His amazement was great when he took the folder of mail she gave him and found a note from her asking him for a drink. Although he knew that he was attractive and successful and could have any woman he wanted, Clara had given him the impression that she wasn’t interested in him. This had puzzled him: women normally fell at his feet. Tim had come a long way from his first job as a trainee stockbroker to managing director of SFH, and his rise was down purely to hard work and opportunism but he had never lost his disappointment at being from the wrong background. As his income grew he married Constance; an upper-middle-class girl whom, he hoped, would help him attain the status he craved. He did not marry for love; he did not fall in love. Tim Permberton was only in love with himself and his aspirations. As soon as the ink had dried on the marriage certificate he was having affairs with other women. Girls, both paid for and free, became his passion, as did cocaine. Tim believed in his own publicity. He was a sexy, successful man. A man who snapped his fingers and girls flocked to him. He wanted Clara, but he didn’t think she wanted him. When she made her approach, Tim’s belief in his infallibility was restored. Tim always got what he wanted. He arranged to meet her in a bar in Kensington, and he knew it was his lucky day.
Clara was late getting to the bar and Tim was nervous, although he wouldn’t have admitted it. When she walked in, wearing a short, tight black dress and black heels, he nearly fell off his chair. She moved towards him and he hardened immediately. He had to have this woman.
And he did. He bought them champagne; she told him how she loved working for him. He bought them oysters; she told him she wanted to be a salesperson. He bought more champagne; she told him she had wanted him from the first time they met. He took her back to her flat, where they made love several times before he went home to his wife.
The affair started quickly. Clara flattered him, serviced him and treated him like a king. In turn, he always bought her champagne, cocaine and, in the end, promoted her to salesperson because she begged him to. Then she said that if he didn’t she’d have to end the affair. Clara’s logic was that if she was his secretary, having an affair with him was tacky. As a salesperson, although he would still be her boss, it was more acceptable. That was the word she had used. Tim didn’t want to give up Clara, so he promoted her.
He had swayed it with the board by reminding them that the family was a big private client. It was better than telling them the truth. She was promoted, but although the clients indeed loved her – especially the male ones – Clara didn’t have a clue what the job involved, as Sarah had pointed out.
Tim looked at his watch. If he was lucky he could get out of the office early, see Clara for a couple of hours and be home in time for a late dinner. He picked up the phone to call his wife.
***
Clara was not proud of the way she’d got her job but, then, she was never proud of herself. She didn’t think she had any value, apart from her body, so she used it. She knew she was no better than a whore; she didn’t know how to be better than a whore. Confidence was her defence mechanism; being rude and bitchy to others was the wall she hid behind. The humiliation she felt at the way she had come by her job was compounded by the degradation she felt with Tim.
Chapter Four
Ella went to the gym after work. Another good day, another profit; she felt that she had been born to trade. On the treadmill, minus Jim, she felt all the tensions of the day fall away. She ran for half an hour, showered and got changed. She said hello to Isabelle, the manager of the emerging markets sales desk, who had just finished changing into an immaculate white outfit and was brandishing a squash racket.
“Ella, how are you?” Isabelle smiled.
“Fine, Isabelle. You?” Ella bristled: Isabelle’s smile was even colder than Ella’s and this intimidated her. Isabelle was a successful manager at SFH, and Ella knew her by reputation as someone who would stamp on anyone who got in her way. She was thankful that she had never been involved professionally with Isabelle. Although they were both ambitious, Ella was not a corporate bitch. Isabelle’s heart was made of stone.
“Oh, you know, the usual stress of being in our jobs. Anyway, I wanted to invite you to a conference about women in the City. I’m hosting it and, well, it looks like we’re going to get a good turnout We’ve got a number of female members of staff coming and I was wondering if you’d do a bit on trading.”
Ella smiled. This was the longest conversation she’d ever had with Isabelle. “Sure, I’d love to.”
