“I’m just going to pop into the loo, actually,” she said quickly, standing up before she could talk herself out of it. Darting around the room, she maneuvered herself around the tables, squeezing between chairs and making her way to the exit, but by the time she got there, the man had gone.
“Typical,” she muttered under her breath, and leaned against the stone banister leading down the steps to the road, looking left and right to see if she could see him anywhere. Not that it mattered. It was probably a good thing he wasn’t here. What could she have said to him even if he had been here? And at least she was out of that awful party.
The air was cool and she wrapped her pashmina around herself more closely, listening to the traffic around Hyde Park Corner and wondering whether she really needed to go back in to the dinner. She could feign a headache. Apologize the next day for not having said good-bye . . .
She noticed the doorman looking at her strangely, and she turned around, putting her elbows on the stone banister and trying to decide whether she could get away with leaving now. It was getting late, after all. And having failed to hear a single word of those consultants’ conversation about Axiom, there didn’t seem much point staying on.
She breathed in deeply, enjoying her inertia. And then she noticed something. Or, rather, someone. A man, down below, talking in an animated voice. Was it a lovers’ tiff, she wondered? A falling-out of friends?
She narrowed her eyes, trying to pick out the figures, and then they widened. The man she’d seen was Paul Song. And there was another man, too. Maybe he’s unhappy with Paul’s choice of crystals, Jen thought to herself, frowning. Although he doesn’t look like a crystal kind of a guy.
She saw Paul passing what looked like a letter to the older man, and then they parted company. Which meant that Paul was on his way back in, Jen realized, and she’d be forced to go back with him.
Smiling at the doorman, Jen ran quickly down the steps, turned the corner, and disappeared into Hyde Park Corner’s tube station.
4
“You really shouldn’t do that slumpy thing with your shoulders, Jen. Honestly, you’ll end up with so much tension in your upper back. Look, do this stretch with me.”
Jen grimaced as her best friend, Angel, deftly contorted her body with an arm movement that she couldn’t hope to follow. It was all right for her, Jen thought to herself as she contemplated copying her and then decided against it. Angel had been doing yoga since she was about two. Her Indian mother had taught her the downward dog before she could even walk.
She took a sip of coffee and pushed away the Sunday newspapers in front of her. “I was born with slumpy shoulders,” she said with a wry smile, not entirely sure what “slumpy” meant but assuming that it was Angel’s way of telling her to sit up straight. “It’s part of my Anglo-Saxon heritage.”
Angel grinned. “You mean, like the missing link?” she asked playfully. “Did you English learn to stand tall later than the rest of us?”
Angel always sat up straight. She was one of those people with strength and grace and lovely skin and bright eyes and she could sit in the lotus position for hours. That’s how she watched television, all taut and relaxed at the same time.
“So how’s the yoga thing going?” Jen asked. Angel had just started teaching in a community hall around the corner.
“Really good. I mean, you know, okay. It’s going to take some time to get people coming, right? I mean, I need to wait for word to spread. But it’s wonderful. You should come down.”
“I will, honestly,” Jen said, taking another gulp of coffee and looking guiltily at Angel’s herbal tea. “I’m just not sure I’m really a yoga person.”
“Everyone’s a yoga person!” Angel said, a little frown appearing on her otherwise unlined face. “Jen, it’s so amazing for you. It’ll stretch all your muscles and build your core strength and get the blood pumping . . .”
“I know, I know.” Jen grinned at Angel. People like Angel didn’t understand, she realized, that not everyone found it easy to twist their left leg around their body, stick their right arm up in the air, and stand on the tips of their toes. It wasn’t that Jen didn’t like yoga. It was just that every time she tried it she felt so clumsy, so un-supple, that she didn’t dare go back. “But I’ll need to practice first. Maybe I should get pre-yoga lessons,” she said with a little smile.
Angel shook her head. “You always turn everything into a joke,” she said seriously.
