“They don’t think it’s,” she made speech marks with her fingers, “suitable,” she added, “They feel it isn’t the kind of thing Harrison should be associated with.”
“Says who?” Ashley asked, incredulously.
“We’re just Indians, Ash.” This contribution was from Paul, the youngest team. He’d initially joined as an intern, but made such an impression on Ashley with a series of editorial initiatives, that she decided to offer him a permanent placement.
“Yes, and I bet I know exactly which chief is responsible for this,” Ashley retorted.
“So what now?” asked Paul.
“Now we get on with the rest of these,” she said, putting her hand on the pile of paper in front of her, “and then we put the world to rights,” she added with an evil smile.
“Uh oh, I feel a bad moon rising,” Paul said, blowing air out of his mouth.
“Anyone would have thought I was a violent person,” Ashley said, thumbing through pages.
The others responded by feigning interest in their own written material.
“Hey!” Ashley complained, her eyes narrowing and a grin spreading across her face. She grabbed a croissant from the basket in front of her, ripped it apart in a dramatic action and devoured part of it. “Come on then, let’s get on. Who’s up next?”
Sam read from the notes in front of her, “William Barber and Tales from a Tomb.”
“Ah,” Ashley said, knowingly, picking up the manuscript. “This light-hearted fable.”
“Um, boy buries mother alive, isn’t it?”
“Yep, I quite liked it, actually. I thought it was quite creepy,” said Adam.
“I agree,” said Geoff. “Although, you could say, it was a bit samey,” he added, sardonically.
Paul laughed. “Yes. I guess there isn’t really anywhere else to go when the story revolves around the fact that he buried his mum in a hole in the garden, and then spent the rest of the book agonising over it.”
“Oh come on, there was a bit more to it than that,” Adam defended.
“Yes, a bit more waffle. Reminded me of Stephen King,” Geoff threw back.
“You wish! Sam?” Ashley asked.
“I think it was quite good.”
“I need more than quite good, Sam.”
“It’s much better than a lot of the crap out there.”
“Yep, that’s really insightful. Is it for us?”
“I should hope so. He called enough times to make sure we were looking at it. You know, just to remind us he was still there,” Adam said with a grin.
“I see. I think we should put this one to a vote.”
They did, and it was two for and two against; Ashley’s vote was the decider.
She picked up the manuscript and then looked at each member of the team. “Well, I guess I have to be a bit of a coward here and blame you lot really. Well, as usual, a bit like any jury, we have to be unanimous in our decisions. I don’t feel that is the case here. Some of you obviously like this manuscript, but you don’t love it and, although I thought it wasn’t a bad read, I don’t believe that we can afford the risk with the current budget. That’s why I think we should turn it down.”
There was an audible groan from some, while others smiled smugly.
Ashley sighed and dropped William Barber’s manuscript to the floor beside her, and they moved on to the next item on the agenda.
It was 11:07 am before Ashley managed to get to her office.
It was a small room, scantily furnished, but with everything she needed to do her job; a personal computer, a couple of filing cabinets, some plants and a window that overlooked the small courtyard, popular at summertime lunch breaks.
She switched on the computer and tried to make some order of the mess that was her desk. She stacked manuscripts in a pile on the corner and sorted through a heap of post, instinctively separating the junk mail from the genuine correspondence as Marie, her assistant, walked in carrying a cup of coffee.
“Oh, you’re a saint, Marie.”
“I know,” the woman said, shrugging her shoulders as if she couldn’t help it.
Marie Pennington was a plump middle-aged woman who kept up to date with fashion, and wore her prematurely white hair in an immaculate bun on top of her head. She was an original Pitman typist, who hung her reading glasses on a chain around her neck as if to prove it.
With grey eyes and a shadow of a double chin, Marie could quite easily pass as the tyrannical head teacher, but was a warm-hearted woman who worked hard and had become somewhat of a surrogate mother to Ashley, who cared for her very deeply.
Glancing at the door to ensure nobody was listening, Marie said in a hushed voice, “So, how was the weekend?”
Ashley stopped her tidying and grinned, “It was fab. Would have been better if it was just the two of us.”
“I see. Did they get in the way?”
“Oh no, the others were fine. It was just Elisabeth.”
Marie rolled her eyes, “I don’t know what that woman’s problem is.”
“She’s evil. I think that pretty much sums it up. You won’t believe what she did this morning.”
“Oh yes I would,” Marie said, knowingly.
“Oh, of course, it stands to reason that I am the last person to know about affairs that relate direct to my office.”
“You’re not the first and you won’t be the last. The question is; what are you going to do about it?
“I’m going to sort it out,” she said, her eyes flashing with determination.
Marie smiled proudly as Ashley read the first paragraph of a letter from a recruitment agency, offering accounting staff at a fraction of the cost of other agencies.
“Well, here is a bit of news I’m sure you haven’t heard about,” she looked up, “Rupert asked me to move in with him again.”
Marie’s eyes narrowed, “What makes you think I don’t know about it?”
Ashley cocked her head in disbelief.
“Only kidding. So when are you moving?”
“I’m not,” Ashley said, dismissively, as she sliced through another envelope with her mail opener. She didn’t give Marie her eyes.