“Great, I’ll get my useless secretary to send you a schedule. See you.”
“Bye.” Ella said, to Isabelle’s departing back. As she left the gym, she hailed a cab and told the driver she was going to Camden Town.
Her friend Jackie had an amazing house there, bought when Camden was cheap and Jackie was in the first throes of success with her Soho restaurant. When Ella first went to the restaurant for a job as a waitress, she had seen the survivor instinct in Jackie and they had immediately become friends.
She had told Jackie a condensed version of her story, and had been surprised to get Jackie’s in return. Jackie had been only fifteen when she left home and moved in with a thirty-year-old man. She had been in love, he had been old enough to know better and her parents had been heartbroken. They still hadn’t forgiven her. The man had lost interest when she aged a couple of years, and left her. He had, however, left her with money. Her subsequent fight with her feelings had made her a successful businesswoman but, like Ella, her heart was hard.
Jackie met Ella with a hug and a kiss then ushered her into the house. They settled in the huge old purple sofa with a bottle of wine and began to catch up.
“How’s the dream job?” Jackie asked.
“A dream.” Ella giggled. “You know, I can’t wait to get to work every day. I mean, I know you think I’m crazy, but here I am, trading millions of pounds, getting a huge buzz and a lot of respect, and I am totally in love with it.”
“I do think you’re crazy. I, on the other hand, am fed up with slaving away in the sweatshop that is my restaurant. I’ve decided to hire a manager. I’m going to college.” Jackie beamed.
“Get away. Shit, Jack, you’re amazing. What to study?”
“English, can you believe it? I think I’m recapturing my youth.”
“What, all twenty-eight years of you?”
“Yeah, I know, but don’t forget, I’ve been twenty-eight since I was fifteen.” Jackie’s grey eyes clouded as they always did when she thought about her hard lesson in growing up.
“Please tell me this isn’t a mad ploy to date the eighteen-year-olds you missed out on?” Ella teased.
“Shit, I didn’t even think of that, I guess it must be.” Jackie laughed.
“To be honest, Jack, I don’t think I’d care how old the bloke was, I just wish I had one.”
“What you? No man could compete against your love affair with your job.”
“I guess not. But it would be nice. Someone to hug, someone to ... well, you know, someone to talk to ...” Ella became dreamy.
“Ella, stop. You sound like a sap.”
“Thanks. Anyway, you’re probably right. I love my job so much. Who would have thought I’d change from a pint-pulling punch-bag into a City slicker?”
“Well, not me, that’s for sure. Ella, do you still have nightmares?” Jackie did what she always did: now that the chitchat was over, she turned the conversation to more serious matters.
When Ella had walked into the restaurant, Jackie had been struck by how fragile she seemed. In front of her was a striking girl, who was tall and slim with long hair, yet who looked as if she would break if she was touched. She noticed the sadness in her.
When Ella told her story, Jackie felt nothing but sorrow. She remembered what it was like to be used by a man, and although Alan had never hit her, the mental scars with which he had left refused to heal. Ella’s mental state was bordering on the imbalanced. She couldn’t cope with being on the run although, ratio
nalising it, Jackie decided that no one could point any blame at Ella. She encouraged her to start her new life, but knew that she was still exorcising the ghosts of the old one. Tony wouldn’t leave her head, so the nightmares had started.
Jackie knew they had got worse when Ella went to work for SFH. It made her so angry to see Ella’s guilt when she was the victim. Jackie had become a friend, but she had also become a counsellor. She got Ella to talk, and she had listened, rather than judged. She had pieced together parts of Eloise’s story, and she had tried to rebuild the new Ella. That was why, when Ella had decided she had had enough of waitressing, Jackie had encouraged her in her pursuit of a job that neither of them thought she had a hope of getting.
Although Jackie knew that what she was doing was wrong, she had an even stronger feeling that she was saving Ella’s life. She had been right. From the moment Ella had walked through the doors of SFH, she had been a different person. She didn’t find it easy but, then, she hadn’t worked in that industry before. She worked harder than she ever had in her life and proved herself. Jackie had nothing but admiration for Ella: she was one of life’s remarkable women.
