At times, and this was one of them, she wished that she was back there, working in the real world. She wished that she’d never agreed to her sister’s rescue plan for the redundant Ricky Cardinali. She wished that she’d never requested, as she called it, a short career break.
On this occasion too, even though the setting sun had created an inspirational vista of orange and reds that added a sparkle to the meandering river below; it wasn’t that type of inspiration that she was after. Margaret’s issue now was how to maintain the subterfuge.
With a calmness descending she pushed her seat back and opened her briefcase again. She studied the notes on the sheet, thinking. ‘my writing is shocking’. Clicking her car’s interior light on to counter the approaching dusk, she read the notes again. It was what the caller hadn’t said. Suddenly it all started to make sense; ‘nah couldn’t be that simple. could it?’
The phone call had been from the owner of one of the leading haulage outfits based in the area. He wanted to meet her. It was, as he had put it, to discuss future trading opportunities. What made it more intriguing had been his continued insistence that he was only making her aware of an interest from a third party.
‘THIRD PARTY, MY ARSE... and how did the old shit-head get hold of my home number?... I’m not even in the bloody book!’
She clicked the interior light off and sitting there, oblivious to the darkness all around, suddenly realised exactly what was going on. At least she hoped she did. Perhaps the false rumour of an interested party had taken hold? The golf club charity dinner hadn’t done it, but her attendance at the industry dinner might just have had the desired effect after all.
⁎ ⁎ ⁎
Two nights previously she had attended that industry event and found herself seated beside the general sales manager of a market-leading trailer manufacturer. Conversation hadn’t exactly flowed. He was pleasant enough but his smiley-faced questions had, she felt, been somewhat pointed. She wondered if it was all a coincidence. Or was she doing her over-thinking habit again? Was she being interviewed? She had her own agenda but her head was also in a spin. I need a drink. No, you do not. You need a clear head.
Following the food and having weathered through the speeches the formalities were finally dispensed with; post-dinner drinks were the order of the evening. Of course it didn’t take too long for the conversation to get round to the health, or otherwise, of Cardinali Transport. Margaret, knowing that this guy had a reputation as a rumour monger, made an instant decision.
First, she had adopted a ‘butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth’ persona. Then she told him that she was only part-time in the business. ‘Yes, of course I was aware that my big sister had had a couple of conversations of late.’ Then, when she decided that he was ripe for the picking, she leant closer to him. It was in answer to another of his loaded questions. That’s when she’d realised her slither of misinformation had gathered momentum. She continued, ‘You know… … …’ Slotting in a long dizzy pause, she effectively changed the subject. ‘This champagne, umm it is really strong. I wish I’d arranged for a taxi. Sorry, …what, err, what did you ask me?’
He asked again.
She detected from him an air of frustration, impatience – she was playing him like an old flute.
‘Oh yes, I remember. Oh, I’m not too sure. It was an outfit. Umm, I think she said that their name was...’ Margaret had hardly finished uttering her little gem of gossip than she could see his startled reaction. A bead of sweat trickled from his temple. The quiver of his Adam’s apple was a giveaway. He coughed. She was on to him. Smiling, she quietly said, ‘Oh, I’m sorry, have I said something out of order?’
In a feeble attempt to cover his tracks, he said, ‘No. No, not at all. I’m really sorry about this.... A bit of acid in the throat.’ She reached for the water. He started to turn away from her. She placed her hand on his forearm to retain his attention. She needed to be sure that her message had indeed imbedded.
‘Oh I know. I suffer a bit too. Now just you hold your horses for a moment.’
She quickly delved into her hand bag and produced a couple of ant-acid tablets. ‘Here, try these, they work for me.’
‘Oh, thank you. There was really no need.’
‘Oh, of course there was... got to keep the health of the industry’s generals in top condition, especially as,’ she paused and smiled wider, ‘well, I’m sure, you’ve got a lot of talking, err, sales talk, in front of you tonight, yes?’
