From Humble Beginnings (Joe Steel)

by Ian Harwood

  It will hardly be a holiday, but still, it’s always good to get away from London. Even if London is Juliet’s home. It never did anyone any harm to be away from someone you cared about. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that.

  Tucking the ticket into my briefcase, I settle myself before my computer. With my finger hovering over the standby button, there’s a knock at my door. Distinctly lacking a PA, I’ve been keeping the door open so that I can call anyone into the office without having to move. My head jerks up at the sound and inwardly, I wince as my eyes clash with Cass’, who is leaning against the doorjamb.

  I’m a grown man, but the militant look about her is enough to have any man quaking in his boots. Even her outfit makes her look as though she’s on a mission. What with the epaulets on her jacket and the two columns of buttons; she’s ready to go to war and I’m the unlucky soldier with my name painted on her bullet!

  “You got your ticket?”

  “Yes, I didn’t realize we’d be flying over so soon.”

  She shrugs and steps into my office. Without awaiting an invitation, she takes a seat opposite me and after a few minutes of silent study says, “Bernard’s gone ahead and bought the factory near Milan.”

  “But I thought that’s why we were going out there? To scout?”

  There’s no ire in my voice; the last three factories brought under Rustin Corp’s wing were purchased on the hoof by Bernard. It comes as no surprise to learn that he’s acted without counsel. Bernard only trusts himself.

  “You know Bernard. Plus, I saw the purchase amount. It was a steal.”

  “Yeah, something we’ll be paying for later, no doubt. That lace factory we bought up in Scotland was a steal and we had to spend a bloody fortune to make it payable!”

  “He moves in his own way; always does. He has instincts about these things; or so he says.”

  I don’t argue, because I’ve heard Bernard say that himself. “Why are you here, Cass? I’ve got the ticket and you could have sent me an email telling me why the dates have been brought forwards.”

  “We need to clear the air.”

  “We really don’t.”

  “We do,” she insists. “Notice that there’s no end date on that ticket? That’s because we’ll be there for as long as it takes. I’m not working with someone, in pretty close quarters, who thinks I’m a slut. Either that or I’ve slept my way to the top. What Juliet did was a moronic childish gesture that has made it uncomfortable for her father, myself and you. It was completely out of order but as usual, Bernard won’t say two words to her about anything.”

  It seems ridiculous to come to Juliet’s defence, when Cass was speaking the truth but I wanted to. Juliet’s actions were out of order, but there was a reason for it and I truly believe that it was bitter hurt. Bernard, his relationship with women, her mother… they’re all festering wounds in Juliet’s mind.

  “I don’t think that you’ve slept your way to the top; what you and Bernard do is your own private affair and the majority of the workforce thinks you’re a pair anywhere. What I saw just confirmed it and you’ll already know that I’ve been made to promise not to utter a word. As if I would!”

  Cass grimaces. “Bernard said you weren’t pleased about that.”

  Eyes flashing, I shake my head. “No. I bloody wasn’t. Bernard trusts me with tens of millions of the company’s money, but all of a sudden, he forgets that I’m trustworthy.”

  “It was important to him that all of this be kept quiet.”

  “And you wanting to talk about it is keeping it quiet?”

  Mouth pursing, Cass sits back in her seat and studies me. “We’ve discussed this, Bernard and I. We want Juliet to know the truth. It’s time. I can’t do it, because she wouldn’t believe a word I said. And Bernard won’t do it, even though it would all be better coming from him. He’s trusting you with his life here, Joe,” she warns.

  Wondering if her use of my nickname is for some purpose, nefarious or otherwise, I shake my head. “I don’t want to know. This doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

  “Rubbish. You care for Juliet; any fool can see that. She’s obviously hurting for her to have done what she did. I could see this happening years ago, but Bernard couldn’t. In many ways, he’s a visionary. But there are times when he’s a mere mortal. He likes to duck his head in the sand and hide.”

  “Hide from what?”