“Yes, but they’re getting better. I still have the one where Tony is dead and chasing me through the streets, and the one where I go to work and find Tony in the office with my boss. Although that’s something I think about when I’m awake too. I think it will take me a long time to get over it, don’t you?”
“I’m afraid so, but, Ella, it’s been more than three years. Don’t you think it’s time to put him behind you?”
“What if he’s dead?”
“What if he’s not? For all you know, he could be alive and well and beating the hell out of some other poor woman. Christ, Ella, it’s time to move on. Call Sammy, find out the truth, and get yourself some friends, maybe another boyfriend. Listen, darling, I really think you need to start living.”
“Jack, I can’t. I just can’t.” And with that, she burst into tears.
Jackie held Ella, the frightened, fragile Ella, and she knew that one day Ella would have to make that confrontation. She just prayed that Ella would be strong enough to cope.
***
Virginia could hardly carry Isabelle’s dry-cleaning. She was weighed down with it as she struggled back to the office. She had barely had a chance to breathe all day, and she had had to run to the shop to collect the clothes just minutes before it closed. She was tired and out of breath when she handed it over, but she didn’t even have time to be annoyed when Isabelle failed to thank her. She was so busy arranging the conference and the lunch that all her other work was still waiting for her. Cursing again, Virginia prepared herself for a long night.
That evening, driving home at nine, all Virginia wanted was to shower and go to bed. Huddled like a child under her pale blue duvet, she wanted never to get up again. She felt so trapped and she didn’t know how she would ever get out.
***
Tim didn’t think to call Clara, he just turned up at her flat. Clara was awake, although she had a headache and had been about to take a couple of sleeping pills then go to bed. She thought about not answering the door, but decided she would in case it was someone important.
She regretted the decision as Tim landed a sloppy kiss on her lips. “I thought you’d like to hear about how many prostitutes I screwed last night.” He leered and Clara cringed inside. This was the game he always played before sleeping with her: he believed it turned her on.
Clara walked to the sofa, sat down and smiled her best smile. Once, she had asked herself why she made herself so sexy for Tim, but she knew the answer really: she did it for the cocaine.
“So tell me,” she purred.
“Well, darling, I started with the redhead. I licked her boobs and she had an orgasm there and then. Then I fucked her. I moved on to the blonde girl. God, my stamina is unbelievable. Next week I’m going to sleep with both of them together and they’ll do a show for me, if you know what I mean. You should consider joining us.”
Tim smiled. Clara felt sick again.
“Well, Timmy, you’d have to be a very good boy before I’d do that for you.”
Tim scowled. Just as he thought he was in control, making her jealous, turning her on, making her want him, she always tried to snatch it back. “I think it’s time you did as you were told. Get into the bedroom.” Tim used his sergeant-major voice, the one that Clara thought made him sound even more of an idiot than he was. However, she did as he said.
After an hour of sex, which involved foreplay, on Clara’s part, then huffing and puffing, on Tim’s part, he collapsed on top of her and kissed her lips. As he put his tongue into her mouth Clara realised that this affair could not last for ever. Lying in his arms, she concentrated hard on not feeling sick, but she was sweaty and feverish.
“You know I told you I’m thinking about leaving Constance,” Tim said. Clara was not in a fit state to deal with this.
“Um,” she replied.
“I’m not promising, but carry on looking after my needs the way you do and maybe, just maybe, I will.” He planted another kiss on her lips and went to the shower.
Clara got up, went to the kitchen and drank a glass of water. She tried to cool herself by dabbing her forehead with a damp cloth, but she was feeling dreadful. She went into her sitting room and picked up the wrap of cocaine that Tim had given her yesterday. She took a line, immediately felt better, and returned to bed.
