Never once had Virginia’s parents congratulated her or told her they were proud of her. They had done the opposite and, consequently, she had never had any confidence. Now, of course, they reminded her, every time they wrote, that she was just a secretary, and wasn’t it a shame that a girl with all her opportunities had never managed to make the most of any of them?
The letter started as usual. How are you, how’s work, have you managed to get anywhere yet? Then it spoke of the wonderful achievement of her cousins: Mary-Ann was going to Oxford University; Sally was getting married to a computer programmer no less. What a shame, it said, that Virginia had neither their talent nor their luck with men. She screwed up the letter and threw it on the floor. It sat there, a solitary blimp on an otherwise spotless carpet. ‘damn, I can’t even make a mess properly,” Virginia hissed, and went to pick it up.
She tried to remember where she had gone wrong. How had she, the girl from Coventry, managed to go through life with no friends, no one to love, and no happiness? She was twenty-four years old with a job she hated, not one friend – unless she counted Susie her penpal from Canada – a poky bedsit in London, and a reputation for being odd.
And she was odd. When she started working at SFH, the other secretaries had socialised together and invited Virginia to join them. However, she had always declined, preferring to stay at home reading books about the City. She had learnt about the markets, she’d read every bit of research she could get her hands on, she read the newspapers and watched the City news. Virginia figured that her education was more important than her social life. Inevitably, the girls stopped asking Virginia to go with them, Virginia ran out of books to read, and lost the conviction that her education was even remotely important.
Now, every evening stretched before her, empty and dull. She had tried to tag along with the secretaries a couple of times recently, but they ignored her. They felt that because she had snubbed them before, she thought herself better than them, and Virginia’s defence against that charge was weak. She had put herself in Lonely Land and the only social life she had was her French classes – so she had something else to put on her CV – which were mainly full of people much older than her. Virginia had spent the last three years of her life trying desperately to better herself and her prospects, and she had failed.
The nights spent reading, weekends visiting galleries, exhibitions, watching movies had resulted in loneliness, immense loneliness.
With the third glass of wine came tears, with the fourth came nausea, and with the last drip of the bottle, sleep.
***
As Clara made her way across the floor to her desk, she noticed the manic activity that was already under way. A number of salespeople were on their feet with phones glued to their ears, shouting across to the traders. “Am I done?” seemed a popular chant. As she approached her desk she noticed that Sarah, the most senior member of their team, excluding Tim, was also on her feet. “Is it filled?” she was shrieking at Liam, a trader.
Liam was barely visible: his head was low on his desk, a phone at his ear, and he screamed, red-faced, “Hit the bid in fifty. Now! You fucking useless broker wanker.” His voice rose above the other noise in the office. Silence ensued.
Liam stood up with his telephone handset still attached to his ear. “No! Fucking useless bastard missed it. We sold half a point lower.”
“Shit!” Sarah screamed at him, but he shrugged and moved on to his next call. Sarah took her client off hold and attempted to pacify him.
Although Clara loved scenes like this, she did not have the first idea what any of it meant. Therefore, when her first client of the day called she wrote everything down.
Clara smiled sweetly at her neighbour. “Toby, I have this client who wants to buy some stuff and, well, I’m just not sure what to do.” When Clara wanted anything, she fixed her eyes so intently on the person who could give it to her that they buckled.
“Sure, give me the information, I’d be glad to do it.” Toby blushed.
“You’re such a darling. I insist you let me take you out for a drink tonight to say thank you.” Toby thought he’d died and gone to heaven. He readily agreed, still blushing.
This was Clara’s work theory. When she started as a secretary, she hadn’t been expected to do much. Most of the men in the office were too in awe of her to ask her for anything, and her boss, Tim, flirted with her rather than showering her with work. In the rare instances that anyone wanted anything, Clara would asked one of the other secretaries to do it, and bought them handmade chocolates as a thank-you. Now that she had become a salesperson things were a little different. Although not exactly overworked, she now had a number of clients for whom she was responsible, and when they called to asked her to buy or sell stock for them, she didn’t know what to do. She knew in principle that you got a trader, wrote a ticket, put something in the computer, but it didn’t sound like fun, so she didn’t bother learning how to do it. She loved talking to her clients and they loved her. She often went for lunch or dinner with them and they were all big fans. Although she did not have a clue how to do her job and everyone on the desk thought she was useless, her sales figures we’re good. This was because Toby or Francine made sure the orders went through after Clara had taken them, and Clara rewarded them with a smile, chocolates, or a much-coveted after-work drink.
She flicked through her e-mails, sent a couple of jokes to her brother then went to see Tim.
Clara took perverse pleasure in visiting Tim’s office. She would knock on the door, enter, sit facing him and make him squirm. The office was glass-fronted and looked out on to the trading floor. He had to talk to her as if he was talking about business, but they weren’t talking about business.
“Timmy, what time did you leave me last night?” Clara pouted.
“About one. You were fast asleep.”
“I know, and nothing can wake me when I pass out. So, when I am going to have the pleasure of your cock again?”
“Clara, please.”
