High Potential

by Ber Carroll

  Katie glanced over at Neil, standing at the far end of the room. He was already looking her way. She felt a little claustrophobic.

  Meredith followed her eyes. ‘You should –’ she began but seemed to think better of what she was about to say. ‘I have to dash, Katie. I have a client who is waiting for me in a restaurant uptown.’

  She rushed off and left Katie wondering.

  You should what? Be grateful to Neil? Stand up to Neil?

  Katie’s thoughts were interrupted by a deep voice with a distinctive Irish accent. ‘Fixed your hair?’

  She turned around and came face to face with Jim Donnelly.

  ‘Did the best I could,’ she said warily.

  ‘I liked the mermaid look.’

  ‘Did you now?’

  She tilted her head back to return his gaze and took the opportunity to study him up close: lightly tanned skin, an uneven nose ridge and rich brown hair that flowed back from a broad brow. She couldn’t tell the exact colour of his eyes but they crinkled at the corners and she realised, with surprise, that this was a man who laughed a lot.

  ‘Brent’s being tough on the billable hours,’ he commented.

  ‘It’s outrageous!’ Katie replied. ‘Getting people to work themselves to death under the guise of career development! I think Brent could do with coming along to our leadership course to explore his style of leadership.’

  Jim’s lips widened in a smile, revealing slightly uneven teeth. They, along with his imperfect nose, added character to his face.

  ‘I think his style is called “Master and Slave”,’ he smiled.

  ‘Is that a derogatory comment I hear from his golden boy?’

  ‘Ah sure now, Katie, there’s no need to be like that,’ he said in a much stronger brogue.

  Katie had the suspicion that he was trying to make her laugh.

  ‘It’s tough at the top, Jim,’ she quipped with a decent mimicking of Brent’s earlier tone.

  Jim laughed, a rumbling, unrestrained sound that caused a few heads to turn in their direction.

  ‘I like you, Katie Horgan.’

  And with that final statement, he moved his charisma to another group whose faces became instantly more animated with his arrival. Katie watched, fascinated, only half aware that Isabelle had come to stand next to her.

  ‘He looks like JFK Junior, doesn’t he?’ There was admiration in her beautifully accented voice. ‘What a shame he is taken. You and I can only admire from a distance.’

  Katie’s inner-city apartment was everything that an up-and-coming partner would want: new building, state-of-the-art kitchen, not enough room to swing a cat.

  ‘The space won’t be an issue,’ Geoff had assured her. ‘Trust me.’

  She had trusted him, just like she had with everything else, and as her punishment she was stuck in the apartment for the remainder of the twelve-month lease.

  She unlocked the door and flicked on the light. The living area was bursting at the seams: books overflowed from the bookshelf to the floor, CDs that couldn’t fit on the rack were stacked up against the wall, and ornaments and artefacts competed for space on the sideboard. The solution wasn’t as simple as having a good clear-out. The apartment was simply too small to accommodate her personality.

  She sat on the couch and unzipped her boots. She had worked the entire function room, speaking with each of the forty partners while Neil assessed her performance from a distance. Now she was beyond exhausted.

  The phone rang and her first inclination was not to answer. However, curiosity got the better of her and she leant over to check the display panel. It was her parents’ phone number.

  ‘Mum?’ she said as she picked it up.

  ‘Actually, it’s Dad,’ came back Frankie’s gravely voice.

  ‘Oh.’

  Frankie was not the one who made the phone calls. Rose always did the talking and he was generally content to shout in the odd comment if he happened to have an opinion on what was being said.

  ‘It’s about the tickets, love.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said guardedly.

  ‘Is there any way you can get your money back?’

  There was an awkward pause before she asked, ‘Why would I do that?’

  ‘It’s a waste of your money, love. There’s nothing for us in Ireland after forty years. Our life is here.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to go and live there,’ she said with a calmness she wasn’t feeling. ‘It’s only a holiday.’

  ‘I know . . . I know . . . but can you get your money back?’

