Agent Provocateur

by Faith Bleasdale

  ‘You were wronged, that much is true, but you also were in the wrong a bit, but not much because you were completely manipulated. Which means that the only villain in this whole thing was me.’ She smiles triumphantly.

  ‘You?’

  ‘Yes, and Fiona. So if you are angry with anyone, let it be me, or even her, but you cannot doubt how much Betty loves you, and I can’t doubt how much you love her, so, to be honest, you’d be a bloody fool to throw all that away.’

  ‘But you said you loved me – was that a lie?’

  ‘No, I did, I do love you, but we haven’t got a future, we never had. It was a fairy tale and I enjoyed it. I’ll miss you.’ She cannot convey how awful she feels knowing that she will never see him again. She wants to curl into a ball and stay in the corner of his office, but she won’t.

  ‘I’ll miss you.’ He has tears in his eyes.

  ‘No, you’ll miss perfect Grace, but not the Grace who has smelly feet and wears spot cream all the time.’

  ‘I find that hard to believe.’

  ‘Whatever, but you won’t miss me. And I promise that I’ll stop being such a bad person if you promise me something.’ She is still smiling. Although her heart is breaking, she is happy because she knows she is doing the right thing. He is smiling for the first time in days, although he has no idea why.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Talk to her and try to work it out. The guilt is gone now; you have nothing to feel guilty about. Do you accept that?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ He actually, surprisingly, did.

  ‘And Betty loves you, and despite what she did, there was never any question about that. Do you accept that?’

  ‘Actually I do.’

  ‘Fine, then my work is done.’ Grace giggles as she stands up and leaves. She does not look back, as finally she knows that, no matter how much it hurts, she has done the right thing.

  Johnny shakes his head and smiles. Despite the fact that he didn’t really get to know her, there is no denying that she is amazing. His amazing Grace. He will always remember her, he will never see her again, and he will stop missing her. He has nothing to feel guilty about because everything is clear. He loves Betty, and he always will. He reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out the two letters. For some reason, he reads Grace’s first. He knows now, he knows that she did care about him and she wasn’t playing a game. This makes him feel better. When he has finished, he has tears in his eyes but he moves straight on to Betty’s letter.

  When he finishes, he picks up the phone. For the first time in his marriage he has no idea where his wife is.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Betts, it’s me.’

  ‘Johnny?’

  ‘Yes, Johnny, your husband.’

  ‘My husband.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me already.’ He laughs. He feels light-hearted.

  ‘Johnny?’ Confusion melts into her words.

  ‘Look, I’ve been thinking. You were wrong to do what you did, but I was wrong too. And the only thing I know for sure now is that I love you. I read your letter and I know you love me, so how about we start again?’ It really is that easy, he thinks, as all the anger and hurt leaves him. He won’t forget, though. Never will he forget the lies, and he knows at times he will be angry still, but he can live with that because the alternative is to lose Betty and he knows, he is one hundred per cent sure, that he doesn’t want to do that. He is in love with his wife.

  ‘You mean it?’ She can barely believe this is happening. Just yesterday she wanted to die, and now he is offering to save their marriage.

  ‘Yes. Two conditions.’

  ‘Name them, anything.’

  ‘One, that you promise never to do anything like that again.’

  ‘Absolutely.’ She is nodding her head vigorously to the amusement of her secretary.

  ‘Second, you take me on that holiday you promised.’

  ‘Yes, yes, yes. I love you so much.’

  ‘You know what? I love you too.’ All his anger walked out of the door with Grace, as did the confusion of the past couple of months. He doesn’t want to lose her, that much is clear, and Grace made him see that. He has her to thank for nearly destroying his life, but also for saving it.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  They are at Gatwick Airport, and Betty is on her mobile.

  ‘Fiona, leave me alone. I’m about to get on a plane.’

