‘Well, I really don’t know.’ Paul was flushed from the wine. He knew he had been drinking too much, but he had been so tense about this evening that he had drunk more than he intended. Julia kept glancing in his direction, but he ignored her. ‘I need a fresh challenge. I’ve got a few ideas, but nothing concrete at this stage.’
Duane leant across to Julia and touched her arm. ‘A man like Paul needs to be challenged. He needs constantly to be stretched, pulled in new directions.’
Julia smiled nervously and nodded. Duane had hardly touched his food, though he claimed to have enjoyed it enormously, and he had barely sipped his wine, preferring to stick to mineral water. And he kept touching her, nothing obviously untoward of course, just small social gestures, her hand, her wrist, her elbow. On several occasions their feet had touched underneath the table, and she had found him staring at her. He had smiled and after a moment looked away to carry on listening to Paul. She could not be sure why, but she felt distinctly uncomfortable. Was he attracted to her? Did he really think she would be unfaithful to her husband? He was an attractive man, there was no doubt about that, and single, and very rich indeed, if all accounts were to be believed. But she simply could not conceive of ever being unfaithful to Paul. Poor, sweet, darling Paul. He had his faults, to be sure, but he was hers. She looked at him and smiled adoringly, hoping that Duane would take the hint.
Paul was talking again. ‘So, Duane, how about coffee and a digestif in the drawing room? And are you a cigar man?’
Paul tried not to cough as Duane puffed on a large Cohiba, bought specially for the occasion as a result of an intelligence gathering exercise before the dinner.
‘Are you sure you won’t have a brandy?’
‘Definitely not, thank you, though you are a most generous host. But another decaff would be perfect.’
‘Of course.’ Paul leapt up and took Duane’s cup and saucer through to the kitchen, where he needed to start another pot of decaffeinated coffee. Julia followed him.
‘Darling – are you blind or something? Have you not noticed anything?’
Paul looked puzzled. ‘No. Should I? What are you talking about?’
She shook her head, hardly believing what he was saying. ‘Darling, have you not noticed that Duane – your boss – keeps staring at me?’
‘Oh, darling, don’t be ridiculous. Duane’s a grown man. He’s a sophisticated, senior investment banker. He would hardly go preying on his directors’ wives now, would he? Don’t you think you’re being ever so slightly paranoid?’
She swore under her breath. ‘Paul – it’s not just that he’s looking at me. He’s mentally undressing me. I can feel his eyes on me the whole time! And he keeps touching me, too. Any excuse and he has his hands on me! Haven’t you noticed?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, darling! You’re definitely being paranoid. And anyway, if he really does like you, is that such a bad thing?’
She looked at him. ‘Paul – just what are you saying? I may be willing to play the good corporate wife when it comes to entertaining, but that’s as far as it goes!’
He rolled his eyes. ‘For God’s sake, you’re being ridiculous. He’s my boss! If he wants to ogle my beautiful wife, that’s fine with me. You’re mine, not his, and I’m yours.’ He put his arms around her and kissed her on the nose. ‘But if he wants to play footsie under the table, does it do any harm?’ He shrugged. ‘There’s Australia to think about, after all!’
She pushed him away. ‘I can’t believe you just said that! For God’s sake, have you taken leave of your senses? I hope it’s just the drink talking!’
He stepped back, holding out his arms in a gesture of helplessness. ‘What can I say? We both want the fine things in life. Where do you think the money comes from? Do you think the fairies bring it? This man pays my bonus! Sometimes we have to make sacrifices. I’m not asking you to sleep with the guy! Just be nice to him.’
He winced as she threw a half full glass of red wine in his face. It splashed his shirt and tie.
‘Oh, great! Now how do you expect me to explain this to Duane?’ he asked, gesturing at the wine stain down his front.
‘I really couldn’t care less!’ She had tears in her eyes. ‘Fuck you, Paul Rogers, fuck you!’
She turned and ran from the kitchen, ignoring Duane, who sat puffing his cigar on the sofa, and disappeared upstairs. After a moment or two, Paul emerged from the kitchen, looking slightly embarrassed. He was carrying a fresh cup of coffee for Duane, and had mopped up the worst of the wine stain from his shirt.
