She went through the contract files once again. At 10 am, Hensen wanted a synopsis and clippings on what potential clients and his rivals had been up to, and whether they were winning or losing money.
Ade, where are you? she wondered.
Adrian was as far removed from Nick Hensen as you could imagine. One wore thousand pound suits and the other wore jeans and cheap T-shirts with transferred words saying such as 'Don't blame the Geek.' But when he did turn up, unshaven and probably unshowered as well, his T-shirt actually read 'Freak out and run around!' She hoped he hadn't chosen it specially for this day.
"Morning Ade."
"Hi babe, how's it hanging?" he asked. "Didn't expect to see you this early."
"Adrian, we have less than an hour to send over our first report."
"No worries, he said," sipping coffee.
"Erm...any chance we can get everything ready?"
"Just press 'F6' on machine number three...it'll grab everything they want and send it within five minutes."
"You sure?" she asked.
"Trust me. Don't press it yet, though, as they'll get the info earlier than when they wanted and it won't be up to date."
"I hope you know what you are doing," she replied.
Alex could hardly bear the wait. But at 9.54, Adrian hit the button. The screen flickered from looking like something she could understand to white-on-black gobbledygook. And at 9.59 it flashed up a message "Report sent to Hensen."
"Is that it?" asked Alex.
"Yeah," he replied nonchalantly.
"But how do we know it has gone?"
"Our computers ask their computers whether they have received their report, and asks the number of characters they have received. If the numbers don't match then it won't show the 'Report sent to Hensen' message. We also check every 20th character matches, so it's pretty much foolproof."
"'Pretty much?'"
"It's all really easy stuff," he insisted. "And didn't I explain all this when we were testing?"
"So what do we do now?" she asked.
"Wait for the pub to open. Or you could always declare your true intentions and we can make mad passionate love in the stockroom."
"Adrian!"
An hour later her phone rang. It was Katherine Price.
Alex gulped. The report hadn't arrived, she was sure.
"Nick asked me to call to say thanks," she said. "He has seen what you sent and is happy with it. He also wants you to meet him for lunch on Wednesday, I'm not sure of the venue yet but it will be somewhere central."
"Yes, sure, that'll be great," Alex replied.
"Hope you have recovered from the weekend."
"Barely, but knowing the report went through OK has given me a lift," Alex laughed.
"Listen, I'll get back to you when I've booked something. Any food you don't particularly like?"
"No, I'm good with anything. Chinese, Japanese, Indian...hot dog...fish and chips..."
"Ha, I'll reserve two places for the kebab stall in Shaftesbury Avenue."
"Suits me."
"Ade, give me a high five," she said after Katherine had hung up.
"They are happy?"
"Seems so."
"Thank God for that. I was really worried," he revealed, slapping her hand.
Shortly afterwards, Suzanne Reed, the office manager, arrived, followed ten minutes later by Kerry. The four of them drank the orange juice and ate pastries brought in by Kerry, while Alex recounted the events of the weekend.
Suzanne was not in the Katherine Price league of efficiency but for the most part she kept the office running efficiently. And though she worked to live rather than lived to work, Alex knew that she'd be hard pressed to find someone as good for the modest salary her company could afford.
"Everything's going so well but for that bloody text message," Alex told Kerry when the two of them were alone.
"I wouldn't worry about it, hon. Probably that drunk girl is a jealous ex of his."
"Have to be insanely jealous to start sending me freaky texts so soon after I'd met the guy."
Alex called a "board meeting" for lunchtime in the Goose. "Our other clients all seem content, so let's let sleeping dogs lie and have a break. Suzanne can divert the phone."
"Silly not to," said Suzanne, while opening the morning mail.
In the pub, Alex mentioned her forthcoming lunch with Hensen.
"He's a fast mover," said Adrian.
"Don't be silly Ade. It's business. What I do to keep you reprobates in a job."