Seconds went by.
“Yes, I’m still here, staring at you,” Marie said.
Ashley, couldn’t keep up the pretence any longer and looked up. When she did so, she was smiling.
Marie cottoned on immediately.
“Really?” She breathed.
“Last night,” Ashley confessed.
“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Marie squealed.
She’d been an avid Harrison/Marshall campaigner for some time now.
“Oh it’ll be wedding bells next,” Marie said excitedly.
“OK. Easy. I’m in no hurry for that just yet,” Ashley said turning to her computer with wide eyes, as if her secretary had suggested she run around the car park, naked.
“Good gracious, girl, why ever not?”
She clicked keys on her keyboard.
“Ashley,” Marie prompted.
“Yes?” She looked up.
Marie sighed impatiently like a mother who had just discovered that her child had spilt ink over her favourite sofa.
“I don’t know, I just don’t think it would work. It’s too soon.”
Marie let out a short laugh. “Why on earth would you say such a thing? Have you any idea how many women in this building would be grateful just to share the man’s bathwater.”
Ashley laughed.
Marie moved closer to her. “Ashley, sweetheart, why do you insist on denying yourself something you so richly deserve? The man is obviously smitten with you. He is gorgeous looking and, just one other minor detail, he’s loaded! Why on earth would you turn him down if he asked?”
“I haven’t turned him down, Marie. He hasn’t even asked. I’m just,” she stuttered, “I’m just not ready for something like that. I need more time.”
“Yes well, I wouldn’t take too long if I were you. That queue of w
omen is growing by the day and if you aren’t careful, one of them might just pip you to the post,” Marie said, almost huffily, then she turned and left the room.
Ashley smiled after her.
Marie was right. Rupert’s so called ‘Most Eligible Batchelor’ status shot up the moment he became C.E.O. at Harrison, and the national press ran a series of features on him.
She was lucky.
At least she felt lucky but, this had nothing to do with Rupert’s Bachelor status, his looks or his wealth and everything to do with how he treated her. She’d never met a man with such a kind heart. He was sensitive yet strong, fair but firm, and he made her feel safe.
But marriage?
She logged into her email and watched as her inbox counted up, and she allowed herself to fantasise about what exactly her wedding day would be like. She thought about the dress, the flowers, the love, and the thought brought a smile to her face. Mrs Rupert Harrison.
She felt her cheeks flush and scolded herself. She had work to do and this was madness.
That’s when she felt eyes on her.
Someone was in her doorway.
“I’m ready, I’m ready,” she said without looking up. “I just need to send a quick email and I’m all yours.” Then she glanced at the clock on her computer and frowned, “anyway, you are early… ” she did not finish her sentence for when she looked up, she saw that the doorway was empty.
Perplexed, she left her seat, walked over to the doorway and looked out. The Fiction Editorial office was empty; most of her team were at lunch.
Marie was at her desk. She was busy pecking at her keyboard and peering into her computer monitor, through her spectacles that were now perched on the end of her nose.
“Marie…?”
The secretary looked up from what she was doing, “What do you need?”
“Were you just in my doorway”?
Marie frowned, “Um no, should I have been?”
Ashley didn’t reply, she was busy surveying the rest of the office and rubbing her naked arms, as if to reassure the hairs that had risen there.
“Is everything okay?” Marie asked, inquisitively.
Silence
“Ashley?”
“Yes, thank you,” she managed eventually and turned back to her office when…
“Ash?”
The voice startled her. She turned to see Romance Editor, Julie Emerson, looking at her. “Wow, jumpy.”
“Were you just standing in my doorway?”
Julie looked at her curiously, then at Marie and then back at her again, “Um, no, I just stepped off the lift. Are you okay?”
“I just asked her that, but I don’t think even she knows,” Marie chimed in and then casually returned to what she was doing.
Ashley shrugged, “you know, I could have sworn someone was just standing in my doorway. I thought it was you.”
“Well, it wasn’t me. Maybe it was my spirit leaving my body because I died of starvation!”
Ashley looked at her and forced a smile. “I just need to get my coat.”
Lunch was a Caesar salad complemented by a gigantic portion of Julie’s zany wit, which never failed to lift Ashley’s spirits.
The topic of conversation was Julie’s latest date, who was everything but the man of her dreams. Ashley laughed so much she cried, washing away the unsettling feeling that had haunted her just minutes before.
9 PLEASURE
Jason Tyler hurried into the entrance lobby of Heron Heights and was irked to find his girlfriend sharing a laugh with the building’s handyman, Tomas Kellerman.
With grey eyes, short blonde hair and towering six point four feet, Tomas looked every bit the stereotypical German, but the similarities ended there.
Tomas’ parents were German, but he was born and bred in the East End of London, and had an authentic Cockney accent to prove it.
After leaving school, Tomas worked for a large firm of painters and decorators before applying for, and winning, an apprenticeship opening as Assistant Maintenance Manager at Heron Heights.
He was promoted to manager a year ago when his boss retired due to ill health. Maintenance Manager at Heron Heights was a well-paid job and one he was very good at.
At least he thought so.
