by R J Gould
Now, a few months on, she questioned her mathematical analysis. If she had combined security and kindness as one score she would have got an average of just 5, not enough to justify marriage. Yes, she should have put them together first time round.
She looked up having placed her order for a spice rack to see Henry hovering by her side. He indicated that he was waiting to take her to Kensington and Knightsbridge. She intended to purchase not one, but two outfits. Something upmarket, classy but conservative to impress Reginald and his woman at the engagement party. Then another set, rather more overtly sexy, for another event she was in the process of organising with a considerable amount of trepidation and guilt.
In the end she found both outfits at Harvey Nichols, ignoring Henry’s obvious discomfort about the cost and his puzzlement about the need for two sets of clothes. He reverted to his usual surrender by telling her that she looked adorable in both and insisting on paying. Even getting his generous £600 made Fiona feel angry.
‘What about something for you, Henry?’
‘I’ve got plenty of things to wear. Let’s just get home, beat the rush.’
Reginald Montague
Reginald had been pacing up and down the living room but now he sighed and dropped down into the beige leather armchair.
‘Look, Nigel. You assured me it would cost four and that is the maximum I want to pay.’ Suzie came in, pointing at her watch.
‘Nice,’ he mouthed.
‘I’m not pointing at the watch, I’m pointing out the time.’
‘Sorry. No, I’m not saying sorry to you, Nigel, because there is nothing to apologise to you about. You should be apologising to me for all the aggravation … Trying the best you can is not good enough, it was you who said we’d get it for four, without doubt you said and … Look I can’t up the rent to cover it, I’ve got tenants all set to move in. If the deal isn’t finalised this weekend I’ll lose them. That’s one hell of a lot of office space to refill.’
Suzie was pointing again. ‘I’m just putting you on hold for a sec, Nigel. Suzie, this is really important, I have to sort it.’
‘You said we could have the whole day together to shop, Reginald.’
‘I’m really sorry, Suzie. You head off and I’ll meet up later. Whatever you buy I’m sure it will be stunning. I’m back, Nigel. Listen, I want you to call their legal team as soon as I put down the phone and let them know that it’s decision time, no more discussions. Then call me straight back and I can come over to your office to sign up after you’ve read the small print.’ Suzie was still standing in the doorway. He blew her a kiss and waved. Without responding she turned and walked out. ‘Remember, Nigel, anything over four million and it’s off. Jesus, I’ve already told you I need a big margin on this. I’ve got maintenance to pay, Clarissa’s about to get married, and there’s Suzie. It’s not easy. Nigel, I’m relying on you for this, call me back within the hour.’
Reginald remained slumped in the armchair, his mind racing as he considered contingencies. Four million was a good price for a state of the art office in the centre of London, massively lower than just a few months ago before the property crash. There just might be someone else interested in buying up the offices, though unlikely with money so tight. He was fortunate with only a small borrowing requirement because he could use the revenue from the sale of the Hounslow shopping centre. There were three options; hold fast and refuse to budge on price – this is what he was inclined to do. Otherwise he could go a little higher, say to 4.2, which would hardly affect payback. Or try to get a bit more from the media company keen to move in. No, definitely not the last one, it was a brilliant location and facility, but there was too much spare office space available to take the risk of losing these clients. Hold fast unless a few hundred grand would seal the deal. Nigel was usually good at this, why was it going pear-shaped today?
Then he remembered Suzie and called out her name. There was no reply so he stood up.
‘Suzie?’
He walked through to the kitchen, a haven of shiny steel and bright red. He sat at the Perspex surfaced table and read Suzie’s note, written in the tiny neat lettering that he had always considered somewhat infantile.
Sod you, you bastard. You promised you would give me all your time today and once again you’ve let me down.
He phoned her.
‘Suzie, I’m sorry, but you do know I’ve got to sort this today.’ He waited for a reply, but there was none forthcoming. ‘Jesus, Suzie, you work with me, you know the score on these deals. I can’t lose it, we’d be out of this flat if it doesn’t go through … No, of course that’s not a threat … Well, you know how much I love you and … I’ll have to call you back, I’ve got Nigel on the other line.’
Reginald terminated the call and picked up the landline handset. ‘Hi, Nigel. So what’s happening? … Is that certain? … And they’re OK to meet today? … If I have to, I will, what time do you want me there? … Fine, call back when you know.’
Reginald phoned Suzie. ‘Hi, darling, sorry about that. I think it’s happening today and I’m going to have to meet up with the lawyers … I know, I know, but I promise I’ll make it up to you, starting tonight, my lovely, I’ll … I’m going to have to call back, it’s Nigel again.’
The call to Suzie was once again abruptly terminated, the mobile placed on the table, and the handset picked up. ‘Nigel, all sorted? … Yes, I can make that, see you soon.’
Reginald called Suzie. ‘Hi, sweetie. Please answer, I’d much rather speak to you than leave a bloody message. Anyway, I’ve got to head to the office then across to the lawyers. You buy what you like and I’ll meet you back here. I’m really sorry about this. Bye.’
He filled the retro Dualite kettle and texted Suzie as he waited for it to boil.
