He follows me into the apartment and I shut the door. There's something strange about having him here, in my home, after all these years. He doesn't fit in at all. He seems so different, it's almost like I'm talking to an entirely new person, but there are just enough traces of the old Duncan Blake left to make me feel on edge. He's almost like some kind of hybrid, combining parts of my old friend with parts of some kind of big business machine. It's disconcerting, to say the least.
"Nice place," he says, looking around the hallway. "Do you live here alone?"
"No," I reply, deciding not to give him any more information than he absolutely needs. "Do you want to come through to the kitchen?" It's weird how formal this conversation seems.
Moments later, as I put some water on to boil for a cup of tea, I find myself completely lost for words. Duncan is standing over by the window, looking out at the overgrown little garden that I've been meaning to clean up for months. There's an awkward silence in the air as I get some cups out from the cupboard. "You still like tea, yeah?" I ask, not turning to him.
"Yeah," he replies.
"What type?"
"Same as usual," he says.
I take a deep breath, remembering all those times when we'd sit around drinking Earl Grey in the student house we shared with a bunch of other people. I put a pair of Earl Grey tea-bags in our cups and wait for the kettle to finish boiling. I figure I can just watch the kettle before turning to look at Duncan, but the water seems to be taking forever to boil and the situation is becoming rather ridiculous. At some point, I'm going to have to turn around and look at him, and I can feel him watching me from across the room. I feel, though, as if I want to come up with the perfect opening line, even though my mind is blank right now.
Finally the kettle boils and I snatch at it, quickly pouring water into the cups. After taking another deep breath, I carry the cups over to the kitchen table and finally find myself face to face with Duncan again. No more hiding. This conversation has to happen.
"Milk?" I ask.
"Who puts milk in Earl Grey?" he replies.
I nod. "I think I might have some," I say, turning and going over to the fridge. The truth is, I don't want milk at all, but I feel this strange need to keep fiddling with things. I guess I'm trying to put off the inevitable conversation we're about to have. Moments later, though, once I've poured milk into my tea, I realize there's no point delaying things any longer.
"So where have you been?" I ask, sitting down. "I mean, it's been a while. You look... different".
"I've been busy," he replies, taking a seat opposite me. He puts his hands into the steam coming from his tea. "Really, really busy. I've been building up business contacts in Hong Kong. Bit by bit, you know? It's been a lot of work, but things are really starting to come together". He pauses for a moment. "How about you?"
"Oh, you know... Working, really," I say, inwardly cursing myself for being so vague. The truth is, I'd hoped to be more successful by my early thirties. "Nothing exciting," I continue, "but getting on with stuff". I look down at my tea for a moment. Damn it, this small-talk is so blatantly pointless. "So, if you don't mind me asking," I say, finally looking back over at him, "what the fuck happened today? Did you seriously just turn up and fire me?"
He stares at me for a moment. "I didn't want you doing that job any more," he says eventually.
I raise my eyebrows, kind of shocked by how blunt he's being. "You didn't want me doing that job any more?" I reply, trying to pick that sentence apart and work out what he means. "What's wrong with that job? I don't get it".
"It was wrong for you," he replies. "You can't honestly tell me that you were fulfilled by... what was it you were doing again? Liaising with clients? Helping them set up marketing budgets? I mean, come on, is that really what you want to do with your life?"
"It wasn't that bad," I say, starting to feel angry that he thinks he's got the right to mess around with my life like this. I mean, so what if my job wasn't the best in the world? At least it was my job and I was working my way up the ladder. I could have been an executive in a few years, maybe even a partner in the firm. "You don't have the right to turf me out of my job," I continue, "and... What the hell am I supposed to do now? I can't afford not to work!"
"You'll come and work for me," he replies calmly. "I have the perfect position for you".
I stare at him. It seems like every time he opens his mouth, he manages to surprise me. "You fired me... so you could hire me back?" I ask.