  “The truth, mostly,” her words are now cold. “Especially where Juliet is concerned. She’s the apple of his eye and can do no wrong.”

  “Bo knows what you’re about to tell me?” I ask, inferring from her words that the only one not in the know is Juliet.

  “Yes. To a point, at any rate. The mother Juliet adores was nothing more than a gold-digger. I was raised at the house; by the time Bernard brought his new wife home, I was nearing eighteen and did odd jobs in the house and in the stables. Just like he did with you, he saw a spark in me and paid for me to attend college with the proviso that I’d work for him afterwards. I was old enough to see Sara for what she was and so could my parents: money-grabbing.

  She was a good Jewish girl though and that’s what Bernard wanted for his first wife; I know that because mum overheard him talking to a friend at a dinner party one night. She said he had a list of requirements and each had to be ticked off, like he was buying a broodmare.” Cass grimaces, but shrugs. “We both know how anal he can be, so I well imagine that was the case.

  “I don’t think he ever really loved her, but she was under his protection and he gave her the world. Anything she wanted, she could have. Anywhere she wanted to go, she could go. But whatever she did, she was alone. Bernard is married to this place and that hasn’t changed over the years. When Sara had Bo, Bernard presented her with a Faberge egg. I can remember it now. Must have cost a bloody fortune. All mother of pearl with gold rim and diamonds decorating the egg. It was beautiful and an antique. Sara would have preferred a piece of jewellery. After hours of sweaty, disgusting childbirth, as she phrased it, she deserved something more than an egg. I had to sweep up the pieces from the floor, when she threw her tantrum and flung it against the wall. She was such a brat.”

  “You’re painting a lovely picture here, Cass.” This was not the martyr Juliet had painted, or should I say, inferred.

  She jerks a shoulder. “It’s the truth. And that’s something Bernard has always protected Juliet from. She was a big baby, through and through and it only got worse. He let her run wild, let her do whatever she wanted and when she was pregnant with Juliet, she was two inches away from being an alcoholic. Probably addicted to some drug too. When he found out she was carrying, he took her and Bo away for a few months; disappeared and when they came back, Sara was three or so months away from her due date, but she was happy and healthy again.” Cass sighs. “Juliet’s probably told you that he spent no time with her. And she’s not wrong. He was always at the office. By that time, I’d started here, as his junior secretary.

  “I won’t lie, if he’d given Sara more attention like he did during that break they had together, things would have been different. Sara needed to be controlled and in a way, she flourished under his care. That was evident to anyone.

  “But when he got her health back on track, he returned to the company and stayed there. She gave birth; Bernard brought in a nanny. Sara had little to do with the girls according to my mum, but whenever she was with them, mum said she was a natural. She was let loose again, buying new clothes, jewellery. Had a new car every six months. He never said anything; just let her do it.

  “Then, when Juliet was about seven, her drink problem was worse than ever. I know for a fact that Bernard was going to send her to The Priory, because I’d made the booking myself. She’d just bought a new sports coupé and had gone to the golf club to show it off to her pals. They said at the coroners that Sara had consumed just over two bottles of wine by the time she staggered away from the bar. She got into her car, smashed it into a tree and died in
stantly.”

  It’s selfish, I know, but a part of me is wondering how the hell my morning could have sunk so low. From a high to this maudlin tale… and Cass and Bernard expect me to share this with Juliet?

  God help me.

  Not only would she not listen, she’d probably throw me out of her flat if I dared to mention anything against her mother. Telling the woman I’m starting a relationship with that her mother was a pisshead is not the way to get into her good books.

  “Bernard blamed himself and in a way, he was right to. He was her husband; that’s a full time job not the half-arsed position he thought it was. She died, because he didn’t give a shit about her. Not really. Not when it counted. He only realized that though after she died. He started going all funny on us. Not turning up to meetings he himself had scheduled. Scribbling away at his notes and not letting me type them up. He went a bit paranoid for a while. He wasn’t sleeping; he was wired up all the time. I’ve never seen a man go through so much coffee. Paul Raymond, his doctor, you know him?”