  Katie knew that the travel agent would at least allow a credit against something else. But she didn’t tell him that.

  ‘Let me see what I can do.’

  ‘Thanks. Sorry to cause such a fuss, love. Goodnight.’

  ‘Night, Dad.’

  Too tired to analyse what it all meant, Katie went to the bedroom to finish undressing.

  Chapter 4

  Katie was jolted from her sleep by a horrible familiar beeping: her alarm clock. She struggled to a vertical position and stumbled across the room. Over on the windowsill the alarm continued to beep until she viciously stabbed the stop button. It had been Neil’s suggestion to keep the alarm clock out of reach of the bed. He had taken her aside only a few weeks after she joined his team.

  ‘It’s clear that you are not by nature a morning person, Katie. But if you’re serious about being a partner you need to be in the office by seven o’clock – latest. That’s the only way you’ll clock up enough billable hours to be the top fee earner.’ He had handed her a small box. ‘Here’s a little gift to help you – an alarm clock. Put it where you can’t reach it.’

  Katie had obediently placed the little clock on the sill, promising herself that when she became a partner she would fling it out the window.

  With the beeping still resounding in her head, she stepped into the minuscule shower cubicle. She raised her face to the cascading hot water and mentally went through her schedule for the day.

  9 am: Briefing with Neil

  11 am: Meeting at SDS regarding workplace agreement

  1 pm: Lunch with SDS counsel and trade union officials

  3 pm: Meeting at Citibank to discuss changes to the draft executive contract

  The real work happened before 9 am and after 5 pm. With fewer meetings and a quieter phone, it was at these times she drafted contracts, dictated letters of advice and undertook complex research that couldn’t be trusted to graduates.

  After her shower, she put on her make-up: a light foundation, a few sweeps of mascara and rose-pink lip gloss. She tipped her head forward and worked some gel into her black curls. Once her hair was thoroughly coated, she allowed it to dry naturally.

  Her wardrobe was crammed with business suits in navy, black and grey: dark colours in keeping with the serious image MFJ liked to portray to its clients. Katie chose a grey trouser suit and teamed it with a pistachio-green shirt. Then she laced up a pair of runners and put her high-heeled shoes into her backpack. She was ready to start the brisk half-hour walk to work.

  Her apartment block was on one of Glebe’s quieter streets but, due to its proximity to the city centre, cars were crammed along every inch of the kerb. The morning air had a bite that wasn’t thawed by the weak winter sun and Katie’s cheeks were pink by the time she reached the heart of Glebe’s urban village. The cafés were still shut; in another hour they would be full with chatter and delicious smells. Similarly, the shops selling clothes and home wares had their shutters down, giving no hint of the treasures within.

  Once she reached George Street, the surge of pedestrian commuters carried Katie past the Asian food stores, second-hand bookshops and glass-fronted cinemas. Slightly out of breath, she crossed at Town Hall. She could have taken a shorter route but her goal was a full thirty minutes of exercise. It was her way of making up for the damage that smoking was doing to her health.

  At MFJ the office hummed industriously as if it was the middle of the day.
Katie greeted only the colleagues who bothered to look up as she passed. In her office she swapped her runners for the court shoes in her backpack. Heels included, she stood at almost six feet tall, a height at which very few could look down on her.

  Soon she was absorbed in the enterprise agreement for SDS. The agreement was the culmination of many years of disputes between the company and the trade union. For the last four months Katie had ping-ponged between the two parties and on the bad days had thought they would never agree on the terms and conditions. But now that the end was in sight, she was extremely proud of the final agreement and her pivotal role in the process. As she massaged and redrafted the clauses, she hoped that this would be the final set of changes and the lunch later on would be celebratory.

  At eight-thirty she stopped to acknowledge a craving for caffeine.

  Where’s Claudine this morning? she thought as she stretched her arms over her head. The only constant of Katie’s day was the cup of steaming tea that Claudine brought at 8 am. No tea meant there was no Claudine.

