She picked up her accounts and stared at them desultorily. Green Futures owed . . . well, as far as she could make out, they owed more than they could hope to make in five years. Perhaps Dashed Hopes would be a more suitable name for the firm. Or even No Futures. How had she convinced herself that everything was fine? And where was Paul when she needed him most? He’d barely been here lately—probably deserting a sinking ship, and who could really blame him?
Harriet smiled ruefully. She felt suddenly older as she experienced the hindsight that one has when something is over. What had she wanted to do when she started out—save the world? No, that’s what she’d told herself and everyone else, but in reality it was more basic than that. And far less noble. She’d wanted to prove a point. She’d wanted to show George just how wrong he was.
Harriet sighed. She had been so in love with George back then. He had been . . . dazzling. Exciting. And she’d loved working with him, even though he was the most pigheaded man. They’d disagreed constantly, of course, but she hadn’t minded that; it meant they’d enjoyed big arguments, debates that would last for days, making her feel alive and part of something.
What she couldn’t take was when George stopped arguing with her and ignored her instead. Not long after they were married, she found out about meetings that she hadn’t been invited to. Then, when she came back from maternity leave, she found her number of clients dwindling. George had said it was because of Jen; Harriet was a mother now and she was needed at home. But Harriet hadn’t wanted to be at home, stuck with a bunch of nappies and awful women who thought that just because she had a baby, she wanted to spend her time talking to them about the joys of breast-feeding. She couldn’t bear being left on her own night after night while George went out entertaining clients, meeting his friends for drinks. She couldn’t take his looking through her, the suspicion that he was no longer truly in love with her.
And then Malcolm Bray moved onto the scene.
Harriet turned and stared out of the window. Malcolm had been the opposite of George. They might have gone to school together, but that was the only thing they had in common. Where George was brash and loud, Malcolm was quiet and thoughtful. Where George was impulsive and decisive, Malcolm was methodical and took his time. And where George spoke his mind, Malcolm was secretive—not that Harriet had realized at the time, of course. It had taken Malcolm two years to seduce her, two years to play on her emotions, convincing her that George was having an affair himself; that if he truly loved her, he wouldn’t leave her alone night after night.
Harriet shook her head at her stupidity. Two years to seduce her and two months to break her. Then he’d walked away, telling her he had no use for her anymore. He’d got what he wanted—he’d metaphorically screwed his old school friend, the one he’d been jealous of ever since George was made head boy and got into Cambridge in spite of breaking half the rules of the school and barely looking at his books, while Malcolm, the one who worked hard and did everything by the book, achieved neither.
“Harriet?” Malcolm said irritably. “Have you been listening to a word I’ve said?”
Jen and George walked silently down the stairs into the basement car park where his Jaguar was waiting for them.
They got in and George started the engine, negotiating his way around the car park and emerging into the bright sun of St. James.
“Paul Song,” Jen asked flatly. “Why was he calling you?”
George put on the radio.
“I said, why was Paul Song calling you?”
“He called me, did he? That’s interesting.”
Jen rolled her eyes in irritation. “You say you want me to trust you, but I don’t. And the reason I don’t is because you lie, you keep secrets, and you don’t even seem to be embarrassed about it.” She stared ahead as she spoke, feeling stronger without her father’s eyes boring into her.
“That’s the point of trust,” George said, his voice full of tension. “If I told you everything, you wouldn’t need to trust me, would you? Trust involves taking a risk, suspending disbelief. Wouldn’t you say?”
Jen turned to look at him. He was staring ahead, and a vein in his forehead was throbbing violently. “I don’t know why you’re coming,” she said after a short pause. “Unless, of course, you’re worried that Mum’s getting close to the truth.” She looked quickly at her father to check his reaction, but there was no sign of any emotion on his face.
“Right,” he said eventually. “Well, here we are.”
Jen nodded as they pulled up outside the building. “You can’t park here,” she pointed out. “You’ll get towed away.”
George looked at her. “Let’s consider it expensive valet parking, shall we?”
He turned off the engine, and they both got out, George pulling out his mobile phone as they did so.
“Paul,” Jen heard him say. “Yes, we’re outside Green Futures right now. About to go in. You’ll make the calls? Good, see you shortly.”
Jen opened her mouth to ask a question, then thought better of it. She had an uneasy feeling that she was going to get her answers soon enough.
Harriet was trying to stay detached, to act professionally. This was a business deal, she kept telling herself. It was the only way.
But even as the words ran through her head, she felt herself want to shout “No!” This wasn’t how things were meant to turn out. She’d never be able to live with herself if she went ahead and signed her soul over to the devil—or, rather, to Malcolm Bray. But what choice did she have? It was do or die, and Harriet wasn’t entirely sure which was preferable.
She looked at Malcolm and shivered slightly.
“You know what our brochure says?” she asked.
Malcolm shook his head.
“It says that Green Futures will only work with companies with the same goals and aims as ours. To build a better world. To work with stakeholders instead of against them. To be fair in our dealings, to be a positive force in the community . . .”