  ‘Yes, but I need to know where the celebrity diet feature is.’ Despite everything, Betty has remained loyal to Fiona. At first Johnny tried to talk her into getting a new job, but when Betty explained how lonely Fiona was, and when she’d explained how in a way their marriage was better than ever now, he relented. He knew that Fiona wouldn’t be risking ruining their marriage again.

  ‘Hannah has everything. Now I’m going to go and I will see you when I get back.’

  ‘Any chance of a postcard?’

  Betty looks at Johnny. ‘No, we’ll be too busy to write post cards.’

  She is at Heathrow Airport, on her mobile. ‘Nicole, are you sure that the fish will be OK?’

  ‘Grace, Helen is very responsible and you told her, what, oh, a thousand times, how to care for them, and yes, she will speak to them, and yes I’ll speak to her daily to check that she’s talking to them.’

  ‘Thanks. How’s the baby?’

  ‘About the size of a pea at the moment and I’m not, touch wood, being sick. Look, enjoy yourself, you deserve this.’

  ‘I’m only going as his friend.’

  ‘Yikes, Grace, you only told me that one thousand times as well. Oliver is a good friend and if you shag him, then well, that wouldn’t be so bad. You have done it before.’

  ‘But, I didn’t love him before so I doubt I will now.’

  ‘Of course, but have fun.’

  ‘I’m nervous. I’m used to my own terms.’ Grace has spent a week packing for her holiday, and making lists and planning. It was like waiting for Christmas.

  ‘You enjoy your holiday, and come back feeling great because I have so much work for you.’

  ‘I think I’ll miss the fidelity testing.’

  ‘Nah, once you start running the agency you’ll love it.’

  ‘But are you sure you want to hand over the reins?’

  ‘I want this baby. I’ll be there for you, you know, part time in a very non interfering kind of way.’

  ‘I love you, Nicole.’ Grace surprises herself with this. She has never said it before.

  ‘I love you too, honey.’

  If you enjoyed reading Agent Provocateur you might be interested in Pinstripes by Faith Bleasdale.

  Extract from Pinstripes by Faith Bleasdale

  Prologue

  In the nineteenth century, three partners founded investment bank Seymour Forbes Hunt. Starting from a small investment house, it has become one of the major banking players, not only in Europe, but also in the rest of the world. Today, twenty-one managing directors run and own the company. Its successful partnership formula makes it an attractive company to work for which is reflected by the high standard of its personnel. The headquarters are in the heart of London’s financial centre, the building is one of the oldest and most prestigious. It is a bank with a great history and a great future.

  Excerpt from the official SFH publicity brochure.

  ***

  Seymour Forbes Hunt is Britain’s oldest investment bank and a British institution. At this time of recruitment, we are inviting you to participate in our success. As not only the oldest but also the most successful UK investment bank, we only pursue the best candidates to work with us. If you feel you wish to join us you must show us the commitment to the world of investment, the dedication and the intelligence we require. We in return will offer you a career with rewards that reflect our status. What we mean is that in return for the excellence that we demand, we offer an excellent package and unparalleled opportunities.

  The SFH presentation to the Cambridge under
graduate class of 2000.

  ***

  Again, we show that we are a fighting force in the world of investment. Our results this year not only outstrip those of last year but also show that we are on the right track with our policies and management. We are one of the best this country has to offer and we give unparalleled results to our partners and to our clients. All of us in this room may congratulate ourselves on the successful completion of another year. We not only show we can make money, but we show that we are the best at making money, which after all is what we are all here for.

  Peter Seymour, SFH’s Chairman’s speech at the end of year managing directors” meeting.

  ***

  As we see Seymour Forbes Hunt continuing to grow, we ask ourselves why it is so successful as a British investment bank. It shows an unblemished record in business and one that is hard to follow. A major force in this country, if not the world, again we must congratulate the private partnership which makes this bank a British institution.

  Gerald Barr, of the Financial Times, reporting on the success of SFH.