“What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s a cover-up! Life isn’t always funny, you know. Sometimes it’s painful. You deal with the pain, and then you move on.”
Jen frowned. “I’m not in pain, Angel, I promise.”
Angel shrugged. “I know. I’m just a bit pissed off. Only two people came to my class yesterday.”
“Ah.” Jen put her hand out and squeezed her friend’s arm. “I’m sorry. They’ll come soon, I know they will.”
“Maybe they all need pre-yoga lessons,” Angel said with a little sigh. “So how about you? How was your dinner on Friday? I missed you when I was dancing the night away surrounded by lots of very handsome men.”
“All right for some,” Jen said enviously. “Any of them get your number?”
Angel raised her eyebrows and shook her head. “Not that handsome,” she said with a little smile. Angel loved the idea of going out and meeting men—particularly men who weren’t Indian. The idea of being out dancing in the sort of place that would make her mother squeal with indignation was delightful to Angel, who’d been fighting off the prospect of an arranged marriage for the past five years. But that was as far as she ever went—to Jen’s knowledge, she’d had never so much as gone out on a date with any of the men who followed her round the bars and clubs they frequented.
“So tell me about your dinner,” Angel continued, deftly moving the conversation on. Her eyes were twinkling and Jen shook her head.
“Don’t get me started,” she said grimly. “I knew I shouldn’t have gone.”
“No nice young men at your charity dinner, then?” Angel, who still felt responsible for both Jen meeting Gavin and subsequently splitting up with him a couple of years later, was determined that she should meet someone and soon. Jen rolled her eyes.
“No, but that’s not why I went. I stupidly thought I might actually find something out about Axiom. Some chance.”
“Ah, yes, the war on your father. I forgot.”
Jen frowned. “It isn’t a war on my father. I’m trying to get to the bottom of a corruption ring. It’s serious.”
“A corruption ring that might involve your father.”
“And?” Jen could feel her defenses rising.
“And you think that by finding out the truth he might actually notice you.”
Angel looked directly into Jen’s eyes and Jen winced. Why is it that Angel never skirts around an issue, Jen found herself wondering. Most people were polite and evasive and agreed with you, even if they knew you were talking bullshit. Whereas Angel always looked straight past whatever you said and found the one thing you were ignoring as hard as you could. Trust her to find the only best friend in the world who didn’t let you get away with anything, even subconsciously.
“No,” she said, trying to convince herself as much as anything. “It’s nothing to do with that.”
Angel shrugged slightly. “I just hope you know what you’re doing. I don’t want to see you hurt, okay?”
Jen finished her coffee. “Of course I know what I’m doing. And I won’t get hurt,” she said defiantly.
“If you do, you can always joke about it, I suppose,” Angel said thoughtfully. “Now, pass me the Style supplement. I want to do something new with my hair and I can’t decide what.”
The next morning, a fired-up Jen found herself in a small room, staring at a man in his early forties, wearing sandals over socks. She just had to get through this meeting with her private tutor, then a lecture on something boring, and then she was goin
g to start her corporate espionage in earnest.
Somehow Angel had managed to get under her skin with those comments about her father the day before. She’d refused to admit it, of course; Angel had this theory that when you got agitated about something it was usually because there was a kernel of truth there that you didn’t want to admit to or face, and there was no way she was going to let Angel think she’d struck a chord. But the fact was that she had, and the more Jen thought about it, the more determined she became to prove that this whole exercise had nothing to do with her father. Or Gavin, for that matter.
So as soon as she’d gotten back from brunch, she’d made a list of all the things she needed to do—find out where people gathered to talk, figure out where key people worked, find out who was on the Axiom account. Now all she had to do was get on with it. She was going to show everyone that she was serious.
“Okay, so, Jennifer Bellman. Right?”
Jen looked at the man impatiently. This wasn’t quite what she’d expected. This was her first meeting with her personal tutor and she’d been expecting someone in a suit, someone who looked like a Bell consultant, who would quiz her on strategy and internal analysis and ask about her assignment results.