Picking a tissue from her sleeve she discreetly patted the sweat from her upper lip. With that, she rose from her chair bent over, allowing her top to gape, and said quietly to him, ‘I’m sorry, will you excuse me I need take my leave. It was lovely meeting you. Oh, and sorry again, I’ve…forgotten your name.’ As he proceeded to re-introduce himself, his eyes dancing between her cleavage and the curl of her pink lips, she cut across him saying, ‘No, no. Your first name.’
Margaret had seen an opportunity to get offside. She was aware that her ‘plant’ could easily blow up in her face if she hung around too long. Privately though, she justified releasing her fictitious embryo by saying to herself. ‘Cardinali is literally teetering on the edge of a cliff, so, even if the gossip gets back, so what. We’ve got nothing to lose anymore. Well, other than my job, maybe my flat, Phyllis’s house for sure, and my investment.’
As she extracted herself she recalled how she really detested all those male dominated do’s. Specifically it was all that sexual innuendo, the ‘inspections’ and especially, the trucker stuff. In the same breath, she forgave herself for her own piece of sexual innuendo. A girls got to do... Mind, he was, a bit of a hunk. A girl could easily...
⁎ ⁎ ⁎
Margaret’s thoughts were interrupted by a shiver which not only alerted her to the falling temperature but also to her location; cold dark, lonely, and for a single woman, somewhat intimidating. Ignition fired up Margaret Curtis executed a perfect squealing U-turn and was safely homeward bound.
It had been a quick drive back to her flat. But much thinking had been achieved on the way. Now, it was sleep that she needed. But sleep didn’t come easy that night. She tossed and turned and her mind raced. She was having a few impure thoughts about ‘the hunk’. She was overheating. She slipped out of bed to discard her PJ’s, she wandered through the flat into the kitchen. She took water from the fridge. As its chill air wafted around her she simultaneously realised that it was still only two in the morning and she was standing completely naked, illuminated by the open fridge, by her kitchen window! Making a hasty retreat she dived under her duvet.
She woke with a jolt. She was cold. PJ’s retrieved Margaret’s bleary thoughts cleared as she recalled the previous evening’s phone call. She made for the bathroom. A full analysis of the possible scenarios going forward caused her to spend longer than usual under the shower head. It was time well spent. The realisation that her hook had indeed been taken sent a mild shockwave through her. ‘What’s next?’
Next would be a sister-to-sister confab as soon as Phyllis, and Curtis, return from another of their mini-breaks. She corrected that thought. Phyllis needed to hear this now.
Margaret dialled the contact number her sister had left for emergencies. The landlady of the B&B answered and testily said that, ‘Yes, she would get Mrs Cardinali.’
Cutting the holiday short hadn’t fazed Phyllis. Curtis had been a horrible brat throughout. Responding to Margaret’s request to return for ‘urgent talks’ had been something of a Godsend.
The following evening, and once Curtis had been tucked up in bed, the sisters got down to business. A tentative Margaret explained how the misinformation opportunity had occurred. Phyllis found it hilarious. They talked into the night; scenario after scenario drawn out, thrown out. Their next port of call would be back at their accountants. Sister had advised sister that no mention was to be made of the misinformation strategy. All that their accountants needed to know was that they had been invited to talk to an
interested party. All the sisters required were up-dated financial statements. But of course further probing by the accountants, revealed the wider story.
An air of disbelief shrouded the gathering. It seemed to the ladies that they had acquired for themselves something resembling admiration, if not ingenuity driven by determination. ‘Sheer gall’ was how one of the partners put it. With a modicum of business accounting and some well-worn words of advice, an upgraded plan had been created. Even the two accountants smiled, albeit accompanied with dismissive shakes of their heads. Phyllis and Margaret both wondered privately; what were they really thinking?
Chapter 7 : Pendulum
Within ten days a meeting and a venue had been agreed. Setting off, the sisters were armed with enough facts, figures and strategies to run a small army. Having cleared the urban sprawl their destination finally loomed large. It was large. And plush to the point of being intimidating. It screamed five stars; a swags and tails golf resort and spa. Margaret knew of it but had neither stayed, dined or played there.
