“I can’t go back, Dad,” she continued, in an effort to attract his attention again. “I’m close to signing Vladimir Klebnikoff as a client. The boat he wants me to design could define my career. He’s a Russian millionaire. You might have seen him on Dateline the other night. Leader of the new Russian elite…”
Her father remained inert. Oblivious to her. Refusing to be hurt, she shrugged off the feeling of inadequacy that lingered in every conversation and in every meeting she had with him. She turned away, warming her hands on the fire.
Fang fixed a beady stare of ill-concealed dislike on Paul, who hovered by the door. Catching the soft brown eye, he scowled venomously at the little dog.
“Vladimir Klebnikoff?” asked Paul. The disbelief in his voice made Zani bristle with irritation, though she carefully arranged her expression into cheerful enthusiasm before she turned to respond.
“Yes, isn’t it exciting?”
“Stay away from the Russians, Zani. God, you’re so clueless. Everyone knows they’re corrupt. Their money is dirty. They all have organised crime connections. It’ll only be a matter of time before he gets done for embezzlement, murder or worse,” said Paul, listing each point on a finger.
“Oh, no. He isn’t like that at all. He’s a lovely man. Told me all about his grandchildren, wanted to know everything about my family.”
Paul looked aghast. “What? What did you tell him about me? How could you be so stupid? Tell me exactly what you told him.” He stumbled over to the dresser where glasses and an array of bottles stood and splashed neat scotch into a tumbler.
“Don’t call me stupid,” Zani said through gritted teeth.
“Well, I wouldn’t need to if you weren’t,” Paul snarled. Zani inspected her fingernails and slowly counted backwards from one hundred. Otherwise she’d take the pretty Cellini salt cellar from the fire’s mantelpiece and throw it at him.
“Stop it, both of you,” her father muttered from his chair. He hadn’t looked up from the fire.
Paul had an instant personality change. “Sorry, old man. I can’t believe she’d blab all about us to some Russian Mafia thug.”
Zani fingered the salt cellar longingly. It was made of bronze and would make a sizeable dent. “I didn’t blab anything…”
“I’ll be the best judge of that. Now tell me exactly what you told him,” Paul said.
“Look, I only… I just…” She hesitated, suddenly unsure what she had or hadn’t said. She couldn’t understand why Paul was making such a big deal about it. She’d never be indiscreet.
“Leave her alone, Paul,” her father rumbled. “Zani can accept money from whomever she wants. It’s none of our business.”
“But I just need to know what she said about me,” said Paul, then took a large swig from his drink.
“Vladimir Klebnikoff is very nearly my client and I’m not going back to Sunberri tomorrow. You both got yourselves into this mess; you can get yourselves out of it. I’m sorry, I should have been firmer before and not got involved,” she said.
A look passed between Paul and her father.
“Zani you don’t have any choice…” Paul started the lecture that he’d repeated several times the day before when he’d first convinced Zani to go to Sunberri.
“Paul, be quiet. Let me handle this,” said her father. “As I said yesterday, I own a lot of Sunberri stock, and these leaks onto the Internet are jeopardising the share price of the company.”
“Yes. And I was to go in, find some proof that de Villiers was leaking the information, stop his attempt at a takeover and save you from having to declare bankruptcy if the share price drops any further,” said Zani.
There was a silence, and Zani glanced from one to the other with a gloomy sense of foreboding.
“Tell her the rest, Paul,” her father said, then stood abruptly. Seeming at a loss as to what to do with himself, he went to stand at the tall window and stared out into the blackness of the winter evening.
“I thought the game was a sure thing. I only told him to invest because I thought it would make millions,” Paul blurted out, looking guilty. He raked a hand through his hair, disturbing its careful styling and revealing the thinning patch on top. Sitting in her father’s vacant chair, he finally made eye contact.
“But I still don’t understand why he can’t sell the bloody stock and be done with it.” The night before, when they’d been bullying her into their ridiculous scheme, they’d been suspiciously vague about why her father couldn’t just trade his way out.
“He bought the stock, little by little over time, under different company names…”
“My God. You’ve been insider trading,” Zani interrupted as the pieces fell into place. She stared at Paul in open-mouthed horror. He looked away unable to face her unspoken accusations.
“If he starts to sell the stock in big chunks, the unusual activity will put him on the Financial Services Authority radar. They’ll investigate—and they will investigate, that’s their main reason for being. Ultimately they’ll trace all of the stock back to Dad, and from there to me. Nobody will doubt I told him to buy it.”
His confession over, Paul leaned back in his chair, his arms folded, and watched Zani, gauging her reaction.
“Why didn’t you tell me this yesterday?”
Neither man looked at her. Zani could’ve filled in the silence herself. They hadn’t told her because they were too proud to admit they’d made a mistake. Because she wasn’t a man, because it was secret men’s business and she was just their sister/daughter.
She bit back the ever-present resentment and strove to be calm. Right now a hissy fit, no matter how satisfying, wasn’t going to help.
