Pinstripes

by Faith Bleasdale

  “Dosen’t it all seem a bit cloak and dagger?” Isabelle didn’t want to let on quite how excited she was.

  “Isabelle, she put our whole reputation at risk. This is a very delicate situation. We need time to figure out how to handle it. OK?”

  “Thanks, David. I knew you’d know what to do.”

  Isabelle left David’s office, smiling. She was looking forward to drowning the rat.

  ***

  Virginia received a call from Phillip, saying that he would have to discuss the hiring of her at the monthly managing directors” meeting the following Thursday. Virginia timidly asked him if this was a good sign. Phillip assured her it was. Virginia didn’t know how she would be able to bear it for the next week, but she still felt she had it in her grasp.

  Phillip put down the phone feeling fed up. He had liked her; the rest of the team had liked her. The call from David had just said that they had an issue with her that he hoped to clear up before the meeting next Thursday. Phillip hoped it would be cleared up, because he didn’t want to have to start interviewing from scratch again. However, he knew he would have to sit tight and await David’s decision.

  Chapter Eleven

  Clara woke on Monday and felt utterly miserable. This was not unusual: she often felt like this when she woke. There was a deep gloom inside her, which she couldn’t explain and she couldn’t fight. She wanted to pull the duvet over her head and sink back into sleep, but something stopped her. The old Clara would have done that but she was the new Clara. The new Clara would go to work.

  She wore her sharpest trouser suit, a beige Armani, which made her look professional and not too sexy. She took pills to banish her headache and she put on her makeup in the flat for once, trying to cover up her grey skin.

  She strode into the office to be met with a flurry of excitement and panic. At the meeting she discovered that the markets had dropped considerably and no one really knew why. Problems in Wall Street had occurred on Friday night and seemed to have had a domino effect on the other markets around the world. They were told of causes, effects, and what the predictions were. For a couple of weeks the markets would be in a state of flux, then recovery would come. It was a short-term drop; everyone should keep calm and pass on the calm to their clients.

  Clara understood what was being said and relayed it perfectly to her clients. Although there was panic in the office, Clara kept cool and felt professional. Until Tim e-mailed her demanding her presence in his office.

  It seemed like ages since she had seen him. She had felt a lot happier without him and she didn’t want him near her any more. She wanted to tell him, but she didn’t know where she would get her cocaine. She felt like crying as she walked into his office. No matter how professional she looked, Tim always made her feel cheap.

  Tim was annoyed. He had been sure that Clara would be at home, recovering from the excesses of the weekend, not looking great, strutting about the office as if she knew what she was doing. Clara was his bit on the side, not a legitimate member of his staff. If she was getting ideas about being career-focused, then Tim knew he was going to have to give up the idea of leaving his wife. His life seemed to be in as big a mess as the markets were. He was in love with Clara and he wanted her in his bed, not in his workplace.

  “Hi.” Clara sat down in the chair facing Tim’s desk.

  “Hi.” They stared at each other for a few seconds. Clara noticed that Tim looked old: she had never considered his age before. He was forty-five, but had managed to remain youthful. His short brown hair showed no signs of greying (he dyed it) and he dressed in a smart but fashionable manner. Clara saw the lines on his face, which made him seem old, and he looked tired. For the first time, Clara thought he was too old for her.

  “I’ll be at your flat at seven tonight,” Tim said.

  Clara’s heart sank. “Fine,” she replied.

  “That’s all then.” Tim dismissed her. As Clara walked out, she knew that she needed to be nice to him. He was feeling threatened by her behaviour and she understood why. But she needed to follow through with her new determination, and she decided she would look into alternative cocaine suppliers.

  The rest of the day passed in a blur. She worked hard, and she chatted and swapped opinions with the rest of the desk. By the time she left, she had banished the black cloud that represented Tim’s impending visit.

  At home, Clara opened a bottle of champagne and had a line of cocaine. She spoke to James and reassured him that their mother was being hysterical when she had told him she thought Clara might be dead. She promised to call him more often but explained that she was very busy at work. It was almost the truth. They arranged to have dinner the following weekend, and ended their conversation just as the doorbell rang.