Malcolm nodded sagely. “And that’s why we’re so keen to work with you. To . . . support you.”
There was the hint of a smile on his face, and Harriet wanted to throw something at him.
“I thought that the subtext to your mission statement was ‘to get back at Bell Consulting’ anyway,” Malcolm continued. “Let’s just file this little contract under that heading, shall we?”
Harriet stared at him coldly. The worst thing was, he was right. She had wanted to get back at Bell, to get back at George. But now she wasn’t even sure about that anymore. She wasn’t sure about anything. And she was running out of time.
“Look, Harriet, let’s not worry too much about out-of-date strategies,” Malcolm said amiably. “Let’s just sign the contract. Axiom will pay off your debts, your firm will be saved, we’ll tell the world that we’ve realized what an error it was to work with an unethical and ruthless company like Bell Consulting, and we’ll have a nice press conference where you can tell all the papers about our rebuilding program.” He motioned at the pen Harriet was holding.
“And you really think they’ll believe you knew nothing about it?”
“They want someone to blame, and they’ll have Bell Consulting. That’ll keep the papers full for months.”
“But . . . ,” Harriet said, her hand trembling, “but what if I don’t believe you . . .”
Suddenly Malcolm’s jovial veneer evaporated. “Harriet, my dear, I would be very careful what you say from now on. This contract, this deal, is being offered on the basis that you fully accept our position. That Bell Consulting, without our knowledge, orchestrated a number of illegal and immoral deals last year on our behalf, but without our knowledge, following the tsunami tragedy. That they have subsequently been paying off officials in order to keep these deals a secret because they discovered that we weren’t interested in any work that wasn’t rightfully ours. That we are as angry and upset as everyone else, now that we know the truth. That we have turned to Green Futur
es because we cannot continue to work with an unscrupulous man like George Bell.”
“And the buildings that fell down? The regulations that weren’t followed?”
“A tragedy, for which people will lose their jobs. I think we can probably pin that on Bell, too, if we really put our minds to it.”
Harriet closed her eyes briefly. What they were doing would destroy George. But he deserved it, surely? She’d have liked George and Malcolm to go down together, but surely one was better than none? She was doing the right thing, she told herself. If only she could get rid of the feeling of nausea.
“But how do you know the truth now?”
Malcolm smiled. “We have a source in Indonesia who will testify to the fact that Bell Consulting has been bribing him. Don’t worry, Harriet, I’ve taken care of all the details.”
“And . . . what if I don’t sign? What if I don’t believe you had nothing to do with it?”
Malcolm looked at Harriet coldly. “You wouldn’t be so stupid,” he sneered. “You wouldn’t risk George Bell watching you go under, proving him right all along. And anyway, if you don’t sign, you could just find yourself implicated in this whole business.”
Harriet frowned. “Don’t talk rubbish, Malcolm.”
Malcolm smiled again. “You mean you don’t know, Harriet?”
She shook her head and narrowed her eyes.
“I thought you would have realized,” Malcolm said smoothly, “that one of your employees has been the conduit for the various bribes that have moved from the U.K. to Indonesia. Your friend Paul Song has, I believe, been very helpful to George, moving money around, introducing him to the right officials. Of course, now he’s happy to testify on our behalf, but if you prefer, I’m sure he could point the finger at you . . .”
“Paul . . . ?” Harriet gasped.
Malcolm laughed. “Yes, Harriet, Paul. And this from the woman who thinks she’s such a good judge of people!”
“You’re lying,” Harriet spat. “You are lying to me.”
Malcolm shook his head. “Nice chap, I thought. Met him in Indonesia more than a year ago. Very helpful and very well connected. It was my idea that he come to you, actually. I rather liked the irony of our contact working for Harriet Keller.”
He was chortling now, his face full of self-satisfaction, and Harriet was white.
“I don’t believe you.”
“You know, I don’t really care if you do or not. Let’s just get on with it, shall we?”
Harriet slumped back in her chair. Not Paul. Not her confidant. It was too much to take in at once. She had failed so spectacularly at running her business, and now it turned out that the only person she truly trusted was the person she should have despised.
If only she’d done things differently, she thought desperately. If only . . .
Slowly Harriet looked up and faced Malcolm. She was hemmed in; she was in checkmate. If she signed, she would save her firm, but she would lose everything else including the ability to sleep at night. If she didn’t sign, the firm would be dissolved, she’d have nothing left. . . .
She sighed and steeled herself. George was right, she told herself. Business was about making money. By ignoring that little fact, she’d ended up here, doing the very thing she had gone into business to avoid.
“Well, then,” she said eventually, her spirit broken. “Let’s get on with it, shall we?”
“Which floor?” George asked as a bemused receptionist watched him and Jen approach the lifts.
“You’ll need to sign him in,” she said to Jen, pointing at George. “You can’t just . . .”
But, too impatient to wait for the lifts, they had already opened the door to the stairwell and disappeared behind it.
“Right, so you need to sign here on the front page; initial the paragraph on page three, and then sign here, here, and here. Oh, and we’ll need a couple of witnesses.”
