Jo approved of his attention to, and knowledge of wine.
“It’s just not, well, the car I imagined you in.”
“Hmm, so you spend time imagining me then, do you?”
Jo was flustered. “No, I hadn’t specifically imagined your car, but if I had, I’d picture you in, I don’t know, a classic Porsche or maybe a rugged Land Rover.”
Ben sighed. “Well you and Purdy can unite in criticizing my choice in cars. Although it appears Purdy has found a solution.”
“What, traveling by taxi?”
Ben shook his head and produced a copy of the latest Here! magazine.
“I don’t usually read this rubbish, but sometimes it’s hard to ignore.”
On the front cover was the headline, “Purdy Cooks Up an Italian Dish”, and below was a picture of Purdy and a man sitting in a Lamborghini locked in a passionate embrace. Jo couldn’t stop herself flicking to the center pages where there was a full three page exposé. It identified the mystery man as an Italian aristocrat and displayed numerous paparazzi snaps of the pair enjoying romantic trysts. In the corner of the last page was a small stock photo of Purdy with Ben, identifying him as the ex.
“Ben, I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry, I suppose.” Although she felt badly for Ben, Jo had to acknowledge that there was part of her that did not feel sorry at all.
Ben took back the magazine. “That’s OK. I’m relieved mostly. Let’s just say we had different priorities in life. The ending was as public as she wants her whole life to be. The paparazzi will be delighted too. I was an exceedingly boring subject.”
“I couldn’t imagine anyone less boring,” Jo blurted out, before turning away, immediately embarrassed.
Ben drew back her dripping hair behind her ear and gently turned her face back towards him.
“And, you, Josephine, are proving to be quite an adventure.”
Jo leaned forward resting her forehead on his. She closed her eyes, aware only of his presence and their soft breathing becoming closer. The raw sentiments of the day overcame her and Jo hungrily moved her lips towards Ben’s, the action bringing a welcome obliteration of all thought.
With the sound of a sudden almighty clap of thunder, Jo and Ben sprung apart. Jo looked away, the day’s events careering back and quelling the moment.
“We’d better get moving then,” said Ben in an overly business-like tone.
Jo quickly agreed and asked him to take her to the Barbican. Any plotting of their next moves had to wait. Jo was asleep before they had left Cambridge and didn’t wake up until they pulled into the Barbican parking lot.
Jo climbed out of the car. The strong emotions of the morning hung between them, with neither sure what to say.
“Thank-you,” said Jo simply, “I’ll call you.”
As Jo turned the key to enter her parents’ apartment she could hear the sound of chattering. When she turned the corner to look down the corridor and into the living room, she saw her mother setting down a tray laden with tea and scones. Nancy Lavelle was talking to someone who was sitting in the sofa with his back to Jo. Her mother waved as she saw Jo.
As Jo made her way down the corridor, the guest rose and turned to greet her also. Simon Wright smiled with his best attempt at relief and compassion.
“Jo, we are so pleased to see you’re back. It looks like you’ve had quite a day already.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Jo stood just outside the living room, her appearance muddy, her shoes in hand. She was too drained to show, or even feel any reaction to Wright’s presence, and she was finished with running away. Besides, she thought, at twenty-two stories up the options for a quick escape were rather limited.
Jo’s mother looked expectantly at her, while Jo’s father just glanced up at her. The only movement was Wright unconcernedly sipping his tea and looking affably at each of his hosts in turn. Wright was also the one to break the silence.
“Nancy, I must say, these are the most delicious scones.”
Jo didn’t want to alarm her parents, but also wanted Wright out of their apartment. Immediately. His very presence sickened her given her suspicion that Wright was also implicated in Radcliff’s death. Still standing in the hallway, she finally managed to mumble the need for a shower.
Wright, his mouth half full, set down his plate and apologized as if he had only just registered the tension in the situation.
“Of course, of course. Just wanted to make sure Jo got home safely. The office received word from Charles Bray that the events of today had left her a little distraught, and the welfare of our employees is of our highest concern. But I must be going anyway.”
He turned to address Jo’s father. “You know how it is. The markets never stop.”
“I don’t know actually, but allow me to show you out, Mr. Wright.”
Jo’s mother was now glowering at both her husband and daughter, admonishing their lack of hospitality. Wright went to shake hands with Nancy Lavelle, but instead was enveloped by a hug, much to his obvious unease.
Jo’s father rose from his armchair, standing a good eight inches taller than Wright, and briefly shook his hand, while still observing Jo. As Jo’s father went to accompany Wright to the door, Jo finally moved to escort him out instead.
Wright talked loudly as they made the short walk down the corridor.
“Even in the few hours you’ve been gone, the firm is already missing you, Josephine. You have become such a great asset in so short a time.”
They made the turn into the small entrance hall by the front door, where they were hidden from the view of Jo’s parents in the living room. The change in Wright was instant. His smile vanished as he moved toward Jo, his voice settling between a whisper and a hiss.
“Well it seems that Bray has really outdone himself this time and finally hired someone who is just a little bit too smart.”