Phyllis found herself in the midst of a panic attack. She had glanced at herself in the vanity mirror. Fingering the ‘crow’s feet’ she lifted and pulled at her eyelids. She turned to Margaret, who appeared completely oblivious to her sister’s developing anguish. ‘Oh gosh, look at the state of me! I’m not dressed for the likes of this place. Look at me. Look at the state of me. Look. How can I look like management looking like this? Oh for goodness sake, what am I doing here? Margaret; tell me. What am I doing here? I’m completely out of my depth.’
Margaret was bemused by her sister’s senseless ranting. Phyllis had many untapped skills. Balancing the business bombshell that her late husband had bequeathed her while protecting Curtis from cruel realities was something Margaret could never have done. She was well aware of Phyllis’s weaknesses too. Zero negotiating skills, zero management skills and a family trait of volatility.
Halfway up the winding drive Margaret pulled over into a conveniently constructed passing point. An induced silence fell within her red Audi A4. It allowed her to demonstrate her well tested calming technique for Phyllis. She commenced by saying, ‘Right you…’ She paused before abruptly saying, ‘Stop this nonsense!’
As Phyllis was about to re-launch, Margaret slapped her sister’s thigh then sternly wagged a finger. It had an instant effect. She continued, ‘Right now girl, here’s the thing. Yes, I know that you’re crapping yourself. Of course you are. I’m not exactly Miss Calm and Tranquillity inside either. Yes of course this is all new for you. So answer me the following, and just answer without doing your usual full research thing. OK?’
‘Okay, whatever sis.’
‘So, question number one is; don’t you think that I would have said something if you were, how shall I put it, improperly dressed? Yes or no?’
‘Eh. Yes, I suppose, but...’
‘But, nothing. That therefore, was your first correct answer. Now, question two, do you think that I’m going to abandon you to the wolves? Yes or no?’
‘No I would hope not.’
‘Good, Question three. Have we not gone over all this, line by line? Have we not agreed our strategy? Yes or no?’
Phyllis, now frustrated, hit back, ‘Aggh! For pity’s sake, Margaret, knock it off. I’m not a wee kid, I’m your older sister, and anyway, where’s all this going for heaven’s sake?’
‘Answer me sister. Yes or no?’
‘Ok, OK! Right, I give in. No, I mean yes. But that still doesn’t get rid of this stain on my blouse. LOOK! Here, look. There across from my brooch. Oh, I don’t know. I don’t know if I can do this? I put this brooch on for luck…Ricky bought it me.’
‘Phyllis, we don’t do luck. We are here to rid ourselves of Ricky’s ‘effing millstone. Can you not see that?’
‘Yes, yes, I know. It’s just. Well, I’m way out of my depth. Never been...’
‘Stop! Forget Ricky, think about Curtis. Curtis’s future.’
Suddenly, Phyllis found herself deep in thought. She had found herself ready to fight for that future, fight for her son. She appeared to be lost in a dream. Margaret however had quickly brought her back on-side.
‘Phyllis? Hello, pay attention and listen carefully, and don’t laugh. Here is a wee trick that I’ve used before. It helps me when I’m meeting with a potential smart-arse client or a group of troublesome businessmen for the first time.’
Phyllis turned in her seat and faced her sister, ‘Umm…I’m all ears.’
‘So, you’re listening after all.’
Phyllis nodded.
Margaret opened, ‘On first sight I try not to look at them eye to eye, so to speak. For sure, it won’t be my face that they’ll be studying. Understand?’
Phyllis smiled and nodded again. A sense of mystique had already shown itself via her body language.
‘So, here is what I want you to do, my innocent darling sister. Do you remember that radio interview, when yer woman was asked, you know, that actress... what’s her name?’
Phyllis, looking equally blank shrugged her shoulders.
Margaret carried on regardless. ‘Remember how he asked how she controlled her stage nerves?’
Phyllis nodded as she remembered the same said interview.
Margaret smiled and said, ‘Okay, so your first glance is directed at their crotches.’
‘WHAT?’
‘Yes, imagine what lies behind that trouser zone. No, no not that. Imagine the extent to which their big Y-fronts... are, stained.’
‘God almighty Margaret that’s disgusting. You cannot be serious?’
‘Oh yes I am. Let me tell you sis, that can be an ultimate leveller.’