  Katie got up and rolled her stiff shoulders before strolling around to her secretary’s desk. Claudine’s computer was switched off and her chair was pushed neatly against the desk.

  ‘Has she called in sick?’ Katie asked the secretary who sat in the next workstation.

  ‘No – nobody knows where she is. You’re not the first to come looking for her.’

  Frowning, Katie went to the kitchen to make her tea. Claudine had sounded perfectly okay on the phone last night. Something must have happened afterwards. It had to be serious for Claudine to miss a day and not call in.

  Katie tried her mobile phone when she got back to her office. It rang through to voicemail.

  ‘Claudine, it’s me, Katie. Can you call me, please?’

  She sipped her tea as she continued to work on the enterprise agreement, deftly cutting and pasting words and phrases. At eight-fifty, she saved the document and gathered what she needed for her meeting with Neil.

  She was a few steps from his office when her mobile started to vibrate on her waistband. She quickly checked the number: Claudine. Then the time: eight fifty-seven. She had three minutes: Neil abhorred tardiness.

  ‘Hi, Claudine,’ she said briskly. ‘Where are you today?’

  ‘I’m at the hospital.’ The pitch of distress in Claudine’s voice set off Katie’s alarm bells.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Something . . . awful . . . has happened.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Ethan . . .’ Claudine broke down into sobs and could go no further.

  Ethan? Who was Ethan? A boyfriend? Katie realised that it would take too long to extract a coherent account of what ‘ something awful’ entailed. She switched to factual questions.

  ‘Which hospital?’

  ‘Northmead.’

  ‘Accident and emergency?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Have you got anybody with you?’

  ‘No.’

  Katie took a moment to take stock. Claudine needed to have someone with her, that much was clear. Surely there was some family member who could go and sit with her?

  Obviously not, otherwise she wouldn’t be alone. If only I didn’t have this meeting with Neil . . .

  ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can. Give me half an hour.’

  Katie hooked her mobile back onto her waistband. She pictured Neil’s thin, begrudging face. No matter what the circumstances, putting a mere secretary before his needs wouldn’t sit well.

  She strode into his office. He was waiting at his meeting table, tapping a pen as if counting the exact number of seconds she was late.

  ‘So sorry, Neil,’ she said in her most confident tone. ‘The union have pulled a surprise this morning and I have to rush off to see their official. I hope we can reschedule our briefing to tomorrow morning.’

  It was the perfect excuse. A client was the only thing that could legitimately come before a partner.

  The pen stopped tapping and he said, ‘Make sure SDS pay for this last-minute hiccup.’

  ‘Thanks, Neil. I’ll keep you updated.’

  Katie was racing towards the lift foyer when she met Jim.

  ‘Katie Horgan!’

  She liked the way he said her name, how he included her surname as if it was an important part of who she was. It was nice, teasing and a little flirtatious.

  ‘Jim Donnelly!’ she said in return.

  Her eyes, of their own volition, started to savour the detail of him: the way his white shirt accentuated the broad sweep of his shoulders; the narrow hips at the waist of his charcoal trousers; the fact there was no excess flesh beneath his well-fitting clothes.

  They’re grey, she thought, having a clear look at his eyes.

  The lift arrived. She had to go.

  ‘Have to fly.’ She flashed him a smile. ‘Bye.’

  She found Claudine in the waiting room, sitting on a hard plastic chair, staring into space. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot, her usually immaculate bob in disarray.

  The seats on either side were taken and Katie crouched down in front of her.

  ‘Claudine, I’m here.’ She took her limp hand in hers. ‘What’s happened?’

  Tears brimmed in Claudine’s eyes. ‘He slipped on the steps outside . . . cracked his head . . .’ Her free hand indicated the ferocity of the impact.

  An elderly man vacated the seat to Claudine’s left. ‘Sit here,’ he said to Katie as he shuffled away.

  ‘Thank you.’

  She sat down without loosening her grip on Claudine’s hand.

  ‘Who? Who fell down the steps?’

