Outrageous Fortune

by Lulu Taylor

They arrived at Dangerfield headquarters twenty minutes later.

  ‘I’ve got a little job for you this morning, my dear,’ Daddy said with a smile as they rode the lift up to the top floor. ‘Something that needs doing. I was about to do it myself, but I thought it would be an interesting test of your character. You’re beginning to understand something of the business we do here, aren’t you, my love?’

  ‘Yes, Daddy.’ She smiled back at him. She couldn’t help but pick up what was going on: she was privy to so many of Daddy’s conversations. Recently he’d started asking her to attend meetings and talks over rich dinners in exclusive restaurants, and she had even begun to sit in on the board meetings too. The other executives didn’t seem to find it odd that Daddy was accompanied by his sixteen-year-old schoolgirl daughter, although she did look older in her expensive clothes and costly jewellery. Perhaps they understood the concept of the great business dynasty, and that the best place for the heiress apparent was at her father’s elbow, learning the way of his world.

  ‘Well, it’s time you realised that business is not all about pleasant encounters. There are a lot of scoundrels out there, and we must always be on our guard against them. Do you understand?’

  Daisy nodded again.

  ‘Great success brings the jackals sniffing about. Everyone is on the make, everyone wants to be the one … the winner. And those of us who are top of the heap must protect ourselves by staying constantly on the alert, ready to repel anyone who attacks us. The worst threat does not come from those who appear outside the fortress with siege machines and weaponry, trying to take possession of what we own. The worst threat comes from those who are already inside.’ Daddy patted her arm, his hand huge and rather hairy, the veins on the back prominent and purplish despite the heavily tanned skin. ‘You’ll soon see what I mean.’

  They went to his office, greeted effusively by all the staff as they went, assistants trotting after them to take Daddy’s heavy camel silk-cashmere coat, answer his rapid volley of questions and remind him of his diary commitments.

  Daisy followed him into his office and Daddy dismissed everyone else, even his PA.

  ‘What would you like me to do today, Daddy? Shall I go to my office?’ Daisy enquired.

  Her miniature office had been upgraded to a proper grownup one, with a Chagall painting and a Picasso print on the wall, an elegant Regency lady’s desk and a full set of Smythson desk accessories in the pink that was becoming her trademark colour with gold monogrammed Ds everywhere, each topped with a tiny gold-stamped daisy. Into her pink leather in-tray went all the major paperwork of the company – the accounts, the reports, the day-to-day activities of the business. Daddy would send the chief financial officer and other heads of department to her office to talk her through these and what they meant. She could follow much of it, but it was all very complicated and she had enough to learn at school. It would be different now that she had her own business to control, of course. She was looking forward to inspecting her sales figures and overheads, and was already hungry to see a profit on that bottom line.

  ‘No.’ Daddy looked at her with an expression that was both solemn and playful. ‘I have a job for you to do first.’ Then he explained what it was.

  Ten minutes later, the door opened and in came one of the managing directors.

  ‘Yes, sir?’ he said brightly. He was a middle-aged man with neatly cut greying hair, discreetly framed glasses and a navy pinstripe suit. He seemed upbeat but there was the faintest flicker of nervousness in his eyes.

  ‘Ah, Chalmers,’ Daddy said, his voice almost jolly. He was sitting not behind his desk but in one of the armchairs positioned to enjoy the spectacular view over the City of London. ‘Thank you for coming. I know how busy you are, running this great company of ours.’

  ‘I’ve as much time as you need, sir, you know that.’ Chalmers cast a curious glance at Daisy, sitting in the great green leather chair behind Daddy’s desk, while he waited to be invited to sit down. There was a long pause, then Daddy spoke again.

  ‘Chalmers, you know my daughter, don’t you?’

  The director looked over at Daisy with a fond smile. ‘Of course I do, sir. We all enjoy her visits. She brings us luck – that’s my opinion anyhow.’

  ‘She does, she does.’ Daddy pressed his fingertips together and seemed to be examining the smooth pinkness of his perfectly manicured nails. ‘Now – she has something to say to you, if you don’t mind.’