Suzie, darling, I promise to make it up to you this evening – in more ways than one! Hope you’ve bought something really nice and put it on my card. Can’t wait to see it tonight. Should be home well before dinner, but will give you a call if I’m going to be later than I’d like. Love you, Reggiekins.
Suzie Ambrose
Suzie opened the Brooks Brothers bag and stroked the black woollen dress that she had just bought. Some wool was so itchy and some, like this, so very soft. It fit her like a glove, highlighting curves that she was proud of. She’d set out to spend as much as possible as an act of revenge and the dress, at £420, had been a good start. And what sets off a black dress to perfection? A pearl necklace, of course. She had found and purchased a beautifully understated one at a tiny antique jewellery shop in Burlington Arcade. It cost £850 and, as with the dress, she had used Reginald’s credit card.
She was drinking tea at Fortnum and Mason, having purchased a black leather Dior clutch bag for £499 at the store. The desire for revenge having waned by then, the irresistible bag had been a genuine wish to obtain something of such beauty. If Reginald moaned about the total bill, she’d pay for that herself. That was it really, she had enough shoes to select from to wear with the outfit at home and she was fine for jackets and coats, too. Reginald liked her to buy new underwear whenever she shopped for clothes and then to try them on and take them off in front of him at home. He’d put on one of her G-strings a while back, thinking he was being erotic when all she could do was laugh – at him, not with him. She had no intention of playing those games tonight.
She poured another cup of the Royal Blend into the fine white china cup and took the last bite of her berry strudel. Once she’d got over the initial anger, it had been a fun morning – probably more enjoyable without having Reginald there. But that was still beside the point. He’d promised to come and once again had let her down. He really was the most selfish man she’d ever met, and there was a fair bit of competition on that front. He didn’t even know when he was being inconsiderate – he had as much sensitivity as a lump of wood. She was selfish, too. Maybe that was part of the attraction.
Two middle-aged women sat at the table next to her.
Judging by their make-up they were fighting to their death against old age and losing the battle. Both wore felt hats decorated with a single feather, a peacock one in the turquoise hat and ostrich in the mustard coloured hat. Their coats were fur, a jet black mink coat which almost reached the floor and a shorter, reddish-brown coat, probably fox. There was a synchronised removal of hats to reveal far too black and far too red mops of hair for their ages. They spoke softly, Russian, Suzie thought.
She returned to thinking about Reginald, to questions she had revisited many times over the weeks since he had proposed to her and she had accepted. Was agreeing to marry a mistake? Did she love him? If he weren’t loaded would she want to be with him? And what about children? Reginald was already fifty-four, it was unrealistic to expect him to want kids. They hadn’t even discussed it. Some men had children late, usually their second marriage, but how embarrassing for a teenager to have an old man turn up for a parents evening or school play. Did she even want children?
Her friends had mixed views about the relationship. ‘Go for it, Suzie, he’s a very nice man,’ Nadia had told her. But the truth came out when she overheard Nadia talking to Chloe in the gym changing room just a few days after the go-ahead encouragement. ‘Yes, of course she’s only doing it for the money.’
Her mother and father had made their views clear right from the start, even before they’d met Reginald. An age gap of twenty-one years was ridiculous. But what did they know, stuck in Maida Vale their whole adult life without ambition.
She could look back with pride at what she’d done from that poor starting point. Since her teens she’d known she was bright and it was hard to see who she had inherited it from. At one stage she’d considered adoption as a strong probability. She’d never had to work hard at school – very useful as she could excel without accusations of being a swot. A lot of her friends dropped out at sixteen, but she kept going and took A-levels. While others struggled she sailed through with no more than the occasional minimal effort. In fact, her biggest struggle was to keep up with the progress of Duran Duran and Bon Jovi. Her bedroom had been a shrine with wall-to-wall posters. Apart from the pictures, the most important part of her teenage bedroom was the make-up table. She was quick to grasp the value of her power to attract boys and cosmetics were a useful aid.
She’d worked her way through school getting top marks, keeping as much distance as possible between herself and most of the teachers. Then, out of the blue, she was called to the headmaster’s office one day. He sat her down and, avoiding any eye contact, asked her to consider Oxbridge. He didn’t even explain that he was referring to university, and she left the room with absolutely no idea what he had been talking about, other than that it was a jolly good place to go, something that would set her up for life. She looked up Oxbridge on the road atlas in her father’s car but couldn’t find the place. There was just one teacher who she trusted, Miss Leigh, who taught her English and was forever lending her novels.
‘Miss Leigh, what does the word “Oxbridge” mean to you?’
‘It’s a combination of Oxford and Cambridge, Suzie.’
‘But why put them together?’
‘They’re reckoned to be the top universities.’
‘Who does the reckoning?’
‘A good question. Many employers do. Let’s put it this way: they’re the hardest universities to get into.’
‘Mr Fairclough said I should consider them. Should I?’
‘No harm going to have a look.’