Tim came out of the shower, put his clothes on.
“Sorry I can’t stay but I have to go home and shag my wife,” he sneered as he kissed Clara goodbye.
As the cocaine settled into her body Clara felt much better, especially when she saw the two wraps that Tim had left on her bedside table. Thinking of his wife, who was about to be shagged – if he was to be believed – Clara couldn’t help feeling sorry for the poor cow.
Chapter Five
Ella’s week was getting better. She felt tired and a little headachy from last night – she and Jackie had talked well into the small hours – but still in control. The markets, once again, were doing exactly as she had predicted.
“Nice one, Ella.” John smiled at her. They had debated a position last night and, on Ella’s judgement, had sold the stock before the price fell.
“Hey, it’s nothing,” Ella joked.
“I may ask your advice more often.”
Ella felt her face go warm. She basked in the compliment; and didn’t know how to react to it.
“John, boy, why don’t you ever ask my advice?” Liam had joined the growing crowd around Ella.
“Because you don’t know shit, I ask you which way a stock is going, you toss a coin.”
“Yeah, but then I have a fifty-fifty chance of getting it right.” Liam laughed loudly and returned to his desk. “Hey, I know, let’s go out tonight,” he suggested. Now he was juggling with two plastic rugby balls.
“OK. Where?” John asked.
“We’ll go to the Met bar, I’ve got membership.” Liam threw one of the balls at John’s head. John caught it and threw it straight back at him.
“How the fuck did you get membership there?” Trevor, one of the more senior members of the desk, asked.
“I’m a classy guy, of course I have membership. Anyway, you coming?”
“Count me in,” John said, returning to his seat.
“Me too,” Trevor agreed.
“I’ll be there.” Jimmy indicated although he was still on the phone.
“And me.” Bob, who sat next to Ella, smiled.
“Come on, Ella, what about you?” Liam asked.
Ella looked at him. She only socialised with them at official desk dinners, and felt panicked about the idea of them and her outside the office.
“No, I don’t think so. Five disgusting men and me? I’m not sure I could cope.” She giggled in an attempt to make her refusal sound inoffensive.
“Ella, you’re one of us. Come on, we insist,” John said.
Ella realised that it would be rude to say no. She remembered what Jackie had said about moving on. Perhaps one night out wouldn’t hurt.
“You’re on,” she said, smiling widely.
“And I promise we won’t go to any lap-dancing clubs,” Liam finished.
Ella flashed him a look of fake disgust, and they got back to work. Well, almost work.
Ella surveyed the schoolboy scene, always in evidence when the markets went quiet after a good morning. The traders would throw things, make paper aeroplanes, tell jokes, dance, sing, and generally act as if they were in the playground. When the day was bad, they sat at their desks sulking and cursing quietly. When nothing was happening, they played practical jokes on team members and caught up with Internet porn. Ella thought that there was nothing as bad as a bored trader.
She often thought that the trading desk resembled the most glamorous school in existence. The pupils wore Armani, Gucci, Savile Row, the teachers the same. The behaviour, however, reflected the spoilt, rich kids that they were. But you couldn’t help having fun in such an atmosphere.
When the bell rang to signify the end of trading, John and Liam were exchanging high fives, and Jeff was beaming like a proud father. “Fabulous day. Great work. This is the way it should be,” he said.
Everyone voiced their agreement.
At five thirty Ella excused herself to go and put on her makeup in the ladies” room. She didn’t wear much: clear mascara that lengthened her lashes, a subtle lip-gloss, a tiny amount of eye-shadow. Her look was understated but professional. It was an image Ella had taken pains to cultivate, and now it was like second nature to her.
When she walked back in, Liam wolf-whistled and she hit him. She went back to her desk to finish up, but the guys had already started telling jokes so she found it impossible. Looking at each of them, she felt that they had finally accepted her, they had included her, which they didn’t often, they had complimented her, and they were treating her as one of the guys. It had only taken three years.
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