  Chalmers looked over curiously at Daisy, his expression just a touch more relaxed. He seemed to be assuming that the boss had called him in to help the girl with her homework or something.

  Daisy got to her feet. Her heart was pounding and her palms felt clammy but she straightened her spine and told herself to be brave. This was a test she was determined not to fail. Daddy was testing her mettle, making sure she had his spirit, drive and courage. She tossed her head and stared straight at Chalmers.

  ‘Mr Chalmers, how long have you been here at Dangerfield?’

  ‘Er, let me see now … twenty-five years. Yes – twenty-five years! Goodness me.’ He smiled cheerfully. ‘It’s flown by. Feels like yesterday I arrived here as a graduate trainee, all wet behind the ears.’ He glanced at the chair by the desk. ‘May I sit down?’

  ‘I’d rather you didn’t.’ Daisy went and stood by the vast floor-to-ceiling window. Down below, she could see tiny people, streams of traffic and the office buildings stretching away in either direction, together with the sprinkling of church spires and lead roofs reminding her that London was not simply the bustling, modern temple to money-making it sometimes seemed. When she turned back a moment later, Chalmers was looking a little uncertain. Was she imagining it, or was he paler than before? Don’t feel sorry for him, for God’s sake. I can’t afford to mess this up.

  She walked around the desk and stood before him – the tall, middle-aged businessman confronted by the sixteen-year-old girl – a schoolgirl, even if she was dressed in Dior.

  ‘My grandfather started this company,’ she said in a crisp, clear voice. ‘He built it up from nothing and with it he’s given a wonderful life to many people who’ve worked for him. He’s given them the means to house, clothe and feed their families. And for his trusted lieutenants, his directors, there have been many pleasant perks – haven’t there, Mr Chalmers? Home loans. School fee grants. Company cars and drivers. Tickets to the opera, to Ascot, to Wimbledon and all the rest.’ She felt a trickle of sweat roll down the back of her neck, but hoped she was hiding her nerves. What do I say next? A chill of panic crawled over her skin but after a second she was in control again.

  Chalmers was looking puzzled. ‘Yes … but I don’t understand?’

  ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘No. I appreciate all the management benefits, of course, but I work very hard …’

  ‘Of course. We require hard work in return for the generous salaries we pay, and all that comes with them. Also …’ Daisy picked up a sheet of paper from Daddy’s desk. Her father was watching her intently, his face impassive ‘… we demand loyalty. Absolute, total loyalty.’ She held out the sheet of paper to Chalmers. He took it and she watched the blood drain from his face as realisation dawned. He looked up at once, not at her but at Daddy.

  ‘Sir … sir … I can explain …’ he stuttered, his hands shaking. Daddy simply stared back at him, and Chalmers moved his imploring gaze to Daisy. ‘Please, let me explain—’

  ‘I don’t think you need to,’ she said, raising her eyebrows. ‘I think it’s clear that you’ve been very, very careless. Fancy leaving that in your fax machine for your secretary to discover! Luckily, she knows exactly where her loyalties lie. It’s just a shame you don’t.’ She leaned over the desk and pressed a button on the telephone. ‘I believe that inciting another company to join you in attempting a management buyout counts as gross misconduct. Accordingly, you’ll be leaving the premises instantly – without your company car or your security pass or any other company property.<
br />
  Your employment is terminated forthwith. Your salary will be paid up until today. All outstanding loans must be paid off in full within three months, and your pension contributions will be returned – minus bonuses.’

  Chalmers was now looking ill, as though he might pass out. His face was a ghastly shade of grey and his eyes were full of fear and panic.

  ‘Please,’ he said hoarsely. ‘This will ruin me … my family … I have three children at school, a mortgage, debts …’

  Daisy felt suddenly overwhelmingly sorry for him. He was totally crushed. It felt wrong that a grown man should be reduced to begging for mercy from a girl like her. Stay strong. This is what Daddy wants. Daddy is always right, she told herself.

  ‘You should have thought of that before,’ she replied coolly. The office door opened and two burly security guards came in. ‘These gentlemen are going to take you downstairs and relieve you of your pass. Your belongings will be sent on to you.’