"But the guy is stinking rich and you brush up quite well if you don't mind me saying – so it could be your big opportunity."
"Ade, shut the fuck up!"
During lunch, she listed to the three of them talk about their weekends.
Adrian complained how Alex had woke him up at an "unearthly hour" on Sunday and interrupted his roast lunch with his new girlfriend, so he'd turned off his phone and taken a boat trip on the Thames. Their day was rounded off by cinema in Leicester Square for which he had paid nearly £50 including pick and mix and a couple of Cokes.
Suzanne spent Saturday walking the dog and lazing around with her husband and two kids. They spent Sunday at his parent's in Sussex, while Kerry and her husband were moving home and had been shopping "for England" both Saturday and Sunday. Her four-year-old son Ollie was left with his grand-parents.
How she envied them.
She paid the lunch bill on the company account because "we can afford it now" and the four of them walked back to the office, laughing and joking as they went.
They'd been back no more than an hour when Alex gave into temptation. "Kerry, I really need something to wear for Wednesday. Do you fancy a trip up town?"
Making Adrian promise he'd call to confirm Hensen's evening report had gone OK, the two of them set off to dress Alex for her date with client number one.
"Do you want him to fancy you, babe?" Kerry asked as they climbed the stairs at Green Park.
"Of course not...well, maybe slightly, but only for business reasons," she replied.
In Prada, Alex checked the ticket on what both of them agreed was a seriously beautiful dress.
"It's £1300!"
"Sweetie, you are drop-dead gorgeous, you are successful, or at least becoming successful and you have that adorable accent. And you are going to lunch with a multi millionaire or billionaire or whatever he is. Look on it as an investment and try it on."
Twenty minutes later Alex was handing over her credit card.
"I should have come on my own," she remarked as they left the shop.
The rush hour, or what would be better described as the rush hours, had started, and the tube platform was packed.
"Let people off the train first and move down the carriages please," came an announcement over the Tannoy. "Please use the whole carriage," said the announcer, sounding rather exasperated as commuters continued to hog space by the doors.
After kissing Alex on the cheek, Kerry promised to call her later and got off the train at Tottenham Court Road, while Alex continued east, trying her best to keep some of her own space in the cramped train.
When she got off at Liverpool Street, her mobile phone bleeped. A text message from Adrian "All good" and two voicemails, one from Katherine Price.
Holding a finger to one ear, she could just hear the message against the din of the traffic. "Hi Alex, I've booked Galvin at Windows, that's the 28th floor of the Hilton, for lunch Wednesday, One o'clock. Let me know if you have any problem. If not, I'll tell Nick to meet you there. If you ask for him at reception then someone will take you up."
Alex, whose idea of a fine lunch was a sandwich in a good pub, didn't know much about the restaurant, but it ought at least to have some good views, she thought.
Once home she thought about going for a run, but instead tried on her dress again to make sure it looked as good as in the shop. She wasn't disappointed.
She changed into shorts and T-shirt, and put a ready
meal of curry and rice in the microwave. She liked the fact that she had never even tasted curry before moving to England and now she was hooked on two or three a week. Her previous self she'd left behind in New York.
Later in the evening, Kerry called and tried to persuade her that spending that much on a dress was totally justified bearing in mind her forthcoming lunch meeting with a "totally loaded" client.
Then Alex called Adrian to doubly check that all was well.
"Modern Warfare, do you know how difficult this game is?" he responded.
"You are too old to be playing computer games, Ade."
"Tell me about it. Sadly, it's also what I do for a living."
"Ade, I'm so going to fire you in the morning."
"Good, I'll be able to get a proper job."
She laughed. "Good night Mr Wilson...oh, wait, where's my report on Mr Hensen?"
"Handed it to Suzie before I left. If you hadn't gone shopping you could be reading it by now."
"I wasn't shopping, I was investing. Keep killing the baddies."