"Precisely," he says. "I'm a busy man these days, Amy. I travel all over the world, and I need someone I can trust to come with me. Someone smart. Someone who can keep up with a hectic pace. Someone like you. I was starting to think I'd never find the right person for the job, and then... Well, I mean, if you can -"
"Wait a minute," I say, starting to see the pieces of his plan come together. "Let me see if I've got this straight". I take a deep breath. "You bought the company where I worked, and then you fired me. And now you think you can just hire me back as your personal assistant, and I'll come flying around the world with you like some kind of trained dog who does everything you say? This is your big plan?"
He pauses for a moment. "That's not exactly how my thought process worked," he says eventually, looking slightly annoyed at me for calling him up on this behavior. "I simply saw a friend who needed help".
I take a deep breath, trying to understand what's really going on here. "Why did you buy Foster & Mortleby Marketing?" I ask. "I've seen your company's website. There's no way this fits in with the rest of your portfolio, so why did you buy it?" I wait for him to answer. "For me? Did you buy the fucking company purely so you could..." I pause for a moment, realizing that I've stumbled upon the right answer. I feel a chill pass through my body as I finally understand that Duncan has gone to all this trouble... for me. In some weird, twisted way, this is how he's trying to get close to me. "How much did it cost?" I ask, dumbfounded by the whole idea.
"Amy -"
"How much?"
"It doesn't matter how -"
"How. Much?"
He sighs. "A little over twenty-five million pounds".
"Twenty-five million," I say. "For what? It's just a semi-successful little marketing company with a few half-decent clients. It turns a profit, but not enough to justify that kind of price-tag".
He smiles. "Maybe I think I can make it better".
"That's why you bought it?" I ask, finding it hard to believe what he's saying. "Duncan, I know this is going to sound crazy and big-headed, but I have to ask. Did you buy the company just so you could get to me?" I wait for him to answer; I'm desperate for him to tell me I'm talking rubbish, but he just looks down at his cup of tea. "I'm right, aren't I?" I say eventually, feeling my chest tighten at the enormity of all this. "What was the point, Duncan? Control?"
"Not exactly," he replies.
"And what did you think would happen next?" I ask. "You thought you could fire me and then re-hire me as your personal assistant? You thought I'd just go along with that, like a good little girl? Isn't that a slightly fucked-up way of doing things, Duncan?"
"It's a good job," he says, finally making eye contact again. "I'll pay you more than you ever dreamed. You'll get to travel the world, staying in the best hotels, meeting the -"
"You're right," I say. "It is a good job. And if anyone else was offering it to me, I'd snap it up. I'd fucking love it". Taking a deep breath, I stand up and walk over to the door. I'm almost shaking with rage, but I want to stay focused, to stay in control. "But not like this," I say, turning back to him. "I think you should leave, Duncan".
"You're over-reacting".
"Leave!" I tell him firmly. "Or do I need to call the police?"
He gets to his feet and comes over to join me at the door. "There's no reason to be angry -" he starts to say.
"I'm not angry," I say, "I'm..." I pause for a moment. "No, you're right. I'm angry. You were a lot of things back when we were younger, Dunc
an. You were lazy. You were unambitious. You were a deadbeat waster. But at least you weren't a fucking psychopath".
"I don't think -"
"Get out," I say firmly.
"You need a job".
"I'll get one. Without your help. Now get out. You're lucky I'm not suing your ass for wrongful dismissal".
He walks through to the hallway and opens the front door, stepping out into the street before turning back to face me. "Think it over for a week," he says.
"I don't need to," I reply, following him through to the doorway.
"Just a week," he continues. "If at the end of that week you still don't want the job, then I'll get you your old job back at Foster & Mortleby. That's a good deal, isn't it?"
"No," I say. "It's not. I don't need your help. I don't any kind of deal that involves me ever having to see your face again".