  Chalmers seemed beaten before the guards took hold of his arms. He cast one look at Daddy and muttered, ‘I’m sorry, sir, really …’ but Daddy said nothing, merely watching as the guards walked him out of the office.

  When the door had closed behind them, he turned to Daisy, a smile on his mouth and his eyes blazing with pride.

  ‘That’s my girl, Daisy! That’s my girl.’

  She instantly forgot Chalmers and the wreckage of his life. All that mattered was the wonderful feeling of basking in her father’s approval.

  12

  CHANELLE HOISTED HER dancing bag on to her shoulder and let the heavy doors of the dance school shut behind her. She hunched her thin shoulders against the wind that cut across the road with icy intensity and began to walk home.

  She still lived for her dancing lessons, but some of the joy had gone out of them since she had been forced to decline the place at ballet school. Mrs Ford had been almost as disappointed as she was, Chanelle could see that, but there was nothing to be done. The school would only offer the bursary, not a full scholarship, pointing out that they were taking a risk with Chanelle anyway and that many other girls would leap at the place and pay whatever it took.

  ‘You’ll have to make it another way,’ Mrs Ford had said, trying to help her be brave. ‘You don’t have to go to ballet school. There are other ways to succeed as a dancer, you know.’

  Perhaps there were, but for now Chanelle couldn’t see them. The bursary had been her route out of this place. There were plenty of girls in her class at school who couldn’t be bothered even to try. They were the pack of bitches who picked on her constantly and enjoyed tormenting others, always looking out for some poor girl to victimise. They obsessed over their looks and who they were going out with and couldn’t be bothered with schoolwork, turning up their noses and rolling their eyes when teachers tried to get them interested, unconcerned about what was going to happen to them in the future. Their lives were going to be all about clothes and hair and going out and boys, until the end of time.

  They’re stupid, thought Chanelle dismissively. ’Cos they’ve got brains and they’re not even trying to use them.

  Chanelle wasn’t like that. She didn’t want a life on benefits, trapped here on a South London estate, scraping together every penny and stealing minutes of happiness through booze or drugs – the kind of happiness you paid for in the end. If she could just get on as a dancer, she could move away from here and get her own flat. She saw evidence of another world wherever she looked. Where Gus lived there were streets of old Victorian terrace houses and sometimes she walked past them at dusk, just so she could look in the lighted windows and get a glimpse of the cosy, comfortable worlds inside where children played with toys while their mothers ironed or sat on the sofa with a mug of tea. She saw televisions showing bright and jolly kids’ programmes and children watching intently while they ate toast and bananas. Dads came home from work and were kissed and hugged by their families. Cats lay curled up on cushions in carefree sleep. She even saw a mother playing the piano while her little girl practised the violin next to her. And the houses – they looked clean, well furnished and warm. There were pictures, books, photos and ornaments. Chanelle longed with all her heart to walk into one of those houses and live that kind of life.

  Giving up her place at ballet school had been hard for her because she’d been so certain that she would have become a famous ballerina if she’d been able to take it. Now that her dreams had been abandoned, she’d hardened her heart. She couldn’t depend on anyone but herself. She’d given up ballet entirely and started modern dance and tap, changing the direction of her ambitions. Now she planned to become a dancer like the ones who supported the acts on The X Factor on television, and get work on the stage or dancing in big pop concerts. There would be good money in that and she’d get a break eventually, she was sure of it.

  I was stupid to rely on Mum or Gus, she told herself sternly.

  For a while she’d nurtured a fantasy that Gus would look after her, like the father she’d never had, but his inability to step forward and provide for her when she’d needed him had made her realise that was just a stupid fantasy. He’d paid for her dancing lessons, that was true, but the end of the year was rapidly approaching and he’d said nothing about continuing to fund them. She’d have to pay for them herself somehow.

  Chanelle was crossing the park, lost in thought about how she would do this, when she saw them. They were standing in the orange puddle of light cast by a street lamp, barring her way. Amy Banks was at the head of them as usual, leader of the gang of the nastiest girls in school.