“Please what, Timmy? Do you want to do it right now?”
Tim went red and turned his back to the trading floor. He knew that most of the men would be staring at Clara and he didn’t want anyone to see his discomfort. He adored Clara; lately he had even been thinking about leaving his wife and family for her. Although it had started as a lust-filled fling, he thought of how great it would be for Clara and he to be together all the time. His wife was OK but dull, his children, well, they would be at boarding-school soon, and with Clara he would be able to indulge in his favourite pastimes, cocaine and sex. And not just sex with Clara either: sex with prostitutes, his ‘special treat’ girls he called them. His prudish missionary-position wife would probably die if she found out, but he told Clara all about them and he was sure she found the idea quite a turn-on. He was a lucky man. He was beginning to think he would like to be lucky all the time. The trouble was, they both sometimes forgot who was boss. He needed to bring her back in line.
“Stop it. Now, baby, I know you’re gagging for me, but you have to be a patient girl. I won’t be seeing you tonight because I’m visiting one of my hookers. Probably the tall one with long red hair and boobs bigger than both of yours put together. I shall be screwing the fuck out of her, and when I’ve finished, I’ll go home and have sex with my wife. You see, you don’t deserve me tonight, so you’re not going to have me.” Tim smiled at Clara, his whole face lit by a confident grin. Oh, yes, he thought, she’s putty in my hands.
Clara smiled back at him sweetly, wishing he wasn’t such a prick. She didn’t find the way he behaved remotely sexy, although he thought he was. She often felt sick about the prostitutes, and she hated him having to convince himself that he was in control. Clara knew he was thinking of leaving his wife, he’d told her. Of course, he had made it sound like a huge privilege, (“you lucky, lucky girl”), but the idea filled Clara with dread. An affair was one thing, but full-time Tim was another. That was not what she wanted.
&n
bsp; All the signs pointed to it. First, he had been with her last night and it had been Sunday: rule one in affairs was that you never saw your mistress on a Sunday. Also, in a moment of extreme ecstasy (or weakness, as Clara saw it), he had told her he loved her. Rule two broken. All that was left was to never leave your wife, and never ask your mistress to wash your underwear. Clara prayed that he wouldn’t break the last two rules. She would mind horribly if he left his wife, and she would mind if he wanted her to wash his underwear. Clara hated it, but she knew that Tim was all she deserved. She had been through an amazing number of men in her life, and she had only ever wanted one, but he had not wanted her. Tim was retribution, punishment, for the way she had discarded men carelessly.
Clara tried not to panic as she thought about what she had to do. She couldn’t have him all the time; she didn’t want to be with him at all for much longer. But, and it was a big but, she couldn’t give him up yet. Tim had three roles in Clara’s life. The first was as her boss, but that didn’t worry her: he couldn’t sack her for ending their affair – there were laws to prevent that. The second was as her lover, and not a particularly good one: as a lover, he was dispensable. The third was as her supplier of cocaine, good coke, and that was the one thing she couldn’t give up.
Clara put on a false smile. “Well, I hope you have a good time, bad boy, and I’ll be at home alone for you whenever you want me. Oh, and by the way, as I’ll be lonesome, have you got a little something to keep me company?” Clara licked her lips.
As she got up to leave the office, she brushed past him and took a little package from him. She lingered near his hip for longer than necessary, and smiled at him. “See you later, baby,” she cooed, as she left his office.
***
It was half past five and Clara was bored. She had e-mailed, surfed the Net and talked to a couple of clients, but she was just waiting for the moment that she and her powder would be united again. At six, she took the lift to the floor below, which housed the accounts department. She went to the ladies’ loo – she always felt too paranoid to use the one on her floor. As she chopped and lined up the white powder, Clara felt relief flood her body. After she had snorted her first two lines of the day, she felt as if she could conquer the world.
She left the loo, smiled at the accounting staff who were staring at her, and returned to her floor. She practically flew through the doors and ran to her desk, where Toby sat looking anxious. “Are you ready, Toby? I’m absolutely dying for a drink.”
“I’m definitely ready.” The panic Toby had felt that she might have changed her mind left him.
They went to Bertie’s, the wine bar to which everyone from work flocked. It was large, with a light wooden floor and furniture to match, elegant, cool, and reflected the personalities of its clientele perfectly. Or, at least, the way its clientele saw themselves. It was enormously successful due to after-work business; it did not open at weekends.
They sat at a wooden table, Clara with a glass of champagne and Toby with a bottle of beer. Clara was chatty, a symptom of the coke, and she talked, while Toby drooled over her. She barely noticed him; she just talked at him, smiling, flirting and even touching his leg. It took all of Toby’s strength to stop him fainting with lust. After a number of drinks, most of which Toby bought, and a few more lines of cocaine on Clara’s part, she made a decision. The most astounded person in the world was Toby Bradley as Clara jumped on him and kissed him.
In the taxi that took them back to Clara’s flat, Toby willed it to go faster. He could not believe his luck. Here he was with a goddess, a woman most of the men on the floor felt was out of their league. He was twenty-eight; he was an experienced salesperson, yet he doubted his sophistication. Especially when he was with Clara. He knew as he kissed her in the back of the taxi, that this was like a dream for him and that it wouldn’t happen again. But as he fumbled with her left boob, he was determined to make the most of the best dream of his life.