She grabbed her iPad. Another night of just me and BBC iPlayer, she thought. Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.
In the morning she was surprised to find that Adrian had beaten her to the office. He must have had a row with his girlfriend. Everything was, he promised, going smoothly with client number one. And he suggested again that she ought to give clients numbers two and three some attention.
"You are right. I'll call round and do some PR this afternoon.
"But first I'd like to see the stuff you dug up on Hensen. Where is it?"
"Like I said, I gave it to Suzie. Probably in her drawer."
Alex went to look but the drawer was locked.
Her wait for Suzanne ended when she called to say she couldn't get in as her five-year-old Jake had been vomiting through the night and she was taking him to the doctor's.
"Before you go, have you got the Hensen report Ade gave you yesterday?"
"Yes, top drawer of my desk."
"It's locked," pointed out Alex.
"Oh bugger, I've got the key here. Shall I come in after the doctor's?"
"And Jake?" asked Alex.
"What if I put the key in a cab?" suggested Suzanne.
"Listen, don't worry. It can wait. I'm not seeing him till one tomorrow. Call me later and let me know whether you're coming in and I can have a quick look before lunch."
"Did you look at what you found on Hensen?" Alex asked Adrian.
"I read the first paragraph or so. Said he is stinking rich but I knew that already."
Alex went back to the drawer and wondered whether she could prise it open.
"Ade, run the report again for me, will you?"
"Sure, give me twenty minutes, just got to sort this glitch out, otherwise you'll be getting some rude phone calls from our lesser clients."
At Hensen, meanwhile, Katherine was sorting out her boss's meetings for the next day. "You've got a conference call with New York at three, so you won't be able to linger at lunch."
"Cancel it," he said.
"What, lunch?"
"No the conference call."
"It's important, Jack Wyatt, big investor."
"Tell him I'm really sorry, he is the greatest man who ever lived and I love him like a brother, but I've got more important things to do."
"Lunch with Miss Anderson?"
"Yep."
"And you pay her in a year a small percentage of what Wyatt pays you a month?"
"Yep."
"You like her, don't you?" asked Katherine, making a note to call Wyatt when east-coast America had woken up.
"I don't know her. But from our brief encounter at the races I surmised she is good-looking, smart, not opposed to some fun judged by the way she was knocking back the drinks on Saturday and, well, quite intriguing. Plus I have always had a fondness for American girls.
"Oh, and Tavis gave me the thumbs up. And he is a man whose judgement I respect."
"That is the same Tavis whose last recommendation for a potential Mrs Hensen resulted in you making a £100,000 pay-off?"
"Men are like racehorses, Katherine, they don't always run to form."
"You do," she replied sharply, before walking out of the office for a cigarette.
In Stratford, Kerry had turned up with coffee. For a time, she and Alex talked about anything and everything that didn't include Nick Hensen, Alex being aware that at any minute Adrian would be handing over a file to replace the one that was locked in Suzanne's desk. But, eventually and inevitably, his name was mentioned.
"Oh, said Kerry, "the pitch we are doing on Thursday doesn't include a reference to our newest, most famous and most intriguing of clients. Shall I get Adrian to add him in PowerPoint?"
"I guess," said Alex. "But be careful how we phrase it. They might find out we have been only working for them for less than a week."
"No it's easy, we paint it as though we are growing so fast that our recently-won contracts include the fabulous Mr Hensen, one of the richest men on the planet. And we'll try to make it look like an aside...oh, yeah, we forgot to tell you, we work for a company that bets in billions."
"Invests, Kerry."
"Yeah, sure, like your dress."
The two of them giggled.
"What do you think of him, I mean looks wise?" asked Alex.
"Well from what I've seen on the internet he looks more like he should be on the front page of GQ than the Financial Times.
"And I certainly wouldn't kick him out of bed for crumbs, darling."
They laughed again.
"And certainly not for 505 million!" Kerry added.
The two of them were now in hysterics.