‘You. You, my sister are something else.’ Phyllis, sniggering, resumed her front facing position. She burst out laughing. Slapping the dash board, she said, ‘Right, come on, enough of this nonsense. Get this old banger started, and let’s get this day over and done with. Remember sis, no delays and straight to the point; also, remember this is my bridge night.’
‘Priorities Phyllis. You’ve always got your priorities, haven’t you?’
They circled the car park searching out a suitable spot.
‘Busy place this. Finding a parking spot is all about timing. Luckily, we’ve got time on our hands.’ Then she broke into song, ‘All the time in the world.’’
‘Look, just there. There on the left. That lovely red Ford Zephyr is pulling out,’ interjected Phyllis.
After she had reversed in, Margaret said, ‘Zephyr eh? Where did your sudden knowledge of the Ford range come from?’
‘Probably the same place you got your tuneless singing technique...’
They enjoyed a sisterly snigger then re-opened the conversation on what would likely lie ahead. ‘Male bloody bravado sister,’ Margaret said. ‘A cabal of hormone bloated pompous fat-cats exerting a false desire to assist in the overthrow of our wee transport hub, but at a paltry price.’
‘Huh? The professional Miss Calm speaks. Ho, ho, ho I don’t think so. You’re as bloody nervous as I am, aren’t you?’ Margaret didn’t answer. Phyllis laughed and Margaret realising how ridiculous her outburst had been, joined in. Both sisters got out of the car and with eyes locked into each other across the Audi’s roof they entered ‘battle’ mode: Phyllis stroked the creases from her navy skirt and slipped on her matching suit jacket. Margaret opened her portfolio file on the bonnet, and was rechecking notes. Phyllis, now impatient, hurried her.
‘Okay, okay I hear you, I’m ready―let’s go,’ Margaret answered and handed her sister the file as she, on the trot, pulled on the pale grey fitted jacket of her trouser suit. This was followed by the tidying of a red patterned silk neck-scarf. She determined that enough flesh had already been exposed to these shite-hawks. The folder was passed back, as Phyllis did her final readying too, the stain barely visible.
On their approach to reception they were intercepted by a sharp suited youthful female, who introduced herself as Alice Underwood
. She described herself as Mister Dunleavy’s private secretary. Unseen by Alice, Margaret rolled her eyes at Phyllis. Both sisters had the same thought; just a wee girl who makes a posh coffee while looking stunning. Alice explained that a room had been set aside on the third floor and requested that they follow her. Within the lift she struck up a conversation of sorts asking, ‘You’ve had a long old drive, ladies? We’ve pre-ordered some sandwiches, tea and coffee. I hope that’ll be okay.’
‘Oh yes sure,’ Margaret continued by quietly slipping in, ‘... if we stay long enough.’
‘Sorry Miss Curtis, I didn’t catch that.’
‘Don’t worry Alice, not important.’
‘So, ladies, what do you both do when you are not meeting with umm, royalty?’
The women shared a smile at the joke. Phyllis answered, ‘Oh well, when my sister is not out chasing a husband, she is tearing around golf courses. I on the other hand, have a demon child to rear. In between that though, it’s my addiction to bridge. And you Alice?’
‘Oh, wow. Cool. What a coincidence. Guess what? I play bridge too. My granny, she introduced me to it. Can you like, believe that. It’s a real de-stressor. You find that Phyllis, Mrs Cardinali I mean?’
But before Phyllis could reply Alice’s joviality dried up as the lift slowed and the door opened. The trio walked down a soft carpeted corridor. Alice stopped and knocked at a heavy-set white gloss door. The door opened at almost the first touch of Alice’s knuckles.
Phyllis glanced at Margaret as a room full of eyes of differing ages, greeted and ‘inspected’ them. Alice, her tone and stature now draped in a business persona, opened the introductions. ‘Gentlemen, let me introduce you to Phyllis Cardinali and Margaret Curtis.’ The elder of the gathering cut across her and took over. In the meanwhile Phyllis found herself fighting an uncontrolled quivering smile across her face.
A Letter to a Lucky Man Page 4