He looked at Duane and shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, she’s a bit emotional. She’s not usually like this. But we’ve had a bit of a tough time lately. The wedding was very tiring, and we’re trying for a baby, you know…’
Duane sat back and smiled. He patted the sofa beside him. ‘Here, come and sit down.’ He took the coffee cup and put it down beside him as Paul sat down. ‘Relax. These things happen. I couldn’t help overhearing what you were saying in the kitchen.’
‘Oh no! Oh, God, I’m sorry, Duane, so very sorry! This is so embarrassing.’ For a moment Paul put his head in his hands. He looked at Duane and sighed wearily. ‘I’m really, truly sorry. I so wanted tonight to be a success. I don’t know what to say.’
Duane leant forward and put his hand on Paul’s knee. ‘Hey, Paul, who’s saying the evening’s been a failure? I’ve enjoyed it. I hope you have too. And we’ve gotten to know each other a little better.’ He looked Paul in the eye and squeezed his knee. ‘And that’s what matters to me.’ Paul felt a sudden, unexpected feeling of nervousness in the pit of his stomach, almost bordering on nausea. ‘And there’s Australia to think about, isn’t there, Paul? And the money – after all, the fairies don’t bring it.’ Duane was leaning closer to him, their faces were only inches apart. ‘You enjoy the fine things in life, don’t you, Paul?’ He was really close, his hand firm on Paul’s knee. ‘Sometimes we have to make sacrifices.’ Their lips were only inches apart. ‘It’s not as if you have to sleep with me. Just be nice to me.’
‘Oh, God,’ Paul said weakly. His knees were trembling, he felt sick to his stomach, and his hands were shaking. He was drenched in perspiration. He could feel Duane’s hand moving up his thigh. He closed his eyes.
‘You two-faced slimeball!’ Duane was on his feet, shouting. ‘Do you think I have any interest in you, you piece of crap? You are one dishonest, unworthy, unrighteous son of a bitch!’ Paul sat on the sofa, gasping. Duane leant forward until their faces were again only inches apart. ‘Is there nothing you won’t do to advance your worthless career, you scumbag?’ Paul could barely breathe. He shook his head. ‘N…no…’ he stuttered. Duane looked down at him, a mixture of pity and disgust on his face. He looked up to see Julia standing at the foot of the stairs, her hands clasped to her face, a horrified look spoiling her beautiful features. She was looking at Paul and shaking her head, her face white with shock.
Duane walked over to the foot of the stairs. He held out his hand. ‘Come with me, honey. My car’s outside.’
She took his hand and walked outside with him, as if in a trance, leaving the front door open behind them. Paul heard the car engine start. He started sobbing uncontrollably and curled up into a ball on the sofa.
As the limousine pulled away, Duane looked down at the beautiful woman resting against him and then glanced back over his shoulder as the house receded into the distance. He shook his head. These Brits, he thought to himself, so transparent, so easy. Boy, was he going to have fun!
Expenses
‘DON’T LOOK NOW – here he comes!’
She giggled as she leant back in her chair to allow the others to catch sight of Charles Eagleberger II, the newly appointed managing director in charge of the Healthcare team.
Lawrence sighed wearily. Dinner was going to be a bore. Sally and George, respectively the analyst and associate on the team, were lively, hard-working and bright. They were also great fun. And Stockholm was a great tow
n. But Charles Eagleberger II had a bad reputation. Technically he was Lawrence’s equal – both were managing directors – but the American’s constant politicking and lobbying would probably give him an edge over Lawrence if the two fell out. Lawrence was from a different department within corporate finance – he was a mergers and acquisitions specialist – but that would not matter to Eagleberger, who acted as if he was next to God.
‘Tom Lawrence – hey, how are you?’
The mile-wide smile and the bone-crunching handshake were transparently bogus. Eagleberger sat down at the table and spread his napkin across his lap, turning to look for the waiter.
‘Charles…’ Lawrence began.
‘Hey, hold it Tom – let me just get some attention over here. Europeans don’t understand service. They just have no idea. We need to order dinner, run through the pitch for tomorrow’s meeting, and get our heads down. Tomorrow’s a big day, and we need to get it right.’
