings of Leon? Who is Leon?
Bella laughed.
– I’ve no idea, but they’re good. Want to listen?
She offered him her headphones, which he held to his ears without putting them in as if doing so would be too intimate a gesture.
She clicked ‘play’ and he heard the last thing she had been listening to. Through the crackle of the earphones Bella could hear Franz Ferdinand singing about leather hips and sticky hair and stubble on sticky hips. She turned it off hastily.
– What sort of music do you like? she asked.
– Mostly classical, but I’m fond of some pop songs that were written before you were born. Van Morrison, Dylan, the Police –
At this moment Anthea got back from her lunch break, and as she came in, James put down the iPod, moved away from her desk and said in a quite different tone of voice: Can you move this afternoon’s departmental meeting back by half an hour to 3.30?
Stella
Stella really didn’t have time for lunch with her friend Emily. The head of the chemicals business was up in arms over a paper she had written arguing that AE’s investments in chemicals should be evaluated using a higher internal cost of capital due to their more risky nature. Stella needed to take some time to calm him down. There were also meetings taking up most of the afternoon, in between which she was expected to find time to complete the cumbersome annual appraisal forms for each of the thirty-two members of her team.
In addition, Stella felt she ought to go to the gym. She hadn’t been for a long time, and that morning as she’d got dressed she’d noticed how her bottom was collapsing and how the flesh on her upper arms was hanging slackly. She used not to think that she’d mind about this sort of thing, but now she found she did.
Stella couldn’t cancel Emily – again – as it would mean having to put up with her being childish and huffy, and could well take several months of humouring to bring her round again.
Stella got into a taxi to take her to the Holborn branch of Pizza Express, chosen for being precisely halfway between them. Emily could easily have travelled to Moorgate, as she was no longer working, but their friendship was founded on the idea that they were equal and to have asked her friend to make the journey would have been too pointed an acknowledgement that Stella was successful and busy and Emily was not.
As they faced each other over their pizzas they moved briskly through the usual agenda of children, houses, mutual friends and work. Stella told Emily about her new job, which she was now feeling inclined to accept. Emily pulled a face.
– Bad idea, she said. Last time we sat here, I listened to you saying how you were really stressed with how much you had on. I know you’re only happy when you push yourself to the limits – and that’s brilliant – but there are costs, you know. It’s not that you ought to see more of your kids – I’m not into guilt trips at all. But as your oldest friend, I sometimes worry that you never make time for you.
Stella was used to her friend’s advice and had taken a positive decision a long time ago not to let it annoy her. Emily had taken voluntary redundancy six months earlier from the bank where she had worked, more out of boredom and a desire to increase the value of her divorce settlement than out of any wish to spend more time with her children. Her desire for her friend to lead a slower life was nakedly self-interested.
– Well, she said lightly. There’s no need to be concerned. I’m fine. How are things with you? Any glimmers on the love front?
– You won’t believe this, Emily said. But I’ve been doing internet dating. At first I went on Match.com, but the best bet was a computer scientist from Rutland who said he was under five foot ten, but turned out to be five foot five. But now I’ve been on an affairs website, and I’m dating married men, who are infinitely more eligible.
– Really, said Stella. Is that wise?
– I knew you’d disapprove.
– I don’t disapprove, Stella lied. I just can’t see it ending terribly well for anyone.
– Ending? There hasn’t even been a beginning yet. It’s just that there are millions of men on the site who aren’t failures or saddos. They don’t want to leave their wives, but they want a bit of excitement. I’m meeting someone tomorrow night who’s a hedge fund manager. I looked him up on Google and he’s loaded. Unfortunately I also saw his picture on Google images and he’s got enormous jowls and his teeth look a bit suspect.
Stella laughed.
– I don’t know if I really want to have an affair with him, Emily went on, but it’s been nice emailing him. Just having someone to think about makes life so much less humdrum. I’ve reached the conclusion that, in the end, it’s not really about sex, is it? It’s about fantasy, about having somewhere to go in your head.
– Yes, said Stella. I know what you mean.
She must have said it with more feeling than she intended, as Emily replied: Do you?
– No, said Stella.
And then she said: Yes. I mean, not really. Sort of.
Emily gave her friend a look of amused indulgence.
– What the hell, Stel?
And then Stella found herself telling her childhood friend something that she hadn’t planned to say, something which, until that moment, she hadn’t even admitted to herself.
– OK, I do have a fantasy. But it is tiny, and really silly. It’s someone at work. We send each other emails.
– What sort of emails? Emily asked.
– Oh, said Stella. Nothing special. You know: things about work and what we are doing, and our attitude to our careers – that sort of thing.
– Sounds a pretty dull fantasy, said Emily.
Stella should perhaps have left it there. But once she had broached the subject of Rhys, she found that she wanted – needed – to tell Emily all about him.
– In fact the emails are a bit more than that. Yesterday I counted and he sent me eighteen, and since I went to Russia last month he and I have got into the habit of sending the messages on Hotmail rather than on the AE system, as my PA sees my messages and would think it was odd. It is odd, I suppose, but it’s innocent odd. Most of the messages are jokes – he’s really funny. He also keeps on popping into my office for a chat. And in the mornings we both get in early and have coffee together.
; – Jesus, said Emily. That doesn’t sound innocent to me. Where does Charles fit into any of this?
– Don’t be stupid, Em. I’m not saying that there is anything going on. It’s just a distraction from the tedium of the office. It’s a harmless flirtation. That’s all.
Emily seemed mollified by this and said: Well, in that case, you’re lucky. I remember when I had a crush on the senior vice-president in my department. When we were working on the same deals and going off for flirty drinks – they were some of the happiest times I’ve ever had at work.
– But then you married him, Stella said. And that – I think we have to agree – was less happy.
Emily gave a grim laugh.
– But in any case, Stella went on, this is different. I’m not going to have an affair with him, let alone marry him. But even so, the sad truth is that I know I should put a stop to it. It’s really distracting, and it doesn’t feel terribly professional as I’m his boss and he’s quite a bit younger –
– You’re his boss? Oh dear. And how much younger is he?
Emily looked disapproving again, and Stella started to regret having said anything at all.
– Quite a lot, she said vaguely.
– How much? insisted Emily.
– Do you really want to know?
– Yes, I do, and I can’t see why you are being so coy about it.
– He’s twenty-seven.
– Twenty-seven? Jesus, Stella. Well, you’re safe then. It’s not exactly as if he’s going to fancy you, is he?
Stella was wounded, as indeed she was meant to be. No meeting between the two old friends was complete without a few minor injuries inflicted on each other. Stella pointing out that Emily’s choice of husband was less than ideal. Emily suggesting that Stella was too driven.
But whereas the earlier stabs left no mark, the wound from this latest injury went deeper. And the reason it hurt, Stella knew perfectly well, was that it was true.
She fished in her bag for her wallet to perform the neat splitting of the bill, and, looking down, saw her hands looking old and gnarled. On her third knuckle was a small brown mark. Is that a mole, or could it be a liver spot, she wondered.
In Office Hours Page 9