Instead, the man in front of her had long straggly hair that looked like it could do with a cut, and he was sitting crosslegged on his chair. I wonder if he does yoga, Jen found herself thinking idly. I wonder if he’d be interested in Angel’s classes.
“Great. Well, I’m Bill. The official title is Dr. Williams, but I’m happy with Bill if you are? I like to keep things informal if you know what I’m saying.”
Jen realized that he actually wanted an answer, so she nodded again and said “Yes, that’s fine,” just for good measure. She was getting quite good at pretending to be an MBA student, she thought to herself confidently. Maybe next year she’d have a go at pretending to do a PhD. . . .
“Great. That’s just great. So, Jennifer. What can I do for you?”
Jen gave him a sideways look. Why should he be able to do anything for her? It wasn’t like she’d set this meeting up or anything. It was on her agenda, that’s all.
Perhaps she should ask him about corporate greed, she thought to herself with a little smile. She could ask him whether he knew that his precious firm might be implicated in the corruption scandal in Indonesia.
Then again, perhaps not.
“Nothing. I mean, you know, I don’t know what a personal tutor does, really,” she ventured after a pause. Bill smiled.
“Anything and everything. Except supply you with drugs!” he said brightly. Jen managed a half smile.
“See these bookshelves?” he said, pointing to a row of fitted shelves. “These books are invaluable when you’re doing an MBA. And you can borrow them from me so you don’t have to go to the library. Which will save you a lot of time, believe me.”
Jen surveyed the books. There were a few things like Ten Ways to Improve Yourself and Your World or How to Be More Effective and Save the Planet, but there were also some scary-looking books like Economic Growth: An Epistemological Study and The Strategy Focused Organization: How to Align Your Objectives to Drive Bottom-Line Performance.
“I didn’t think that Bell Consulting was particularly interested in improving the world,” she said caustically as she reviewed the titles.
Bill frowned. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure. Corporate social responsibility is big these days.”
“Good for marketing, is it?” Jen asked sweetly.
Bill raised his eyebrows. “I guess so, although I happen to think it’s a bit more important than that.” He grinned again. “So, then, there’s your workload,” he said, moving over to his desk and sitting on the edge of it. “I’ve been a personal life coach for more than ten years,” he continued, “and have psychology degrees, coaching accreditations, and a black belt in karate. You begin to find things getting on top of you, you come to me. Need an extension on a deadline, you let me know and I’ll see if I can sort it for you. You dig?”
Jen smiled in spite of herself. You dig? Who actually spoke like that anymore?
“You have any personal issues you want to discuss, my door is open,” Bill was saying, getting into his stride. His eyes were shining, and he looked as if he would not be satisfied until he had fought for something on Jen’s behalf. “Not getting on with a lecturer or subject, come see me. And when you get your MBA and a great new job, you take me out and buy me a few beers. How does that sound?”
Jen relaxed and grinned back at him. “And if I get a crap job, do you buy me beers?”
“You won’t,” Bill said seriously. “You focus on your goals and align your life around them, and you’ll get where you want to be.”
“Okay,” Jen said quickly. Bill was right; she had to focus on her goals. Goal one: get the information she needed so she could get the hell out of this place. Goal two: work out what she was going to do next. She grimaced. Maybe one goal was enough for now.
“So what happens if I don’t need an extension or experience any personal issues?” she asked curiously. “What if I don’t have any problems?”
Bill looked disconcerted. “People always have problems,” he said, frowning. “You get through this without any problems and that’s me out of a job. You remember that.”
Jen raised an eyebrow at him, and Bill slammed the desk with his fist.
“I’m kidding! I’m kidding you! No problems would be terrific. Just fab, you know?”
“Okay. Well, thanks. I mean, it’s good to know you’re here,” Jen said as genuinely as she could manage, and Bill shrugged gauchely.