  Clara opened the door to Tim. Despite the cocaine and the drink, she felt nervous and clammy.

  “Hi, beautiful.” He sounded almost tender. They kissed.

  “How was the weekend?” Clara was devoid of conversation.

  “Boring and cold. What about you? I called you several times.”

  “I was with my parents this weekend.” Clara took Tim’s hand and led him to the sofa. He lined up the cocaine and she poured him a glass of champagne.

  “Clara, you know I don’t want you sleeping with other men,” Tim said, as he finished his first line.

  Clara almost choked on her champagne. Then she lied, “Of course. I only want you.”

  “That’s what I thought you’d say. And as a reward I brought you a present.” Tim handed her a bag containing more cocaine than she’d ever seen in her life. She almost fainted, but instead she kissed him, unzipped his trousers and started to thank him properly.

  Clara passed out before Tim left, and her dreams were filled with white fluffy clouds.

  ***

  Tim watched Clara as she slept. She was so beautiful; he couldn’t let her go. She was so eager to please him, would do anything he wanted and she was dynamite in bed. Tim wanted to be in her bed more often. He was tired of his wife’s lack of imagination, her insistence on making sex a duty, not fun. Sometimes this excited him, having her lying there like a plank, but other times it bored him. At the moment, it bored him. He knew that Clara would never be boring. Now he felt the time drawing near when Clara would be his full-time bed partner. If only she hadn’t got some notion in her head that she enjoyed her job.

  As Tim got dressed he couldn’t help but feel puzzled about the change in Clara’s attitude. Admittedly, it had been only a few days, but it was enough to be a worry: Clara getting to work early, Clara in the morning meeting, Clara becoming popular with her colleagues, Clara increasing sales. And she was showing no signs of wanting to leave. Tim sighed. There was nothing for it. He needed her to need him. He needed her to be there for him whenever he wanted her. He would not tolerate her not needing him. He couldn’t even contemplate that she might not need or want him anymore.

  If Tim was in love with Clara, it was a perverse love. Although he told himself he was good for Clara and she was lucky to have him, he wanted to control her. He was going to do this by plying her with so much cocaine that she wouldn’t know what day of the week it was, what her name was, or even how to get to work. Oh, Tim loved Clara. He just needed to ensure that she felt the same.

  ***

  Clara woke to an empty bed; she had slept through her alarm clock. Although she still had time to get to work, she had to forfeit her shower and pull on her clothes in double-quick time. She was angry about sleeping in, she was angry about feeling terrible. She blamed it all on Tim.

  She managed to get through the day, but without the enthusiasm of last week, or even yesterday. She was worried about Tim; she didn’t know what to do about him. She kept thinking she would mess things up, and she couldn’t bear to do that. She was full of contradictions.

  Tim joined the desk in the afternoon. He glanced at Clara. “You don’t look well. Are you coming down with something?” he said, for the whole desk to hear. />
  Everyone looked at Clara.

  “I’ll be all right, just a bit under par,” she replied, seething.

  “Yes, well, you should go home. I insist. I don’t want any illness in the office.” Tim smiled.

  Clara’s anger grew. “Fine,” she replied curdy, grabbed her coat and her bag and walked out. She didn’t see Sarah shaking her head and no one saw the tears in Clara’s eyes.

  At home, she went straight to her Louis Vuitton vanity case, which held her huge supply of cocaine. She had a line, still upset. She knew Tim was undermining her hard work. He was trying to control her in the office. She knew it was all her fault, as everything else was. She had slept her way into her job and had abused it until now. Her punishment was to be obstructed by Tim at every step of the way. But she wanted her job. She wanted to be a career girl. She didn’t want to be like her mother and Clarissa and all those other girls who filled their heads with dreams of husbands. However, Tim did not share her views. She guessed that if he was serious about leaving his wife for her, he wanted her in bed, legs akimbo, waiting for him to come home. The thought made her feel sick.