He sighs. "You're being irrational. If you think it through -"
"Let me say this very clearly," I tell him, determined to make sure he understands what I'm saying. "There is no way I will ever, ever work for you, okay? No way at all. I'd rather live on the streets. I'd rather die. I'm not even exaggerating. I'd rather die than come and work for you". I stare at him. "So just fuck off". And with that, I slam the door in his face. Finally, away from his gaze, I look down and let the tears rolls down my cheeks. There's nothing to do, nothing to say. I crouch down, sobbing as I try to work out what the hell I'm going to do next.
Four
It's 8am on a foggy November morning and I'm standing on the tarmac at Heathrow Airport, watching Duncan's private jet slowly maneuvering into position. It's been a month since I told Duncan where to stick his job, and now look at me: in my hand, I've got a clipboard that lists Duncan's itinerary for the next month; in my pocket, I've got a mobile phone paid for by Duncan's company, which allows me to keep in touch with key figures from his global empire; and in my ear, there's an earpiece that ensures I'm never entirely disconnected from the complex technological network that has to remain in place in order to keep Duncan's busy lifestyle running smoothly. This is crazy. How the hell did I end up here?
The truth is, I spent about a week looking for another job before it became clear that the London market was a disaster. No-one was hiring, and I was facing the prospect of working as a waitress in a coffee shop. I'm no snob, but waitressing really wasn't part of my planned career progression. Just as I was starting to get really worried, Duncan sent me a peace offering. A letter came, in which he apologized for his actions, accepted that he'd made a mistake, and offered to get my old job back for me. At first I was angry that he'd even try to smooth things over, but finally I decided I shouldn't let anger stop me from accepting Duncan's attempt to undo his mistake. I cautiously accepted his offer, and agreed to meet him. He was contrite and apologetic, and I started to feel as if maybe the whole saga had just been a momentary brain spasm on his part. As we talked, it was as if the old magic was back and we were friends again. In fact, the meeting went so well, I kind of over-reacted and told him I'd take the other job he'd offered. So now here I am, working as his personal assistant and preparing to fly off to Tokyo with him.
Hearing some chatter in my earpiece, I turn and see Duncan walking towards me. He cuts an impressive figure in his black suit and large, dark sunglasses. I've started to feel as if there are two sides to Duncan these days. There's the sharp, impressive businessman; and then there's the real Duncan. When he fired me, he was being the businessman, but now I've got through to the real Duncan and things are working much better. I feel as if he actually respects me and understands that I'm going to do a good job for him.
"Everything ready?" he asks as he reaches me.
"Totally," I reply with a smile. The truth is, Duncan and I work well together. Our old friendship has survived the years, and my attempts to maintain a certain level of professionalism have been fairly successful. We understand how each other thinks, and that means we're able to really gel as a team. "Ready to board when you are".
Once the steps are in place, Duncan walks up to the rear door of the jet. I wait on the tarmac for a moment so I can make a couple of quick phone calls, and then I follow him inside. The interior of the jet is pure luxury, with a bedroom, an office and a lounge area. My job is to make sure that everything is ready for our twelve-hour flight to Tokyo, and so far - even if I say so myself - I'm doing a damned good job. Duncan's plan is to work for the first few hours before grabbing some sleep, in the hope that he'll not be too jet-lagged when we arrive in Japan. He has a series of meetings lined up, the first one starting just an hour after we're due to land. I've already arranged for his luggage to go straight to the hotel, while a limousine will take us to the offices where his first meeting is scheduled to take place. I've worked overtime to make sure that nothing can go wrong, and I'm confident I've covered all the bases. This whole trip is going to be perfect.
"You ever been to Japan before?" Duncan asks as he walks out of the bedroom.
"First time," I reply, double-checking all the items on my clipboard. "I've always wanted to go".
"I won't have any time for sight-seeing," he says, "but you should make sure you get a few hours".
"Maybe next time," I say. "I don't think I-" Suddenly I stop dead as I look up from the clipboard and see that Duncan is wearing only a towel, tied around his waist. There's a shower on-board, so I guess he took the opportunity to freshen up before the flight begins. The old Duncan, the Duncan I knew back at college, was kind of thin and wiry, but he's really shaped up in the intervening years. Frankly, he has the body of a male model, with well-defined and toned muscles. It's a shock to see how much he's changed physically. Flustered, I look back down at my clipboard. "Everything's in place," I say. "We should probably get ready for take-off".