Jason Tyler, on the other hand, was a twenty-eight-year-old who loathed his job as a computer programmer for a London software house where his office was a cubicle and his name a number. He dreamt of getting ‘paroled’ out of that place and working as a freelancer, but never had the guts to do so. Living in London was expensive and starting your own business from scratch, even more so.
That was until six months ago when an acquaintance introduced Jason to a particular group of investors, who were very happy to invest in his venture for very little in return.
Now, he could afford to move out of his shitty flat in North London and into Heron Heights, of all places, for a fraction of the work.
Now, he could spend much more time in the gym, chiselling the perfect physique to showcase for the opposite sex at various parties and clubs around the city.
And with short black hair, a white smile, killer hazel green eyes and a self-assured demeanour, Jason Tyler had no trouble attracting the girls, and he knew it.
But this wasn’t enough.
Despite his achievements, despite his new-found success, Jason often felt unhappy, unfulfilled.
No sooner had he conquered one thing, he was ready to move onto another, and thus he seldom stopped to appreciate anything.
He certainly disliked Tomas, although even he didn’t know why.
Maybe it was the way he lorded around the building like he’d personally designed it, or the way he chatted to any female that came in his direction, or maybe it was just because of the way he towered over Jason who was just five foot, three in stature.
Whatever it was, it really annoyed him to see the handyman, of all people, chatting up his girlfriend. That’s why he bounded over to them as fast as he could.
Rachel saw him coming and, before he could say a word, sprung up from her seat and threw her arms around him, “Oh My God! Jay, where have you been?”
Her embrace diluted his displeasure, “I’ve been looking for you,” he responded, forcing a smile.
“What do you mean?” She asked, breaking the embrace and looking into his eyes.
“I’ve waited at Kings Cross for over an hour. I thought you were arriving on the ten o’ clock train.”
She frowned, “Um, no baby. It was the nine o’ clock, remember? You said you wanted me to get the earlier train, because you had a meeting later in the day. One you couldn’t be late for. I emailed you the details.”
“No, the email said ten,” he snapped and then, noticing that Tomas was still listening to everything they were saying, he asked, “Haven’t you got any work to do?”
“I was working,” Tomas replied. “I was takin’ care of the young lady,” he said with a big smile.
Rachel returned the smile and said, “Thanks, Tom. It’s been fun.”
He stood up and winked at her, almost as if he was trying to wind Jason up some more, “All in a day’s work, ma'am,” he said, putting his hand to his forehead and tipping a fictitious hat in her direction.
“Yeah, I bet,” Jason mumbled as he slipped an arm around Rachel and steered her away, over to the front desk.
Paul, the security guard, stood up, “Yes, Mr Tyler?”
Jason nodded at Rachel’s bags. “Have these brought up to my apartment.”
“Yes sir,” Paul said.
He waited for Jason to turn his back and then pulled a face, much to Tomas’ amusement. Then he looked at his sidekick, “You heard the man; he wants the bags brought up to this apartment.”
The boy huffed. “Do I have to take them? I was the one who fetched them from outside.”
“And you’re the one who’ll be fetchin’ his P45 if you don’t get on with it, pronto, and with less lip.”
With that,
the boy ambled off and grabbed the bags.
“Want a hand?” Tomas asked.
“Yeah, cheers mate,” the boy grinned.
Paul shook his head, sat back down at his desk and feigned interest in the bank of monitors in front of him.
Meanwhile, in the elevator, Jason was locked in a passionate kiss with Rachel. At least it appeared that way. The kiss, initiated by Jason, was more intense than passionate, almost as if he was proving a point.
Marking his goods.
Eventually, they both emerged for air.
“I missed you,” Rachel said, keeping her arms around his waist.
“I’ve missed you too,” he replied, breaking the embrace.
Rachel pouted, “I was really sad to get off the train and not find you there to meet me,” she said.
Jason, who was busy looking at himself in the mirror that adorned the walls of the lift’s cabin, said, “I’m sorry about that, crossed wires again. Anyway, you’re here now and that’s all that matters.”
“Yes,” she said excitedly. “I can’t wait to see the flat!”
“Apartment,” Jason corrected.
“Whatever. I’m just so happy to be here. I’ve already met one of the neighbours.”
“Oh yeah, who?”
“Umm, Ashley I think she said her name was.”
“Oh, her. She doesn’t live here. She’s just banging the millionaire guy who owns the penthouse.”
“Wow really? Now, why can’t I find someone like that?” She teased.
Jason looked at her.
“I’m just kidding,” she said, cheerily. “You know I wouldn’t swap you for anybody.”
“You sure?” he asked, suspiciously.
She paused in mock pondering. “Umm, well now that you ask….” she laughed and ran her fingers through his short, wet hair, which renewed the fresh scent of his styling gel.
Jason ignored the act of affection and turned to face the door, feigning grumpiness.
Rachel loved to tease him. She knew he hated her making any comments about other men. Even admiring someone else could often put him into a mood for hours. Although she found it hard to completely understand this insecurity in a man who was clearly popular with the opposite sex. Yes, she’d seen the way girls looked at him, and then her, in that judgemental kind of way that girls do so well.
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