  She went to bed and ignored the phone as she cried herself dry.

  ***

  The next day Clara went to work, feeling ill due to her bout of tears, but determined not to let that ruin her job. She would fight with everything she could muster. It was nearly lunch-time when Tim called her into his office. “You still look ill. Are you sure you should be here?” he said.

  “Thanks for your concern, but I’m fine,” Clara replied.

  “I’ll be over tonight at about nine. I’m going to a strip-joint first, and when I’m incredibly turned on I’ll be over to turn you on.”

  “Tim, I’m busy tonight. Can we give it a miss?” Clara asked.

  “No, we can’t. I have to make arrangements to see you, and I expect you to make yourself available. Is that a problem?” He was cold.

  “No,” she said quietly, and left his office. She looked back at him sitting calmly at his desk and wondered why he had to do this to her. She had invited his attention and now she wanted out. Getting rid of Tim was going to be a huge fight.

  When Clara returned Sarah was waiting at her desk. “Do you want to go to lunch?” she asked.

  “Yes, I bloody do,” Clara replied, and grabbed her coat. They went to Bertie’s and ordered pizza and mineral water.

  “Are you OK?” Sarah asked. She was genuinely concerned.

  “Yes. No. I don’t know.” Clara shrugged. The tears she had thought she used up last night were threatening to come back.

  “Is it Tim? I can’t help noticing how much attention he pays you.” Sarah was fishing for information. She had her suspicions about Clara, fuelled by the way that Tim continually singled her out.

  “I’m sleeping with him.” As soon as the words escaped her, she knew she should not have said them. Sarah was speechless. Clara wished she could take them back. She thought fast. “I mean, well, I did, once, and now he’s a bit, you know, well, I think he wants us to have an affair and I don’t, and he’s making things hard for me at work and I don’t know what to do.” Clara lied so convincingly she almost believed it was true.

  “Christ. You know that’s harassment and you can do something about it?” Sarah said helpfully, while trying to absorb the information.

  “Yes, but I did sleep with him and now I’m scared that I’ll lose my job if I try to do anything and, well, he’s very powerful.” Clara was already regretting having lunch with Sarah.

  Sarah’s mind was working overtime; she had just won the lottery. What a piece of information. Despite Sarah’s motherly feelings, she couldn’t help but think she should have guessed. All the time Clara had behaved like an idle brat, she had known that if Tim did anything about it she could tell everyone about sleeping with him. But although Sarah had had serious doubts about Clara’s ability, recently Clara had proved her wrong. Clara was quite competent and she was working hard. She wondered if she had slept with Tim before or after her promotion; she assumed it was before. Tim fancied her, slept with her and promoted her. How wonderfully unprofessional, Sarah thought. Although she was not sure that she could use the information, it certainly felt good to have it. “I know. But, well, don’t let him destroy things. Put it down to a silly mistake and keep away from him. I won’t breathe a word, I promise.” Sarah meant it for now.

  “Thanks, Sarah. I feel much better just getting it off my chest.” In fact Clara felt ill with the thought that another person knew. Not just any other person either but someone who worked for Tim. She burned inside with fear at the thought that it might come out into the open. Then she would lose her job and Tim would probably lose his. Moreover, her family would hear and she wouldn’t be able to live with the scandal. She tried to calm down by telling herself that Sarah had said she wouldn’t mention it. However, she couldn’t quite bring herself to believe her.

  For the rest of lunch they resumed normal conversation, although they both continued to think about the same thing.

  ***

  On Thursday morning Tim was sitting in his office watching Clara work. He had been with her for an hour last night, and it had been hell to go home. He would leave his wife sooner rather than later. He would get Clara to resign from SFH and then they would be together properly. That was his new plan.

  He thought back to the previous evening when, after an erotic strip-show, he had gone to Clara’s and made her perform a striptease for him. Then he’d had mind-blowing sex before he left her to go home. He didn’t want to leave her: he wanted to wake up with her, get her to do things to him in the morning, not just in the evening. He knew he was addicted to her. His wife had become an obstacle in his desire for Clara and he hated obstacles.