“Okay, so selling fast isn’t an option. But Dad, if the share price drops, surely you won’t lose everything? I mean Ocean’s Design has got some debts, but I’m sure I could help, and you’ve got other assets. You’d managed if you lost this place.” She waved a hand around the room and tried to sound upbeat.
“Dad’s borrowed against his entire portfolio of shares and taken out a mortgage on both this house and Everwood. He’s invested millions of pounds,” Paul said. Their father hadn’t moved from the window.
“You took out a mortgage on Everwood?” Zani was horrified. Her childhood home, filled with memories of her mother, was treasured by all three of them. Her father remained silent, his shoulders hunched.
“That’s not the end of it,” said Paul. “Not only will Dad lose everything, but, after a lengthy trial, we’ll probably both end up in jail. The FSA would just love to make an example of a peer.”
“Oh God.” Zani buried her face in her hands as her whirling mind tried to take in the full scale of the catastrophe. Fang shifted and sighed softly, and Zani automatically bent to pat her.
“What are you going to do?” she asked. Alcohol was clearly going to help. Standing and stepping over Fang, Zani helped herself to a scotch from the dresser. A six glug scotch. She took a hefty gulp and joined her father gazing out into the bleak garden. The whiskey burned in the pit of her stomach, but did little to soothe. Suddenly the miserable winter night suited her mood. “We need you to stay at Sunberri and find who’s leaking the secrets. It’s the only way,” said Paul.
“Yes, but I still don’t understand why you can’t get some private investigator or something. I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t see how I can help,” she protested.
“We need someone we can trust. If we want to expose de Villiers without jeopardising the company’s share price, we need someone who will treat the matter with the utmost confidentiality. Not some rent-a-sleuth who will blab the whole thing to the papers the moment he gets the chance,” said Paul.
“Yes, but how on earth do you think I’m going to be able to get that sort of information out of him? So far, waltzing in there and looking for it hasn’t done much good. I know, perhaps I could get him drunk and seduce the truth out of him,” she added flippantly.
Her father shifted uncomf
ortably next to her. The awkward silence spoke volumes.
“My God, you discussed it.” She felt ill. She was nothing more than a means to an end. Swigging the scotch and blinking back tears, she wondered about sprinting from the room, never to return.
“It never would have worked. From what we can ascertain you don’t come near the standard that de Villiers expects from his women.”
Zani sucked in a breath at the insult. She carefully placed her drink on a small table, so she wouldn’t throw it at Paul. Stuff them both, they could go to prison together.
“Shut up, Paul,” her father snapped. “Zani, I’m sorry, darling, we need your help.”
Shut up? Is that all he can say? She looked from one to the other in disgust. Her father watched her. For a moment she thought she saw a calculating look cross his face, but then it was gone, and she could see nothing but desperation. Guilt overwhelmed her. She’d promised her mother she’d look after him.
The fight began to go out of Zani and the scotch began to kick in. Feeling weak, she groped for the nearest chair, landing ungracefully on a delicate antique that creaked ominously.
“Please, Zani, I could lose everything, even Everwood.” Her father radiated quiet despair. “We need you to go back, darling, to find out what’s going on.”
Anger and guilt warred. She stared into the half-empty glass. A bit like me, half-empty if I don’t do what they want. They’d be furious, cut her off, then she’d be really, truly alone. Sometimes even the crappiest family was better than no family at all.
“Okay, okay. I’ll go back tomorrow.”
“Zani, darling.” Her father moved beside her and touched her arm in a rare gesture. For a few precious seconds, she basked in his approval.
“I can’t sign this, there’s a mistake.” Corbin loomed over Zani’s desk for the tenth time that morning.
She frowned up at him, her heart sinking. Having barely survived the day before, she’d arrived with fear and trepidation in her heart. Eight hours trying to run an office for a bad-tempered and demanding man. When she made it back to her own office, Karen would get a raise. Her unflappable efficiency would no longer be taken for granted.
“Where’s there a mistake? I spell checked it…” She petered off.
“Read the last line.”
“I am glad that we are able to come to suck an agreement.”
“It should be ‘such an agreement’.”
“Oh.” She tried a winning smile, but let it fade quickly when she caught Corbin’s expression. “I’ll just print off another.” Trying not to panic, she fumbled with the mouse, wondering where the hell she’d saved the document. Corbin’s large and glowering presence made her even more nervous, and she opened file after file, too harassed to even take in what she looked at.
Having him stand so close was a complete distraction. Stressed she’d made a mistake, worried she wouldn’t be able to find the file and look even more stupid, Zani was further distracted when the few remaining brain cells not being worried or stressed occupied themselves being acutely aware of Corbin’s closeness. She wished he would go away.
He sighed faintly and shifted. “I can’t find it with you hovering over me like that. You’re making me nervous,” she snapped, then unwillingly raised her eyes from the computer to meet his.
He stared at her incredulously for a moment, but then, muttering an apology, he disappeared into his office. Zani watched him go, absurdly ashamed that she hadn’t lived up to his expectations.
She had a quiet half-hour; even the phone appeared to be behaving itself, before Corbin reappeared at her desk. He looked better than he had the day before. He must be getting over his cold. Then she glanced away. This man could ruin her family. She’d be happy if he died of pneumonia.