  ‘There she is,’ Amy said scornfully, her head thrown back so she could stare balefully at Chanelle. ‘Thinks she’s better than all of us, with her precious dancing.’

  Chanelle stopped, saying nothing, but she was instantly on her guard and looking for an escape route. As her eyes slid past them towards the gate at the far end of the park, the gang moved to encircle her. She was surrounded by ten or so girls, standing in attitudes of careless malevolence.

  ‘You’re disgusting, did you know that?’ sneered Amy.

  ‘Yeah,’ echoed a couple of the others.

  ‘Smelly, too,’ added another.

  ‘That’s why we don’t understand why you think you’re so great,’ said Amy in a deceptively soft voice. ‘’Cos you’re a bit of scum really, ain’t you? Everyone knows it. The dance people just feel sorry for you, Scum, ’cos you’re such a piece of dirt. But you’ve got a bit above yourself, haven’t ya? And that’s why we’re going to teach you a lesson of our own.’

  There was a moment of absolute stillness as the girls confronted each other, standing statue-still in the semi-darkness. Then Chanelle made a bolt for it, darting towards a gap between two of her tormentors where she sensed a weakness. For a moment it seemed that she had made it, but then she felt hands grab her coat and yank her backwards. Then she was on the ground in the centre of the gang, her bag ripped from her shoulder, a flurry of punches and kicks raining down on her while her attackers hissed curses and insults.

  It hurt, of course, yet she quickly became inured to the pain. Instead, she focused on protecting herself, rolling into a small ball and thinking frantically about how she could get away and how far they would go. The kicks thudding into her back and thighs, one ringing painfully against her ear, were mounting in intensity and she was afraid the girls were driving themselves into a frenzy.

  But the real panic was that her bag had been taken, and in it was her dancing kit. Something might happen to it and she could not afford to replace it …

  Another kick hit her in the kidneys, and another in the head.

  This is dangerous, she realised, feeling sick with dizziness and pain. Could they kill me? She knew that they could if they wanted. Two girls at her school had been jailed the previous year for kicking some poor old tramp to death under the railway arches at Waterloo.

  Then she heard a different noise: shouting and barked orders. The kicking stoppe
d abruptly and she became aware that something was happening beyond the small circle of her tormentors. She took her arms away from her face, blinking. The darkness and the stars dancing in front of her eyes from the blow to her head confused her. But the girls had stopped their onslaught and there was a different argument going on, a deep voice railing against the gang.

  Then an arm came down and began to help her to her feet. She looked up and found herself blinking into a pair of brown eyes that glittered in the darkness. ‘Jamal,’ she said wonderingly.

  ‘What da fuck they done to you, girl?’ he said brusquely, but he was gentle as he guided her to her feet. She felt woozy and strange, but relieved to see him. Ever since that Christmas Day a few years before, he had been her friend. Distant but still a friend, someone who spoke to her whenever their paths crossed, and who looked out for her. Then he had left the school. If Jamal had been around today, the girls would never have dared attack her. What was he doing here? Chanelle blinked at him in surprise. Four other black boys stood about in hooded jackets, sloppy jeans and trainers, watching as their leader helped the girl.

  ‘Lucky for you we was passing and heard what was going on, laike.’ He turned to Amy and the rest of the gang. ‘You leave her alone, ya hear me? Any one of you bitches touch her again, and you’ll be answering to me, y’understand?’

  ‘My bag,’ Chanelle said weakly. ‘They took my bag.’

  ‘Where’s her bag?’ demanded Jamal. There was a scuffle and Chanelle’s bag was produced and handed to one of Jamal’s boys, who brought it forward. It was empty.

  ‘My stuff …’ she said desperately.

  ‘Find her stuff,’ Jamal ordered, and the other boys started looking about for the scattered dance shoes and clothes. ‘Now you better get the fuck out of here,’ he said to the girls, ‘and don’t let me see your faces again, you get me? Otherwise you gonna be sorry. For real.’

  The girls stared at him sulkily but didn’t dare say a word. Instead, they melted away into the darkness, muttering under their breath once they were at a safe distance.