Clara had stopped thinking at about half past nine. Now, as they approached her flat, she knew that she felt wonderful and she wanted to feel more wonderful. That meant she needed Toby. It was nothing personal, she just needed sex. When the need for sex took her over, Clara always submitted to it. It took her over a lot.
When the taxi drew up, she got out, walked to the door of her building and waited for Toby, who was paying the cab driver. She called the lift, and kissed him as they rode to her floor. When the door opened, Clara strode out with Toby panting behind her. She unlocked her front door and waited for Toby to enter. As soon as he was inside, she grabbed him and tore at his clothes. Off came the tie, the jacket and the shirt, then the shoes, the trousers and his boxer shorts. When he was naked, Clara ripped off her own clothes. Toby was rooted to the spot. She kissed, licked, teased until Toby could stand no more. Pushing her down on to the floor, just inside the front door, Toby finally found his balls and started making love to Clara.
Shortly afterwards they crawled into her bed, where Clara passed out. Amazed that he was actually in Clara Hart’s bed, Toby fell asleep with a smile the size of London on his face.
Chapter Three
Ella walked into the office, looking forward to the day. She’d already forgotten the strange girl who had stared at her by the lifts. Flicking her screens, she saw that the markets were doing exactly what she had predicted. At close of morning business, it was looking like a promising day. The whole desk was in a good mood as they bantered, teased and chatted. Then Jeff, her boss and a managing director, rolled up. He was one of the most respected managing directors at SFH. He was young, dynamic and a hard worker. Ella had looked up to him from the moment she met him. “Ella, can I have a word?” he asked.
“Sure” Ella replied, and followed him into his office.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“We have a junior, Johnny Rupfin, coming to join us next week. Now, I know you weren’t involved in hiring him, which was an oversight on our part, but I would like you to mentor him.” Jeff smiled. Ella did not. The thought of a trainee being her responsibility didn’t appeal to her. However, she knew that it was a forerunner to her management aspirations being met.
“Who is he? Some kid fresh from university?”
“He’s just passed his MBA, from Harvard. Smart kid, lots of brains, not sure about his balls – which, Ella, is why you have been asked to do this. You are our best trader, you know that, and you’ve got a bright future ahead of you here. We need you to pass some of your brilliance on to our youngsters.” Jeff laughed; so did Ella.
“Right, fling him my way. I’ll soon find out if he’s got balls.” She laughed again as she left his office. Basking in the praise Jeff had given her, she forgot for a moment that she would have some youngster under her feet, and she forgot to be annoyed about it. After all, she had been a junior once.
Thinking back to how she had got here still made Ella feel as if it had all happened to someone else.
Four years ago her life could not have been more different. She lived in Manchester; she was engaged to Tony, the manager of the nightclub where she worked behind the bar. She had no qualifications, apart from a couple of GCSEs, and no real ambition. She was twenty-three. Her name was Eloise Butcher. She was happy.
As soon as Tony had put a ring on her finger, he started using his fists. Increasingly, Eloise was housebound, with bruises, black eyes and the occasional broken rib. He would take her to casualty if the beating had been particularly bad and the doctor, although suspicious, never did anything. Eloise didn’t do anything either. Tony was tall, broad, with dark blond hair and a lovely smile. He didn’t look like a woman-beater and he didn’t act like one at first, which is why Eloise had fallen in love with him.
When he became violent, she felt trapped. Even now she couldn’t remember why she had stayed with him, and she couldn’t remember ever wanting to be with him. She knew that he had made her so weak that she lost the strength to leave. Her brother Sam was her saviour. He got suspicio
us and went to visit her at their flat. As she was covered in bruises, Tony sent him away. Sam waited until Tony had gone to work then went back. When Eloise refused to let him in, he broke down the door and carried his sister home.
Sam was a year older than his sister, but she was the most important person to him in the world. This had almost destroyed him. As they held each other, back in their parents” home, Sam told Eloise what she would do. His plan was for her to leave Tony and Manchester, to escape and build a new life. Although this terrified her, she knew that her brother was right. As her parents fielded any attempts from Tony to get near her, Eloise and Sam plotted and planned. Sam, who had a couple of dubious connections, got her a driving licence, a birth certificate and a passport with the name Ella Franke on it. He arranged for some money so she would have enough to live on for a couple of months, and he bought her a one-way ticket to London. He also arranged for Tony to be taught a lesson. He paid some men to do to Tony what he had done to Eloise. They were supposed to make it look like a robbery at Tony’s nightclub, and Sam had asked them to give him a beating he wouldn’t forget. They did, but they went too far.
When the hospital called to tell Eloise that Tony was in a coma, Sam visited him with her, spoke to the police for her, and arranged for her to leave rather more quickly than she had intended. Although the police thought it was a robbery gone wrong, Eloise knew the truth. Eloise left Manchester and Ella arrived in London.
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