“I’ve got a couple of urgent letters I’d like to dictate to you. Come to my office, please, and bring your shorthand pad.”
Zani wondered what a shorthand pad looked like and grabbed a new Post-It pad and pen.
This was not going to go well.
Ten minutes later she was back at her desk, once more shuddering with embarrassment. It had taken Corbin about three seconds to figure out she didn’t know shorthand. With barely controlled annoyance, he’d painstakingly dictated a letter whilst she scribbled on the yellow pad for all she was worth. She now had to piece it together. It concerned a complex legal agreement, and she started with a distinct sinking feeling. There was no way she was going to get this one right first go. She ran her hand tiredly through her hair and dislodged several bobby-pins from the hairstyle that’d taken over half an hour to perfect. Turning to the loathed computer, she tried to make sense of her desperate scrawls.
Corbin sighed. Instead of reading a long and dry report about the complexities of the financial status of the company, he stood and wandered over to the window. His office in the heritage listed building which Sunberri had turned into its headquarters looked out on Chichester Cathedral. A group of elderly ladies milled about two storeys below, taking photos and listening to a guide who pointed at the bell tower.
He knew he should be considering the juxtaposition of financial models and their relevance to the company’s future marketing strategy. But, for the hundredth time that morning, his thoughts drifted to the temp, who was, no doubt, stressing out next door.
Hunched shoulders and panicked expression behind those terrible glasses aside, there was a spark of humour in her pale green eyes and an impish tilt to her face-splitting smile that somehow made him forget that she was, without doubt, the worst PA he had ever had the misfortune to work with. That fact surprised him. She seemed bright and well educated. He wondered how she came to be a temporary secretary.
His breath misted the window, and he resisted the urge to draw a smiley face. The drizzle the grey sky had been promising began, and the elderly ladies scuttled into the cathedral.
He knew in his heart that Zani had to go. She didn’t have the skills to be an assistant, and the fact he’d found her in his filing room still bothered him.
He hated to fire anyone. It was the most miserable part of his job, and he’d been known to put it off for days. But Zani was without anything to recommend her.
Still, he was going to regret not coming to work and seeing her, or spending the day trying not to look at those endless legs. Maybe I could just keep her on for another few days. He smiled. Then wondered if he’d turned into a dirty old man who kept girls around to pretty up the office.
She left me painkillers. With a touch of guilt he fetched his coat from the back of the filing room door and went to do the deed.
“Get your jacket.” Corbin, wrapped in a gorgeous dark brown cashmere coat, appeared beside Zani’s desk.
“Hmm?” Zani looked up from her computer in surprise.
“I want to show you something. Bring your coat and come with me.” Corbin sounded even more brusque than usual. Intrigued and a little apprehensive, Zani did as he asked.
“Where are we going? Is this a work thing?” she asked as he led the way down the stairs. Suddenly she worried he was about to introduce her to some new duty which she’d have to guess her way through and get completely wrong. She refused to think about the morning’s encounter with the photocopier. Who knew paper had a right side up?
“You’ll see.” As usual, nothing was clear. She glared at his back. Infuriating man.
“Back in half an hour,” he told the receptionist, holding the door open for Zani. A gust of frigid wind showered them with icy rain. “Quick, this way.”
To Zani’s surprise he strode quickly around the building and into the cathedral next door. He wasn’t going to make her pray, was he? Paul hadn’t mentioned anything about de Villiers being religious.
The cathedral was silent and deserted. The incredible stone arches, nearly one thousand years old, loomed above them. The grey day dulled the stained glass windows and made the stone tombs with their stiff medieval figures look shadowy and forbidding.
“I�
�m not kneeling down. These are Schiaparelli stockings, twelve denier, £8 a pair,” she whispered, pointing at her legs. Corbin stared at her, frowned, smiled uncertainly, then frowned again.
“Pardon? What?” he said, voice lowered like Zani’s, though there was no one around to disturb.
“My, um, stockings…”
He glanced down. “Yes, you have very nice legs,” he said, frowning in confusion. “Come on.” He walked quickly down the centre aisle.
“No, I didn’t mean…” she said to his retreating back, then gave up and followed as he led the way through the huge building to a small wooden door set in the thick wall of the south transept.
“I had no idea this was here.” Zani gasped in amazement as they entered a small cozy café, momentarily forgetting she’d been indulging in a little mental self-flagellation over the whole stockings/legs thing. Two men dressed in ecclesiastical robes turned at their arrival. Zani automatically smiled, recognising one as the Bishop of Chichester, a familiar face in the local community.
“It’s called the Vestry Café. It used to be for the staff of the cathedral, but they opened it to the public a few months ago. They cook everything themselves. The food’s amazing,” said Corbin, directing her to a table by the window. The café overlooked a beautiful walled garden. Even though it was cold and bleak and all the plants were hibernating, the evergreen hedges marked off winding paths and intricate knot gardens.
“Thank you for the painkillers,” he said stiffly, passing her the packet. It had one pill left.
She took it. “Oh, gosh, well you could have kept the last one.”
Secret Intentions Page 3