  ***

  Flotation is always a temptation for a company that shows success. However, this temptation is still being resisted by successful investment bank Seymour Forbes Hunt. The chairman, Peter Seymour issued the following statement: “Why change something that works so well? Not only is the ownership of our partnership based on merit and hard work, but also we have an incentive to staff that few other institutions can offer. The management know how to manage this business, and as they are also the shareholders, they have a strong interest in ensuring that clients and staff alike are given both excellence as a goal and a reward.” Thus, SFH enters the year 2001 with the goal of avoiding becoming a public company and continuing with its tried and tested partnership.”

  Gerald Barr from the Financial Times, on speculation that SFH may succumb to the pressure to go public.

  ***

  Interviewer: “What does the City mean to you?”

  Interviewee: “Pinstripes and Porsches.”

  Interview for the graduate programme at SFH:

  PART ONE

  PINSTRIPES AND PORSCHES

  Chapter One

  “So, is it hard surviving in such a man’s world?” Jim asked, grinning.

  “No,” Ella Franke replied, through clenched teeth. She looked at the tall, dark-haired man standing in front of her and wondered why she kept paying this penance.

  “But don’t you feel guilty about the amount of money you earn? Look at the poverty in London, and you earning a fortune. It doesn’t seem right somehow,” Jim riposted.

  Ella’s heart-rate was increasing. ‘don’t you feel guilty about the torture you’re putting me through at forty quid an hour? Give that to the starving millions.” She gasped for breath. She should have known better than to try to put a long sentence together, especially when she was this close to collapse.

  Jim seemed to ignore her last statement. “Are you happy? Really happy? I mean, I bet you have a great life – nice flat, lots of clothes, fast car and, of course, a personal trainer, all the status symbols a woman like you needs. But does any of that make you happy?”

  Ella took a deep breath. Her worst fear on the treadmill was to lose her footing. Another deep breath. She studied Jim, big, bulky and smug. The worst type of man. He felt that in his role of trainer he could play God with her life. She knew that his other clients let him have that power, but she would not. Hence the hostility every time they met. Finally, she felt able to speak again. “For fuck’s sake, will you shut up? I am on a treadmill, not a couch, and you are supposed to be training me, not interviewing, counselling or annoying the hell out of me. If you feel compelled to make small-talk, please restrict it to, ‘Run faster’, or “You’re doing great.” Ella could feel herself overheating and the sweat pouring down her face was making her skin itch. She was exhausted.

  Jim laughed. “You, girl, crack me up. You’re just so funny. Let’s go faster.” And before Ella could retort he put the treadmill speed up even further and smugly watched her huff and puff her way through her final minute and a half.

  Jim studied Ella closely. She was tall, black and thin. She had long legs, (which Jim often admired as he watched her run), a firm stomach and tiny boobs. Jim thought her boobs were the only things that let her down. Her thick black hair was cut into a shoulder-length bob. She had great hair. He quite fancied her, but then he was just a man, and most men would. Her manner was something else. She was always aloof, uptight. She could be a real bitch. Most girls fell at his feet and Jim was pissed off that this one did not. That was why he enjoyed winding her up every Monday.

  “Water,” Ella whispered, as the treadmill finally came to a halt. She felt as if she had been running for hours, not just ten minutes. She wondered again why she put herself through this. She gulped the water noisily, and tried to make a mental note not to be rude to Jim again.

  ‘sit-ups now. You’re looking a bit tummy-ish this week.”

  Ella realised as she looked at her flat stomach and lay down in the sit-up position that she truly hated Jim.

  She had been training with him once a week for almost three years – forty pounds for an hour of pure hell. He was rude, arrogant and he treated Ella with disdain. Ella hated him, and only put up with him because that was another way she could fit in. She longed to tell him where to stick his “positive mental attitude”, but she couldn’t and she didn’t know why.