Once we're off the ground and cruising, Duncan goes back to the bedroom and gets dressed, returning moments later in a suit. He opens his briefcase and pulls out some papers, setting them on the small desk.
"I don't think I'll need anything for a while," he says. "Take some downtime".
Realizing I have nothing to do, I head through to the lounge area, where I sit reading some magazines. Eventually the busy schedule starts catching up with me and I fall asleep, only to be woken a short while later by Duncan gently nudging my shoulder.
"Go through to my bedroom," he says with a smile. "You're no use to me in Japan if you're tired. Get some sleep".
I want to argue with him, to fight through the tiredness, but I figure he's right. I head through and relax on the bed, making a mental note to adjust my schedule from now on so that I get enough rest. After all my talk of professionalism, I feel like I've got this a little wrong. It doesn't take long for me to fall asleep, and eventually I'm stirred by a sound in the room. I open my eyes and find that the bedroom is dark, with just a faint light coming through the window. Sitting up, I realize there's a figure on the other side of the room.
"Duncan?" I ask.
"Sorry," he says, "I didn't mean to disturb you. I just needed to grab something from the safe".
I rub my eyes, still waking up. "You have a safe in here?"
"I guess it sounds silly, huh?"
"No," I reply, reaching over and turning on the bedside lamp so Duncan can see what he's doing. "Is there anything I can help with? You should have woken me up".
"Relax," he says, walking back over to the door. "It's all done now. You can go back to sleep".
"I'm fine," I say. "I feel kind of awake now".
There's an awkward pause as he loiters by the door, apparently reluctant to leave.
"What is it?" I ask.
"Nothing," he replies, "just... I guess it's weird seeing you again after all these years. So much has changed, but underneath it all we're still the same people".
I smile. "You'd better believe it. I'm not the one who went off to Hong Kong, didn't contact any of his old friends for years, and then turned up in a nice suit with a private jet".
He
looks a little embarrassed. "Whatever happened to that guy you were dating at the end of college? What was his name again?"
"Dave?" I reply. "We broke up years ago. He was a loser".
"Has there been anyone since?" he asks.
I pause for a moment, wondering why he seems so interested. "No," I say. "Not really. What about you?"
"I've been too busy for a relationship," he says. "I barely get any time to relax".
"Everyone needs some time off," I tell him. "It's unhealthy to go to extremes".
"I guess I'm making up for lost time," he replies, walking over and sitting on the edge of the bed. "I was wasting my life at college. I could easily have ended up just lazing around forever, never achieving anything. So many people let their lives wash past them without seizing a chance to really make something of themselves. I let so many things slip away from me. Maybe the reason I'm so driven today, is that I'm scared I'll slip back to how I used to be".
"Well you definitely changed," I tell him.
"Really?" he asks, seeming surprised. There's another awkward pause. "I guess I have you to thank for that".
"What did I do?" I reply, surprised.
"You told me I needed to change my life. Don't you remember? All those years ago, you told me I was just going to waste everything. It took a while, but I finally listened to you". He pauses for a moment. "Five three eight," he says suddenly.
I stare blankly at him for a moment. "Five three eight?" I ask.
"The combination to my safe," he replies. "It's five, then three, then eight". He pauses for a moment. "Don't laugh, but I actually used your birthday for the code, so I'd remember it".
"My birthday?" I ask.
"May Third, 1980," he replies. "Five Three Eight".
I smile. "Why didn't you use your own birthday?"
"Too easy," he says. "Everybody would be able to guess that".
"All the people trying to break into your safe?" I reply with a smile.
"You never know," he says. "Someone might, one day". He stares at me for a moment. "Amy, do you remember something you said to me once, about seeing something you want and just going for it?"
A Desire for Revenge Page 3