Malcolm got up. “Shall I get your secretary to be one?” he asked.
Harriet nodded. This isn’t really happening, she told herself. It’s all just a terrible dream.
She took the pen that Malcolm was holding and started to write.
29
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Jen, positioned behind her father, saw Harriet’s face look up in shock as the door flew open and her ex-husband appeared in front of her. “What . . . what are you doing here, George?” she asked, her face going white. “Jen . . . what . . . I don’t understand.”
Jen opened her mouth to speak, but George got in there first.
“I was rather thinking of asking my friend Malcolm what he is doing here,” he said sternly, walking into the room.
Jen followed, and perched on a chair. The tension in the room was electric—Malcolm staring angrily at George, her mother looking as if she was about to throw up, and her father prowling around the room like a caged tiger about to pounce.
“Signing something, Harriet?” he asked, his eyes falling on what looked like a contract.
Malcolm carefully picked up some papers and edged them across the table so that they partly covered the pages in front of Harriet. “Nothing of any interest to you, George,” he said with a little smile. “Just a little bit of business. How are things, by the way? We must do lunch sometime . . .”
“Lunch. Yes, of course,” George said thoughtfully, then he shook his head.
Jen looked at him with disdain, and then at her mother. Whatever was going on here made her sick to her stomach. As far as she was concerned, they all deserved one another, and a lot more. Was all business conducted in this way, she wondered—dodgy deals behind closed doors, threats and promises issued like banknotes?
“You see, the trouble is, Malcolm,” George continued, “I’m not really the sort of person who can have lunch with a double-crossing bastard like you.”
Jen frowned, surprised, and Malcolm looked up quickly. “George,” he said in a warning voice. “Not here.”
“Oh, I think here is the perfect place and time, don’t you?” George said quickly as Jen and her mother watched in silence. “Let me guess what’s going on here. Harriet, you’re broke and Malcolm here is desperate. I smell a deal. . . .”
Jen stared at him. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said irritably. “Mum would never do a deal with someone like Malcolm Bray. If anyone round here is doing a deal with him, it’s more likely to be you . . .”
She looked at Harriet for support, but noticed that her mother was staring firmly at the table in front of her. Then she noticed the pen in her hand.
“Mum?” Jen said quickly. “Mum, tell him it isn’t true . . .”
“I just wanted to save my firm,” Harriet said quietly. “Your father had dug his own grave, and I saw an opportunity . . .”
“You were going to do a deal with Malcolm Bray?” Jen asked incredulously.
“Is doing one,” Malcolm said immediately, standing up. “Look, George, I don’t know what kind of a circus you’re trying to create here, but it’s too late. I’ve already tipped off the authorities that you were orchestrating that terrible corruption scandal—and Harriet has agreed to take us on as a client now that Axiom obviously wishes to distance itself from Bell Consulting. If I were you, I’d be worrying about my own future, not interfering in our business.”
Jen stared at Malcolm, then at her father. “So it is true,” she gasped. “You were behind it. You . . . you bastard.”
George’s face remained stony. “Harriet, put down that pen.”
Harriet looked at him defiantly. “Don’t tell me what to do, George. Don’t ever tell me what to do.”
“Please, then. Please put down the pen. Don’t let yourself down, Harriet. Don’t let everything come to this.”
Harriet’s hand moved slightly toward the contract. “I don’t have any choice, George,” she whispered. “There’s nothing else for me to do.”
He frowned. “There’s always an alternative. We’ll bail you out if you need funds.
Jesus, you don’t sell your soul to the devil the minute things get tough.”
“Maybe Dad could pay some bribes for you,” Jen said caustically. “Couldn’t you, Dad?”
George turned and stared at her. “You really hate me, don’t you?” he asked sadly.
“I don’t hate you, Dad, I despise you. For letting me believe you. For letting me think I had a father again. I trusted you.”
“And could you trust me again? If I asked you to? Now, I mean?”
Jen frowned. “Why should I?”
“Just because. Do you?”
Jen hesitated, taking in her mother’s hesitant hand, her father’s serious face. She had no idea what she thought of anything anymore. But deep down, she did want to believe that her father wasn’t involved, that there was some perfectly reasonable explanation. Even though she knew it was highly unlikely, her heart wanted to trust him.
“Fine,” she said quietly. “But if you let me down . . .”
George nodded. “Malcolm’s right, I was behind it all,” he said slowly as Jen watched him like a hawk. “Or, rather, I was behind the latest string of deals. I was rather baffled as to how Axiom kept winning contract after contract in Asia, when I knew just how shoddy their work was, and when I heard on the grapevine that there was money changing hands I was . . . well, I was intrigued.”
Malcolm was looking at George with suspicion, but it was Harriet who spoke.
“I knew it,” she said suddenly. “I knew it was you. And you knew Paul was involved all along and you let me work with him, let me trust him—”
“Paul?” Jen interrupted. “What’s Paul got to do with it?”
“Ask your father,” Harriet glowered. “He’s the one who enjoys playing with people.”
Learning Curves Page 25