Jo stared back at him, determined not to give him the satisfaction of any reaction. Wright continued.
“Now, why don’t we get back to work and put these little incidents behind us. We have some large transactions coming up, and,” he added sarcastically, “we could certainly use your intellectual prowess. For now.”
Jo thought that what Wright really wanted was to know her whereabouts for sixteen hours a day, and to be able to monitor what she was doing and who she was talking to.
What Wright did not know was that Jo was actually pleased to be welcomed back. Although their motives differed, Jo and Wright’s desires for her to return to work were aligned. In one sense they were exactly aligned, both wanted to keep their friends close but their enemies closer.
Jo took on a business tone, talking loud enough to be heard by her mother, who she was sure would be craning to hear.
“It was so considerate of you to come by. I appreciate the firm’s concern. I am actually looking forward to getting back to work since it will help to take my mind off what was such an unfortunate accident.”
Jo observed Wright intently scanning her face, looking for meaning behind her words, but Jo’s demeanor remained stoic. Wright eventually appeared to relax a little.
“Good girl,” he said. Then louder, “I shall see you tomorrow then.”
As Jo was closing the door on the guest, Wright turned, pushing the door slightly open again.
“Oh, and thank your parents for their hospitality. Such nice people. I’m so glad I had the opportunity to see where they live.”
Jo made her way directly to the shower. Afterwards, she quickly prepared herself a sandwich and went straight to her room, leaving her mother looking concerned and perplexed.
“Let her be,” advised Jo’s father. “She will come to us when she needs our help. We have to trust her, dear.”
Jo lay down and consciously refused to dwell on the day’s events. She knew there was no turning back now, but she willed herself one last night of deep sleep before she delved back into the dangerous labyrinth that was becoming her existence. It was a laby
rinth where she resolved to explore every dark corner.
Jo turned up for work the next morning, early, rested and impeccably dressed. She did not yet have a specific plan, but she was determined in one respect. She wanted to prove that Wright was correct, that they had finally hired someone too smart.
Jo was proactive in confronting Bray. She presented herself in his office, her manner efficient and professional, and announced that she was ready for her next assignment.
Bray was equally professional in return. A form of charade tango dance ensued, with each furtively monitoring the other with sideways looks, but both dancing their roles to perfection.
Jo returned to her desk with her new task. Bray had given her a day to complete it, but Jo knew she would only need half that time. She opened up some files on her computer and printed out some annual reports that she spread out on her desk to give the appearance of legitimate work.
She then surreptitiously drew out from her briefcase a new notebook that she had purchased on the way to work. Wary of her every move in the company being monitored, Jo didn’t want to leave an electronic trail or even want to use any company stationary for the project she had planned. She smoothed open the first blank page. Jo knew this would be the most important assignment in what would undoubtedly be a short financial career. If the project gathered enough hard evidence to reveal the truth about Butterfly and its owners, then her embroilment in the scandal would make other employers wary, and if her intentions were discovered before she had enough proof, then… Jo abruptly stopped her train of thought.
Jo told herself to approach the situation like any mathematical or experimental problem. Jo could almost hear Radcliff’s wise voice. Gather the facts. Play with them. Leave them alone. Come back. Ask for help if you need it. And again, always stick with the facts, those which you observe, not merely what you want to see.
Jo wished she could write everything on a large white board. She had always found it easier when she could physically stand back and see the whole picture. In these circumstances, however, she imagined it might compromise the covertness of her operation. The notebook would have to suffice. Jo started to write, sticking to the facts and being careful not to draw inferences.
Within two minutes, she had compiled a list: Conversation between Bray and Ives in hallway; IBC trade; Money Trust trade; documents on Butterfly’s system prior to Money Trust trade execution; whistleblower’s disappearance; questions about Bray’s proprietary model; Radcliff’s death; Eric’s warning.
Jo also compiled a list of people she trusted and believed could be of help, whether they were inclined to get involved or not: Ben; Chris; Adam; Serge.
She then added a question mark next to Serge’s name. She wondered if the language barrier had led her to infer a false sense of a complicit lack of deference toward their employer.
What she had written barely filled half a page and Jo briefly felt despondent. But then she looked at “Radcliff’s death” on the list and her resolve hardened once more.
Jo’s cell rang.
“Where are you?” asked Ben.
“At work,” replied Jo. She could hear his intake of breath.
“Coming from someone who has been in some scary situations, including direct bullet fire, I have to say you have balls,” he told her, adding, “in the best possible way of course.”
“Actually, I wasn’t given a choice, although I had already made one.”
Jo told Ben about the visit from Wright.
“So, now you’re back in the lair, do you have a plan?”
“Not exactly. But I do have a list.” Jo read off the items and people on the page in front of her, explaining who the other individuals were.
“Although things are currently a little awkward with Adam. An apparent misreading of signs on my part when it came to some after work drinks.”
“Hmm, a little competition, I like that,” said Ben.
“Competition for what? I think the plan is we work as a team.”
“Yeah, but there’s always a number one hero.”
“Well what if that part’s already been taken, and it’s a heroine?”