‘Charles, all I wanted to do was introduce Sally Crawford and George Middleton, who are from the London office. They produced the pitch-book for tomorrow and did most of the preparatory work.’
Eagleberger looked around, genuinely puzzled. For the first time he stared at the embarrassed pair, sitting stiffly to one side as Lawrence insisted on introducing them.
‘What? Oh… hi guys.’
He turned back towards the bar and finally succeeded in attracting the waiter’s attention.
‘Charles,’ Lawrence persisted. ‘Sally is the associate on the London Healthcare team, she’s been with us for just six months. George has been on board for nearly two years. I thought it would be good for them to meet you in person since you’re now the global head of their sector team.’
Eagleberger turned back to the table. He still looked slightly surprised, and for the first time turned to his junior colleagues.
‘Well I’m sure glad to meet you guys, but… well Tom,’ he turned back to Lawrence and rubbed his chin reflectively, as if wondering how to raise an awkward subject, ‘I have to be frank with you. In the States I wouldn’t normally take guys like this on a pitch.’
‘Oh, really?’ Lawrence leant forward. He was a good five inches shorter than his colleague. He looked the American directly in the eye.
‘Why sure. These guys are doing boot camp. They exist to write pitch-books, prepare presentations, carry out research, do whatever the hell they’re told. Taking them on a pitch is a waste of their time and the firm’s money.’
Sally and George sat silently, trying to pretend they were somewhere else and that this was not really happening. Sally, a pretty red-head with freckles, was blushing as she stared at the tablecloth.
‘Well I suppose we’ll have to agree to differ, Charles. Perhaps when you see the quality of their work you’ll change your mind?’
Eagleberger was firm in his reply.
‘I already did.’ He reached into his briefcase and produced a copy of the pitch-book, which he tossed onto the table. ‘This book’s too thin. I read it on the plane over. It took me twenty minutes.’
Lawrence leant back in his chair and stared briefly at the ceiling. This was too awful for words. He looked at the American.
‘Of course it’s thin, Charles. That’s because it’s relevant. I asked Sally and George to cut out all the boiler-plate, all the league table nonsense from the marketing department, all the irrelevant credentials, and instead focus on what we really had to say to the client – the bits that are original, creative, and matter to him.’
There was a brief silence as Eagleberger stared at the Englishman.
‘Well… I guess I shouldn’t blame them in that case, but I have to tell you, Tom, that if we don’t tell the client how good we are, you can bet none of our competitors will!’
Lawrence sighed.
‘Charles,’ he said, straining to remain calm and patient, ‘our ideas will tell the client how good we are. Our creativity and the quality of our thinking will do that. That’s how we’ll win the business.’
The waiter was hovering nearby.
‘We’ll just have to agree to differ, Tom.’ He looked almost menacingly at Lawrence. ‘Let’s discuss it further after tomorrow’s meeting, shall we? Now – who’s hungry?’
They ordered in frosty silence, Sally and George taking care not to catch either man’s eye. When their food orders had been taken, the sommelier came to the table.
‘Let me have that,’ commanded Lawrence as he held out the wine-list, uncertain who to give it to. Lawrence turned to the back of the list and scrutinised it quickly.
‘A bottle of the ’97 Chassagne Montrachet.’ He turned to Sally and George. ‘A great year, and something special for the two of you – you deserve it!’
‘Now hold on.’ It was Eagleberger, looking shocked again. He reached over and took the wine-list. ‘That’s…my God, expensive! It’s not as if we’re entertaining clients here. We can’t just fly around the world spending shareholders’ money buying fine wines for employees. The firm needs to keep a tight rein on expenses. And don’t forget the Healthcare team’s picking up the cost of this trip. That’s my team!’ He turned to the sommelier. ‘Mineral water will be fine.’ He glanced at Sally and George, and added, as if by way of consolation, ‘Let’s have still and sparkling!’
As the sommelier turned to go, Lawrence leant forward again. ‘Just a moment!’ He turned back to the table. ‘We’ll have a bottle of the Chassagne Montrachet.’ Before Eagleberger could speak, Lawrence added. ‘I’ll pick up the tab myself.’