  I nod. “Yes. They’re friends, aren’t they?”

  “That and golfing buddies. Paul was worried about him; I was worried about him. Everyone on the top floor was. He prescribed him sleeping pills, but Bernard wouldn’t take them. I doped him once with one of the tablets; by that time, our relationship had started. I had access to the pills and I felt no guilt in letting him sleep.” She pulls a face. “They made him worse. He was drowsy, but he didn’t actually drift off and he was just lying there, like a prisoner in his own body. I took advantage again, shifted him into the car, which was bloody hard, because he’s no lightweight and took him to Paul’s. When the pills wore off, we wore him down. Talked him into therapy; into this live-in centre that had been on the news. It’s a testament to how much guilt he felt that he agreed. I don’t think he’d slept, not properly at any rate, for at least two months. We booked him in and shifted him off there.”

  “What about Rustin? I can’t imagine him leaving this place.”

  “He did. And unlike the last time, before Juliet’s birth, he didn’t telecommute. I took control of his office but the directors had to start pulling their weight. We managed. It was hard, but worth it. Bernard came back a month or so later and he was almost back to normal. A little more controlled, sleeping easier, but he was different. He never told me what happened there, but I think it brought back memories of his childhood.” Left unspoken was the word Holocaust. “He’d disappear a few days a week; I didn’t know where he was going. It wasn’t home, because I asked my mother. Turned out, he was going back to the live-in centre to visit one of the patients there.”

  Wincing, I hazard a guess. “Rebecca?”

  “Got it in one.” She smirks. “I can see why Bernard promoted you.”

  “Thanks!”

  Her wry smile disappears. “She was in there, because her husband had died. Only, it turned out he wasn’t her husband, the man was a bigamist.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah. You know Rebecca; she’s as weak as a kitten. She couldn’t handle it. Couldn’t get over her husband’s death and she had a breakdown. Bernard told me that she’d been in the centre for nearly a year by the time he went. For six months, he visited her and out of the blue, he married her. Took her out of there and installed her in his home. He’s a guardian, a protector more than anything else. He isn’t her husband. That’s for her stability. She’s safe and well cared for and while she’s still batty, because what happened really crossed her wires, she isn’t a wife.”

  “You’re his wife.” I’m rather proud of my astute assumption, because the way Cass is talking; I can hear the passion in her voice, the need to defend the man she cares for.

  Her features contort; her mouth twisting and her eyes narrowing. “In the ways that count, yes.”

  “Didn’t it piss you off, when he married Rebecca?”

  “No. She’s weak and needs support. I don’t. I’ve never wanted a formal arrangement with Bernard. We have an open relationship. But I don’t want to talk about that. That’s my private affair and not Bernard’s, which is the reason I’m telling you this.

  “Juliet thought her mother was an angel that Bernard was the devil, because he was never there, because he never gave her any attention. In a way, she’s right. But Sara was no angel. Had she lived, she’d have grown ever more destructive.”

  “It would be cruel to say that it was good timing, but it wasn’t exactly bad. Sara was a negative influence. Whatever she touched turned sour. Bo was too old not to realize what her mother was like and unfortunately, she was tainted a tad.”

  “That’s hardly fair. She’s an artist, not the Antichrist.”

  Cass snorts. “I don’t mean that. When she was Juliet’s age, she went through a similar destructive phase. Granted, that time was blended with her confusion over her sexuality, but Bernard shipped her off to rehab in Arizona, before the situation could worsen. He didn’t want her to turn into her mother. He’s old school; doesn’t approve of her being homosexual, but I think he prefers that to the alternative. Her going off the rail just like Sara did.

  “Because Bo was affected by her mother, Bernard has gone out of his way to protect Juliet. I’ve told him for years that he was making it harder for himself, but the situation came to a head at the party and now, he’s dealing with it.”