“OK, number one heroine’s sidekick. You’ll have to inform this Adam chap that I have already won the ‘chasing you in the rain challenge’ and earned extra bonus points for retrieving your shoes and purse.”
“Ah, but can you get behind Butterfly’s firewall and hack all of their protected files?”
“Sadly not,” admitted Ben.
“Then it sounds like the game is not over.”
“Well I hope the prize is worth it.”
“Maybe you’ll never know. But we’ll start with what can you do for me today?”
“As a matter of fact, you can add to your list. Money Trust’s whistleblower has been located. My contact at the FT tracked him down to his mother’s place just outside Birmingham, and I’m going to pay him a surprise visit tomorrow.”
“Excellent work, I shall add your points to the competition scoreboard. In the meantime, I’m going to call your rival.”
“Be gentle with him.”
Jo hesitated for a few seconds then quickly dialed Adam’s extension. He picked up within half a ring.
“Jo.”
“Adam?”
There was a period of silence and then both spoke at once.
“I’m glad you called,” said Adam
“Sorry I haven’t called before,” apologized Jo.
Once again silence ensued.
“OK, let’s just admit it,” offered Jo, “this is awkward.”
“Yeah, slightly.”
“But I’d like us to go for a drink again,” continued Jo. “I’m inviting you this time.”
“Jo, you don’t have to.”
“OK, how about some coffee this afternoon? I’ll slip out around three, if you can do the same. How about Agnelli’s around the corner? Great cappuccinos…”
“I’m not sure.”
“OK, you’re really making me work for this. I’ll throw in an iced bun too. Come on, one word. Yes?”
Finally, after a slight delay and an audible exhale, “Yes.”
In the time between her conversation with Adam and three o’clock, Jo applied herself to the assignment Bray had given her. She worked quickly and efficiently, but with a part of her mind constantly mulling over the evidence, trying to find a way to piece together a more substantial case. She had some misgivings about involving someone from inside the firm, but she was going to need Adam’s help, and to gain it was going to require some explanations.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
At 2.50 pm, Jo stopped by Bray’s secretary’s desk. She hadn’t yet decided if Amanda’s permanent vacant expression was just a clever scheme to prevent anyone from asking her to do anything, or if Amanda, was indeed, vacuous. She strongly suspected the former.
“I have a dental appointment,” Jo informed Amanda.
“Another one?”
Jo looked rueful.
“Yes, unfortunately. I suppose I should have paid better attention to my oral hygiene. Um, where’s Dr. Bray this afternoon?”
“At the Board’s quarterly meeting.”
“And when will he be back?”
Amanda shrugged. “I don’t know. Not before five I think.”
Judging by the array of fashion magazines and a full manicure kit laid out, Amanda was obviously confident that Bray’s return wasn’t imminent.
Agnelli’s was a tiny café squeezed into a row of buildings in an obscure side street. Café was, in fact, too grand a word to describe it. It could be more aptly described as a sandwich bar with a few small formica tables squeezed into corners.
A faded painted sign above its windows declared “Agnelli’s Est. 1952”, proud evidence that it had survived the City’s many changes and advances. At lunch time, a line of twenty or thirty people commonly snaked along the pavement outside. Each member willing to set aside pressing business for the sandwiches made from fresh toasted f
ocaccia bread, and also to be mothered and cajoled by Agnelli’s Italian matron, “Mama”, who ruled the establishment and sent her sons scurrying around with bursts of orders in rapid Italian.
At three in the afternoon there was no line, and only one table was occupied by an old City gent dressed in a pinstriped suit and reading The Economist. Jo thought he was probably quietly lamenting the days when three hour lunch breaks were perfectly acceptable. Jo chose a table at the back and surveyed the entrance.
Adam arrived a minute after Jo, and sat opposite her without saying a word. Jo ordered two large cappuccinos and an outrageously large iced current bun for them to share.
Adam appeared nervous, fidgeting and looking around. Jo attempted to put him more at ease.
“Look Adam, about the last time we went out, I’m sorry if…”
Adam cut her off. “Look Jo, forget about that. I think it was the wine. Anyway, it doesn’t matter now.”
Adam sounded genuine in his dismissal of the incident and Jo was surprised to find that she, or at least her pride, was offended, despite consciously reminding herself that this was the best outcome.
Their order was unceremoniously plonked down in front of them by a smoldering Italian teenager obviously willing the end of his shift. The cappuccinos were mounds of perfectly frothed foam over rich dark espresso. Jo stabbed a little petulantly at the froth, her princess archetype sulking at the slight affront from Adam.
“But I’ve been wanting to talk to you, anyway,” continued Adam, “to warn you, in fact.”
Jo was taken aback. The word ‘warn’ immediately took her back to her conversation with Eric at Radcliff’s memorial service, and the warning he had given, in no uncertain terms.
Jo wondered if she had made a terrible mistake of confidence and whether Adam might be part of the whole scheme, and had been sent to caution her in the same way that Eric had.
“I don’t know what you’ve been up to, although I suspect I might be better off without the details, but what I do know is that you are generating a major amount of interest,” elaborated Adam.
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