  ‘Ethan . . . my son . . . my darling son . . . all I have in the world . . . they can’t wake him up . . .’

  Claudine had never mentioned that she had a son. Now that Katie thought about it, she knew very little about her secretary’s private life.

  Claudine’s grief seemed to encompass everyone around her. It was Tuesday morning, a routine day for most, but not for these people waiting with broken limbs, gashed faces and fevered children. For some of them it wasn’t just a bad day: their lives had changed forever.

  White-coated doctors and blue-bloused nurses flitted in and out of the emergency waiting area, consulting with patients in low voices and sometimes extending a hand to help them to their feet.

  My job is so insignificant next to theirs, Katie realised suddenly. I sit at my desk, playing with words. They save lives.

  One of the white-coated doctors approached and addressed Claudine.

  ‘Ms Myers, we’ve finished the CAT scan and X-rays. Unfortunately his right leg is broken – in an awkward place. But the good news is that his skull and spine seem to be okay.’

  Claudine put her hand over her mouth and tried to hold her sobs inside. She seemed to be unable to verbalise the questions Katie was sure she wanted to ask.

  ‘Has he woken up?’ Katie asked on her behalf.

  The young doctor turned her way. Her gaze had an astonishing clarity. In the face of such competence and compassion, Katie once again felt the insignificance of her own career.

  ‘No,’ she replied, ‘but we’re feeling more confident now that we’ve seen inside his head.’ She touched Claudine’s shoulder. ‘We’re getting ready to move him to a bed now. Come through with me.’

  Claudine got to her feet. She looked down at Katie, who was still seated, and took a moment to find her voice. ‘Thanks for coming.’

  ‘Anything I can do –’ Katie started to say.

  ‘Just please make sure they don’t fire me while I’m away.’

  Katie stared after her and the young doctor until they were swallowed up by the swinging doors to the emergency rooms beyond.

  Katie wondered if she had brought about a bad omen by saying that the union had some last-minute issues for, in keeping with her lie to Neil, they came up with three more changes, two of which were substantial. The lunch that followed the meeting was tense, with Katie the only one wh
o tried to keep up some semblance of conversation.

  There was no time to go back to the office after the lunch and Katie caught a cab directly to Citibank.

  ‘Not a bad first draft,’ Pete Wilde remarked as he cupped his hands behind his head. ‘However, because this executive is coming from overseas, we’ll need to give some thought to tax equalisation.’

  Katie wished he had told her at the outset that the executive was a non-resident, but she didn’t let the slightest sign of annoyance show on her face.

  Pete had some other issues he wanted to discuss and it was well after six o’clock when Katie left his harbour-view office. She lit up a cigarette as soon as she got outside. She called herself a social smoker but, if she was honest, she had become much more addicted since splitting with Geoff. Over those bleak weeks, she had reached for her cigarettes far too often, and now she was smoking more than she cared to count.

  She finished the cigarette and hailed a taxi. She phoned Claudine from the cab and was very happy to hear that she had good news.

  ‘He opened his eyes about an hour ago. He recognised me straightaway – the doctors say that’s good.’

  ‘I’m so glad,’ said Katie. ‘Can he talk?’

  ‘Only whisper. But he’s coherent. They’re sure now that his brain isn’t damaged.’

  ‘And his leg?’

  ‘They’re both hanging from traction – he’ll be like that for six weeks while the bone mends.’

  ‘How awful! How old is he?’

  ‘Seven – nearly eight.’

  ‘You’ll need to stay there with him.’

  ‘What about my work?’ Claudine sounded sick with worry. ‘You know what they’re like!’

  Katie knew only too well what they were like. Six weeks’ leave would cause a major stir, regardless of the circumstances.

  ‘Leave them to me – don’t you worry about a thing.’

  Katie made Neil number one on Wednesday’s list of priorities. She found him hunched over his desk, frowning as he read through a hefty contract. He looked as though he was in one of his nitpicking moods. Her suspicions were confirmed when he slashed his highlighter through an entire page of the document.