  “No. That’s bullshit. Now he wants me to deal with it. Juliet isn’t some business deal. Some transaction that can be passed off to one of his minions. He should tell her this. Not me.”

  “He won’t. He’s still trying to protect her even though she’s obviously bitter at what she believed happened.” Cass leans forward, moving out of her earlier position of legs neatly crossed and back relaxed into the chair. “You’ll have to tell her; especially if you want to get anywhere with her. Only God knows what skewiffed take she has on relationships! Her father brings in another wife months after her mother dies and all the while, he’s having an affair with his PA? I know how bad it looks, Joe. I know why she hates me; I don’t like it but I can understand. I’d do it myself, but she wouldn’t listen. The resentment is too deep. She’s too far gone to listen to me.”

  “You make her sound like a hopeless case!”

  “Where this is concerned she is. She might be an adult, but where her father is concerned, she’s still a little girl.”

  “I didn’t realize you were an amateur psychologist, Cass!” My retort is sharp and is paired with the sound of my chair squeaking as I push away from my desk and stand up. Turning my back to her, I stare out the window and look down on to London. Grey, bleak London. With its grey roads and black clouds, the concrete jungle isn’t the most picturesque of sights.

  “I’m not,” she says, obviously annoyed at my sarcasm. “I’m just using my common sense. Bernard has asked you to do this for him; to help him. After all he’s done for you; I don’t think he’s asking much.”

  Before I could batten down my exasperation enough to form a pair of words to string a sentence together, I hear her heels clicking against the floor and by the time I swing around, she’d left and was in the outer office.

  Not wanting to call her back, I retreat to my desk chair and try to come to terms with the emotional blackmail. I hate getting involved with shit of this nature. Emotions are convoluted and irrational; I prefer statistics and facts to something ephemeral. That the responsibility for breaking Juliet’s beliefs about her obviously beloved mother falls on my shoulders truly infuriates me.

  With my mood at rock bottom, I stab the standby button and get to work.

  Maybe after a few hours hard graft, I’ll feel better.

  It was doubtful, but a man could hope.

  ***

  “It was nice of you to invite me out for lunch, Joe.”

  Dressed to impress as she is in a silk sheath that clings to every curve, my body is regretting the innocence of last night. My damn fool arousal isn’t hampered by the real reason for my inviting her to eat w
ith me today. I’d intended to all along, but Cass’ reason for visiting me this morning has put a shadow over what I’d hoped to be a relaxing meal.

  Do I tell her now? Get it out of the way? Or do I leave it until I get back?

  The latter seems like an excuse, but who could blame me?

  It’s not the best dinner conversation in the world. But at the same time, she’s truly affected by all of this. Was Cass correct, when she said that it would affect our relationship?

  Feeling like Damocles with the sword hanging over my head, I smile at her and reach for her hand. “It’s a pleasure.”

  I’ve never been touchy feely; it’s not in my nature. Yet another manifestation that has appeared out of nowhere.

  Within the month, I’ll probably be wearing pink shirts and striped cotton candy ties. Inwardly snorting at the idea, I let my fingers curl into hers. “I enjoyed last night.”

  Her left eyebrow quirks up in surprise. “Really? You enjoyed getting news about your divorce?”

  I shrug. “It was inevitable; Brook just beat me to it. I enjoyed being with you, is what I mean.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” she says with a smile. A touch of mischief playing about her lips, almost as though she can believe how difficult it was for me to be in the same bed as her and to curb my instincts.

  “Well, there were better things we could have been doing,” I admit, honesty in every word. “I won’t lie. But still, if that’s a way for us to meet and for us to relate, then I’m your willing victim.”

  “Do you really see us going somewhere, Joe?”

  Her earnestness touches me. “Yes. It terrifies me, but I do. I think, when it boils down to it, we’re one of a kind.”

  Her fingers tighten about mine. “I’m glad. Now, what’s the real reason you invited me for lunch? You’ve never done it before.”