By 9.30 Eagleberger headed off to bed. Lawrence looked at the other two.
‘So who wants a night-cap?’
They looked at each other and shrugged. They looked flat and dejected. Sally spoke.
‘Look, Tom, it’s really kind of you, but it really doesn’t help.
We have to live with this idiot – you don’t.’
‘And he’ll take it out on us – he’s a bully as well as a jerk,’ added George.
Lawrence said nothing for a moment, but looked thoughtful.
‘I bet he is a jerk… Okay, let’s skip the night-cap. You two head off up. Don’t forget we have an early start tomorrow. I’ll be having breakfast in my room, but let’s meet at the check-out desk at, say, six o’clock.’
George looked up. ‘Isn’t six a little early? Our car will be outside at six forty-five.’
Lawrence stared hard at him, and for once his usual lightheartedness and humour were gone.
‘No. Be there at six sharp.’
Lawrence was leaning on the check-out counter at five past six the next morning when Eagleberger came bounding down into the lobby. His first reaction was surprise at seeing Lawrence there before him. He was even more surprised when he saw Sally and George sitting a few yards away, glancing at the morning papers.
‘Hey! Hi, guys. How are we all feeling today? Pumped up and ready to go?’
Lawrence looked at him impassively and raised a quizzical eyebrow.
‘Do you want to pay, so that we can go?’
Eagleberger looked a little unsure of himself as Lawrence signalled to the receptionist. She was a tall blonde in her early twenties, dressed in a tight-fitting black skirt, with a waistcoat and white uniform blouse that gave her an almost school-ma’am-like quality.
‘Good morning, gentlemen.’ She looked at Lawrence and smiled. ‘I think you have already checked out, yes?’
Lawrence smiled back warmly.
‘That’s right. My colleague needs to check out.’
She looked at Eagleberger and smiled tightly.
‘Which room were you in, sir?’
‘Nine seventeen,’ replied the American flatly. He leant forward on the counter and stared at the mirror behind the check-out desk with an air of affected boredom. The receptionist tapped his room number into the computer and started to read out loud.
‘So, let’s see. We have one overnight stay, dinner in the restaurant, breakfast this morning in your room, two
international calls…’ she paused and her voice hardened, ‘And three videos on the pay TV.’
Lawrence turned to her, startled.
‘What did you say? That last item must be a mistake.’
Eagleberger stood back from the counter, uncertain how to respond. The receptionist tapped some more numbers into the computer.
‘No, sir. There is no mistake. Three movies at one hundred and fifty Kroner each. Do you want the titles?’
‘No!’ It was Eagleberger, red-faced and angry. He leant forward and hissed, ‘Just print the god-damned bill!’
Lawrence turned to Sally and George.
‘Okay, you two – just go and wait outside, please! This is not what you think.’ He turned to Eagleberger. ‘Charles – presumably there has been some mistake? I took what you said about expenses last night very seriously, and I know Sally and George did too. There must be a mistake in the hotel’s billing system, surely?’
Eagleberger, perspiring and breathing hard, was at a loss for words.
‘No, gentlemen, there is definitely no mistake.’ It was the receptionist, her earlier friendliness replaced by an icy formality. ‘I see men like this the whole time. They come here, to this hotel, they watch these filthy movies. They are sick! I don’t know who is sicker, the hotel for supplying them or the men who watch them. They are disgusting.’ She looked directly at Eagleberger. ‘What do you do, alone in your room? Do you lie in bed and play with yourself?’
He stood paralysed, open-mouthed, bright red, searching desperately for something to say.
‘Are you married? Does your wife know what you do on business trips to Stockholm?’ She looked at him with open contempt. ‘Well?’
Eagleberger looked first at her, then at Lawrence.
‘Tom… I…’
‘Don’t.’ Lawrence turned away, his face betraying the contempt he felt for the American. ‘I had no idea… I wish I didn’t know this.’ He turned back to Eagleberger. ‘And the worst of it, Charles, is that you’re expensing it to the firm. My God, the firm shouldn’t be subsidising your… habits. How many trips do you do a year, Charles?’
Dave Hart Omnibus II Page 38