"Behave you two. Genius at work," shouted Adrian from the other side of the office.
He then brought over the report in a brown folder. "Nick Hensen, report number two," he said, handing it to Alex.
"Shred it," she said.
"You were going to fire me today but don't bother - I'm resigning," he moaned.
The girls laughed again.
"I don't know why you are so obsessed with the guy. He might look alright and be worth half a billion but you are too scared to look at his file.
"Now, with a guy like me you get what you see. No secrets."
"Oh Adrian, darling, you are taken," said Kerry.
"That is true. But – this might surprise you – I can't be relied upon to be totally faithful. So don't give up ladies."
He walked to the shredder wearing a T-Shirt that read, "This is what cool looks like."
"I don't know, Kel, Adrian's right, I'm too scared to look at the guy's file and I'm having lunch with him tomorrow. I'm worried that the man who runs the company that has given us our biggest contract might be...well, dodgy. Shouldn't I find out, for sure?"
"The only reason you think he might be dodgy is because of the text you received and whoever sent that...well, sending strange texts in the middle of the night is hardly the work of someone who you are going to trust with your kids," said Kerry.
"Good point," said Alex, reflecting. "Maybe I'm just blowing things out of proportion. Just do the job and let the Hensen people worry what might be going on with their company or their boss. We're clean and have done nothing wrong."
"Bar take the piss out of Adrian for a few years," joked Kerry.
Alex, good to her promise, then got down to checking on her 'other' clients, phoning them in turn. With Adrian's help, Kerry worked on the upcoming pitch for supplying directors' share dealings to a financial website.
When Alex got home that evening she sorted out her best underwear. "Feel successful, be successful," she thought. She hung her dress on the wardrobe door and then sat down on the bed to preen and paint her nails.
On the iPad she listened to music from the New York band the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Cheated Hearts she put on repeat.
The phone went. It was Tavis. She wondered whether to answer. It continued to puzzle her why they barel
y knew each other and so soon he was treating her like a best buddy. But he might have some advice for tomorrow, she supposed, and already she was feeling nervous.
"Hi Tavis, sorry wet nails, hold on a minute..." she said, turning off the music.
She put the speaker on her phone. "Hi, how's tricks?"
"Great, he said," in his soft Scottish accent. "Hope you don't mind me calling you again so soon, just wondered whether there was anything you wanted to know for tomorrow."
"Oh, yes please. You could give me a quick, dummies' guide to the life of Nick Hensen...or would that be cheating?"
"Ha, no, if you promise not to let on that I have briefed you."
Alex heard how Nicholas Hensen was born in Highbury, North London, 36 years earlier.
His father was was a retail worker in the west end with a modest salary, but he had an interest in the stock market and dabbled buying and selling small parcels of shares. His eldest son became interested in his father's hobby and they used to compete against each other picking out stocks to see which of them would have made the most gains had they actually bought them. Nick invariably won and hence his interest in the financial markets grew.
"He was reading The Times business section before he was a teenager," explained Tavis. "And he didn't even think about university. He finished school at the earliest opportunity, leaving on the Friday and starting work on the Monday as a clerk at a bank in centre of London. A month later he was flat-sharing.
"He was fiercely ambitious. While others of his age went to discos and chased girls, he chased only one thing, money. And I don't think it was the money itself, he just wanted to prove himself.
"Boy did he do it. He was, I think, about 24, when he was trading commodities for a big bank and making a fortune in bonuses. And then of course, he sets up his own hedge fund, and, such was his track record, that every millionaire in the country – and other countries – wanted a piece of the action.
"The rest, as they say, is history."
"And he... I heard there was a tragic event in his life?"
"Yep, his baby, Chloe, died shortly after birth...it was horrible, she didn't even leave the hospital. Something was wrong with her heart. I remember driving Nick home one night and he was crying his eyes out. We got drunk as anything.
Special Relationship Page 5