  He wondered if he could see her that evening. He had a dinner arranged with his top client, Stephen Lock, and he knew he couldn’t sneak off. Stephen liked to party and would probably insist they go on to a club. After that, it would be too late to go to Clara’s. He would be stuck with his wife.

  He was still reliving the details of the previous night, when the telephone rang. It was his wife and she was hysterical: Jemima, their youngest daughter, had appendicitis and had been rushed into hospital. His presence was required. This meant he wouldn’t be able to see his client that evening, and he didn’t know when he could see Clara again. He cursed Jemima. He picked up the telephone.

  Before he finished dialling Stephen’s number, he changed his mind. He called Clara and told her to come straight to his office. He was too far away to notice the sympathetic glance Sarah gave her as she left the desk.

  “Hi,” Clara said, wondering what he needed now. She was increasingly on edge after the conversation with Sarah, and being at his beck and call was not going to get her any sympathy from the rest of the desk.

  “Jemima has appendicitis. She’s in hospital.”

  Clara thanked the god of appendicitis. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said sweetly.

  “Yes, well, I have to go, but I’m supposed to have dinner with Stephen Lock from MMN. I want you to go instead.” Tim had decided that if Clara was with Stephen he could kill two birds with one stone. The client would have his dinner; Tim would know where Clara was. Stephen was over fifty, married and unattractive. He was not a threat.

  “Me? But I’ve never even met him.”

  “Clara, this is an order. Here’s his number. Call him and let him know what’s happening. I’ve booked Nobu and you just need to be your normal charming self. Hopefully I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Clara took the details and left. She called Stephen, who sounded old, and she arranged to meet him at Nobu. She spent the rest of the day working as hard as she could, knowing that Tim wasn’t there to distract her. He would not be able to call her into his office; he wouldn’t be able to call round to see her. She was free of him. Even if it was only for a day and a night, it was a wonderful feeling.

  Before leaving for the restaurant she had
a line of cocaine. When she arrived, Stephen was already there. She sat down and ordered a bottle of champagne. At first glance, it was worse than she thought. Stephen was so pleased to see her, which he would be considering that he was over fifty, with little hair and a huge belly. At best he was distinguished; at worst he was over the hill. He was not a date, he was a client. Clara told herself this as the cocaine swam around in her brain. She found it hard to distinguish between the two.

  As they ordered, Clara enjoyed the conversation. Stephen could tell a good story and he kept her laughing for most of the meal. She had to sneak to the loo for another couple of lines, after which she couldn’t remember what she ate, if she ate. She knew she was charming. She was always charming. Stephen became charming too. After brandy, Stephen suggested going to a club, and Clara readily agreed. She was high as a kite and having fun. He was drunk and could barely draw his red eyes from Clara’s cleavage as he explained that he had membership at Annabel’s. Clara loved Annabel’s. As he called to reserve a table, she paid the bill.

  At Annabel’s the fun continued. Stephen might not have had the looks, but he knew how to make Clara laugh, how to compliment her. He didn’t know she was wasted. They had a bottle of champagne and Clara had more cocaine. They danced – Stephen was as amusing on the dance floor as he was off it – they laughed, and suddenly Stephen became very, very attractive.

  Clara could barely remember who she was, let alone why she was there. And she had that feeling of need, which she couldn’t fight when her addiction kicked in. “Let’s go,” she breathed, knowing what she wanted.

  “But I thought we were having fun.” Stephen looked confused.

  “Oh, what I’ve got in mind is far more fun,” Clara replied. She asked the door attendant for a taxi, which he flagged down quickly. As they drove to Clara’s flat, Stephen tried to speak, but Clara hushed him with kisses. As soon as they got inside the flat, she pulled off her suit and stood naked; Stephen looked on in awe. She peeled off his clothes slowly and tried not to look as he stood before her in all his glory. He was far too fat to contemplate.