Now that she knew what the conversation with the headmaster had been about, she did some investigating, deciding on Oxford as it was the nearer to Maida Vale. Off she went for an open day, but she didn’t like the feel of the place, particularly the signs warning you ‘keep off the grass’. They didn’t even add a ‘please’. Anyway, by then she had decided that she wanted to study Business, which Oxford didn’t offer. With Miss Leigh’s help – actually, Ms Leigh, although by the time she left school it was Jane – she chose Warwick. She got three A grades at A-level and a First in Business Studies three years later.
It soon became obvious that good looks were as important as intelligence in the job market and the graduate recruitment fairs brought several work offers. She chose Rover because the factory was situated close to the university. The decision was based on wanting to be nearby her new boyfriend, who was only in his first year. Actually, that relationship didn’t last the few months between getting the offer and graduating, but she hooked up with one of his friends who was much better. At Rover she was put through a management training programme which was interesting enough, but the job itself was dire. There was an air of resignation and slow stagnation at the company, with the frequent restructuring no more than a gesture; none of the changes tackling the fundamental issue of producing crap cars at too high a price. There was also intense chauvinism, right the way through from assembly line workers to top managers. She got fed up with the wolf whistles as she walked through the assembly line and started wearing trousers instead of skirts.
Then one day her line manager called her in.
‘You know, Suzie, we really appreciate it when pretty girls like you show their legs. It doesn’t half cheer up the boys.’
She told him where to go and stormed into his boss’s suite to complain, ignoring the PA’s attempt to deflect her. Clive Andrews was one of the directors. He smiled as she burst in, told the PA to close the door on her way out, and then had the cheek to tell her that he was hoping to see her legs and a lot more in the very near future. That ended up with a useful fling that helped her to get a series of promotions in the marketing department. The relationship came to an end after his wife found out. Clive told Suzie how much he loved her but that he couldn’t leave his family. She knew then that it was time to move on, so resigned in return for an outstanding reference. No great loss – she’d never been able to get excited about car performance the way the blokes did, and had developed a surge of feminism in protest about the way near-naked girls were used to sell cars at the motor shows.
After Rover she moved back to London for a job at a large accountancy and consultancy firm. Once again, comprehensive training was provided, with absolutely no expense spared. Somehow the organisation didn’t feel right for her; too institutionalised, clone-inducing. She stuck it for a couple of years, and might have stayed on a bit longer, but a fraught relationship with one of the senior partners who wanted to leave his wife for her, when all she wanted was some exposure to wealth, made it impossible to do so.
She drifted a bit after that with a quick succession of jobs, searching for something that earned loads of money and wasn’t too boring. She met Reginald when she was working at an estate agency dealing with London commercial property. The money was excellent, based on bonuses that were easy to get, what with the booming economy. Reginald was the director of a property development company and after working with him to acquire some office space he asked if she’d like to join his organisation. He put forward a convincing argument, though the main enticement was the opportunity to travel since a considerable part of Reginald’s business was international. So she said yes.
Just a couple of months after she’d joined, Reginald called her into his office.
‘Suzie,’ he said, ‘I’m a good judge of character and I can recognise talent a mile off. You have it.’
‘That’s kind of you to say that, Mr Montague.’
‘Enough of the Mr Montague. Reginald.’
‘Reginald.’
‘Suzie, I’d like to teach you personally. I’ve been thinking about the best way forward and I think it’s to make you my PA – on a temporary basis, for now. You’ll be able to attend all the important meetings with me. I do have one concern though; I don’t want others here getting resentful that you’ve become a favourite, so I think the PA route is best.’
It would have been stupid not to accept, she’d been doing rather dull low-level work up to then. She began to travel abroad with him; R
ome, Prague, and Budapest in the first few months, staying in hotels that were second to none.
A couple of months into the job he asked her to join him on a business trip to Manila. Manila! She’d never been anywhere as exotic before. It wasn’t that long ago that her horizons had been limited to Maida Vale, Margate, and Majorca. She looked at an online atlas to see exactly where Manila was.
‘There’s two or three days’ work, but what about staying on afterwards to relax a bit?’ he asked.
She hardly needed a sixth sense to know what was on his mind.
‘White Beach on Boracay is reckoned to be one of the world’s top beaches. It’s just a short flight from Manila. Fancy it?’
She decided on balance that she did fancy it despite his age and the fact that he was married. She’d seen his wife in the office a couple of times. She seemed nice enough, she’d smiled a lot, and chatted to several of Reginald’s senior colleagues. A smart dresser, by no means unattractive but no spring lamb.
‘White Beach. What a lovely name, I’d love to stay on.’
In Manila they stayed at the Dusit Thani, a palatial building with staff shadowing you to make sure that anything you wanted was provided before you even asked. He had reserved separate bedrooms, as he’d done for the Europe trips, and she wondered whether she had misjudged his motives. Each morning after a lavish offering of Eastern and Western breakfast choices, she escorted him into the small meeting room without windows. The walls had long abstract strips of orange, red, and yellow batik running from ceiling to floor. The table and chairs were large chunks of mango wood. Four men joined them and she took brief notes as Reginald skilfully negotiated the purchase of a new hotel to be constructed in the regenerated harbour area. His power impressed her; he was brilliant at engaging with different personalities, gauging their needs, and making them all feel comfortable and trusting all the while manipulating them to get exactly what he wanted.