  When Ella started work at SFH, she had been encouraged to take corporate membership of the posh gym by the horrific human-resources woman who seemed to take Ella under her wing. It had been her, too, who had encouraged Ella to use Jim. When Ella first started work, she had been so concerned to fit in that she took every suggestion on board and became the clichéd City type. She was more of a cliché than anyone else she knew: she had a trainer, she shopped at Gucci, she had a flat in the Docklands, she had a sports car, and she practically had ‘City’ tattooed on her forehead. And for her to continue in the job she loved, Ella felt that all these trappings were necessary, so, hate him as she did, it looked as if Jim was here to stay. ‘Oh, the things I do to keep my job,’ Ella thought, as Jim counted forty then told her that her exercise hell was finally over.

  Ignoring his smile, she hissed goodbye and marched to the changing room.

  It was full of the usual girls, those who were dedicated to looking after their bodies before work most mornings. Ella nodded curdy and took her towel out of her locker. As she peeled off her sweat-drenched shorts and T-shirt, she tried to justify being there. Five thirty in the morning, exercise for an hour, then in the office by seven. It was mad, she was mad. It wasn’t even as if she enjoyed or, more to the point, needed it. Glancing at her body as she walked to the shower, she knew she didn’t have an ounce of fat on her. Not like most of the girls in the gym, who had the Michelin Man’s spare tyres on them. No, this was corporate sucking-up and Ella was not terribly pleased with herself for it.

  As the lukewarm water covered her aching body, she tried not to think too much about Jim. Instead, she focused on the day ahead. A tingle of excitement ran through her as she thought about the previous week’s trading. The market had been volatile and many people had lost money, wrong-guessing the direction of stock. Not Ella: every move she had made had been spot on and she had come out up. She was looking forward to that today, hoping that the same buzz would fill her and that the unexplainable instinct she seemed to have for the job didn’t desert her. ‘If only you could see me now, Sammy’, she thought, and, for a minute, the sadness washed over her again.

  She finished washing her hair, and prayed that her worries would be rinsed away along with the dirty shampoo. She knew that it would take more than prayers.

  As she walked back to her locker the girls were gossiping. Again, they smiled at her, not quite knowing if they should. Ella smiled back but said nothing. She had never engaged in their chat, and they no longer tried to include her. She dried
her hair, pulled her Armani pinstripe suit from her suit bag, put on a little makeup and as the other girls were still getting ready she said goodbye and left. Leaving the gym, she walked up the hill to the office, stopping only to buy her usual espresso from Coffee Republic. The excitement returned as she walked through the front door of Seymour Forbes Hunt, and she put everything, apart from making money, well and truly out of her mind.

  ***

  As soon as her alarm clock buzzed at her Virginia Bateman jumped out of bed. She peeled off her pyjamas and walked the short distance to her tiny bathroom, pausing on the way to flick the switch on the kettle. She stood in the shower for exactly five minutes. As she stepped out, shivering at the cold, she picked a towel from the rail, then dried herself. She pulled her bathrobe from the hook on the door and put it on. Wrapping her hair in a second towel, she walked back into her living area and made herself a cup of tea, then reached over to put on the television and sat in her small armchair, sipping the tea and concentrating on the news. When she finished the tea she went to the sink, washed her cup and left it on the draining-board. Her outfit for the day, a grey pinstripe trouser suit and crisp white shirt, was hanging on the front of her wardrobe waiting for her. She dressed, still watching the television, mentally noting anything said about the stock market. She turned away to dry her short hair, brushed it flat, and applied a little makeup: foundation, mascara and clear lip gloss. “I look professional,” she said to herself in the mirror, when she was ready.

  Virginia always looked professional and prided herself on it. She was quite tall, about five foot seven, and a size ten. She had mousy brown hair, grey eyes and unremarkable features. She always looked the part, and although devoid of glamour, she was not unattractive. The only unattractive part of Virginia was the continual scowl – this scowl that had become so much a part of her face that it was now part of her.