“Just doing my job,” he said with a grin. “Feel free to swing by any time. Deal?”
“Deal,” said Jen and stood up. If only he knew, she thought to herself as she left the room, realizing as she did so that she was late for her lecture.
Jen saw the elevator doors open and made a run for it, sticking her hand in before they could close again. She quickly perused the occupants, then stepped in with a relieved smile on her face. When she’d first arrived at Bell a few weeks ago she’d been terrified of taking the lift in case her father got in, but since she’d discovered that George Bell rarely left the eighth floor when he was in the building, and that he was only in the building about half a day a week, she’d grown more confident. Blasé even.
“Thank God for that.” She sighed, ignoring the raised eyebrows of the lift’s occupants, three serious-looking consultants. “I thought I was going to have to walk up three flights of stairs!”
They looked at her curiously, then turned away as Jen realized that she’d seen one of them before. He was one of the guys from the charity dinner.
“Anyway,” he was saying to one of the others, an older man, “those bloody environmentalists are at it again. Milton Supermarkets has had two planning applications turned down because of them—they’ve got protests organized and vigils over the trees. It’s a bloody nightmare.”
Jen watched silently as the older guy nodded.
“All right, Jack. Thanks for keeping me up to date. What are you recommending?”
“A delay of a couple of months. Soon as it starts to get cold again, the majority of them’ll lose the enthusiasm for it. Students will be back at university. They know they’re fighting a losing battle anyway. If Milton doesn’t move in, another supermarket will.”
“And Milton is happy to wait?”
“Not really, no,” said the young man. “But they don’t really have an option.” He smirked, and Jen’s hands clenched into fists, as she felt her familiar temper flare. Friends of hers and Gavin’s were protesting against Milton. They kept building supermarkets and frankly, the world did not need more supermarkets in her opinion. Still, this was not the time for an argument. Do not say anything, she told herself firmly. Just let it go.
But before she could stop herself her mouth opened.
“I bet the protesters won’t go away,” she found herself saying. The lif
t went silent and everyone turned to stare at her.
The young man looked at her uncertainly. “Er, yes they will,” he said in a patronizing tone. “Sorry, do I know you?”
Jen looked at the floor, telling herself to stay silent, then sighed and looked back up. It was no use—she always found it almost impossible to bite her tongue when she saw something wrong or heard something she disagreed with. It had gotten her into fights at school, ended two promising relationships at university, and earned her a reputation for being “difficult” at school. And now, if she wasn’t careful, it was going to get her kicked out of Bell.
“No you don’t,” she said flatly. “But if you think that a bit of cold weather will put off the protesters, then I just think you’re misguided.” The young man looked at her incredulously.
Okay, this isn’t good, she thought, annoyed with herself, but at the same time rather pleased at the reaction she was getting. What bit of “keep a low profile” has my brain not understood?
The older guy smiled slightly at the younger man, as if to say “Don’t worry, it isn’t worth it,” which made Jen even more irritable, but since he hadn’t actually said anything, she kept her mouth shut and the four of them stood in total silence until the doors pinged open on the seventh floor, Jen’s cue to leave.
She walked out, but just as the doors were closing, put her hands up to stop them.
“Just so you know,” she said quickly, “it might actually be an idea to talk to the protesters. They are human beings, and if you were to treat them with a bit of respect and demonstrate that you’re not too arrogant, or too paranoid, to discuss your ideas, then you never know, you might actually work something out. If they want open space, Milton could offer to buy more land than it needs and to keep the remainder as a playground or park. Maybe they could try to understand that along with cut price milk and bread, communities like having places to run around in, too.”
The four men were looking at her with open mouths, and she smiled sweetly. “But I’m sure you’ve already thought about all of that, haven’t you,” she added, her sarcasm only thinly veiled. “Delaying things and just hoping that the protesters will get bored of protesting sounds like a really good idea, too.”
Learning curves: a novel of sex, suits, and business affairs Page 5