by M. D. Hall
By all normal parameters life was good. He was still on excellent terms with his ex-wife, while in his private life, he rarely spent time with lawyers, or people who would seek to use his influence for their own ends. Instead, he enjoyed playing golf, unsurprisingly off scratch, with two friends: one a police captain; the other a plumber. There used to be a fourth, the service manager of a car dealership, until he ran off with his boss’s wife, none of them saw that one coming, not even Hugo.
Other than golf, they shared nothing in common. While his two friends knew Hugo to be a wealthy lawyer they were completely unaware of his status in the legal world. As he was a law abiding citizen who did not practice criminal law, he never had cause to come across the policeman, while the times he had used the services of the plumber, he paid the going rate.
Content with his own company, there were times he preferred to share his experiences with others, and by others that meant, women. He loved the way the paintings of the American Impressionists portrayed them, particularly Frank Weston Benson. Unsurprisingly, given his tastes, he eventually turned to the French, and Claude Monet, above all the rest.
Despite his not inconsiderable fortune, courtesy of wisely invested income, he could not bring himself to purchase an original painting. The insane asking prices were not the issue. He took the view, paintings should be enjoyed as they were originally displayed. For that reason he would, spontaneously, take the firm’s jet to Paris and visit his favourite gallery, the Musée d’Orsay, perhaps the one abuse of his influence!
One failed marriage behind him, he was unable to commit. Although, following the initial string of one night stands, he gravitated towards longer, but still fleeting encounters with beautiful women, where the usual course would be concerts, dinner and exotic trips, before the inevitable break up. The only condition he imposed on himself was that they were intelligent; they needed to be as pleasing to the ear as they were lovely to the eye, and there was never a shortage of suitable candidates.
Until now, however, he had never contemplated taking one of them to Paris.
It was also inevitable he would make powerful political connections along the way. As apolitical as it was possible for a man in his position to be, he recognised the necessity, for the good of the firm, to attend social gatherings held by, and for, the great and powerful. To be more accurate, powerful political forces made connections to him. Politicians have a unique ability to sense the presence of power in others, as though it were palpable, and instinctively they were drawn to Hugo, in anticipation of the day they could harness that power for their own ends.
So it was, Hugo became the most influential man in the country. Little wonder that anyone with serious business concerns came to him. It was because of his reputation as a man who could deliver, that his life was about to take a course, even he could never have predicted.
Thirty-six floors above the valet, Hugo stepped out of the elevator, his mind still on the unfortunate ex marine, and how the two of them occupied completely different worlds. He decided there and then, that the inhabitants of George’s world were going to be helped, whether George liked it or not. He turned immediately right and, in doing so, almost bumped into Olivia Stern from taxation.
It was hard to imagine a woman who looked less like a tax lawyer, but listen to her for thirty-seconds, and there was no doubt, mind like a steel trap.
He had made it a practice to avoid dating anyone within the profession, finding small talk between lawyers tedious, but Olivia had proven the exception to his rule, confounding his presumptions. During the inevitable lull in partners’ meetings, they chatted about anything other than the law. She was erudite, funny and seemed taken with him. They were having dinner together that evening, and it was testimony to her reflexes that they avoided a collision in the corridor.
Sidestepping him, she answered his sheepish smile with a knowing slight tilt of the head, gliding graciously past him towards her own department. ‘Mind elsewhere Hugo?’ she winked.
He had no idea then, but he was going to miss his dinner date. As he watched her recede down the corridor, dinner was the furthest thing from his thoughts. She turned her head in his direction and smiled, before disappearing through the doorway. He stood, for a moment, looking at the closing American cherry door, and smiled to himself, she is going to love Paris.
A look at the receptionists showed all, but one, discreetly looking elsewhere. The rebel looked straight at him, with an innocent smile which warmed his heart. It always seemed to Hugo, from his conversations with her, that she was incapable of any expression, other than happiness. He tried, without success, to recall ever seeing her looking less than cheerful, before returning her smile and moving off towards the doors to his own department.
As the doors closed behind him, he looked down the wide corridor marking the entrance to his personal domain. On either side, were doors to the engine rooms of his practice, the offices of the secretaries, paralegals and associates whose relentless work made him appear as though a magician. He would find time in every day, to seek out and speak to each one and, unlike most others in his position, actually listen to what they had to say.
For now, however, he was enjoying the anticipation of what awaited him in his private waiting room, the feeling that always came with a new client, the hope that he would be confronted with a completely new challenge. More often than not, he was disappointed, but perhaps today would be different?
He only had one appointment that day, with a couple from out of town. How far out of town he had no idea, but that was about to change.
The first thing a visitor would see, on entering his suite, centred and to the left, would be his PA’s desk; flanked on two sides by filing cabinets, and shelves containing rows of books, set out in meticulous order, and totally unnecessary in the digital age. To the right was the heavy walnut door to his personal waiting room where, Hugo anticipated, his clients were currently ensconced. Directly ahead was the door to his office. Each room was soundproofed, adding to the air of total privacy.
Standing in front of her desk, was his PA, Liz Corcoran who, as always, gave him a little nervous smile. Not for the first time, he wondered how things might have panned out for them if…then pulled himself up, sharply. Not Liz, it would be wrong, she was his rock, the one who kept him right. No one truly realised that his success was largely dependent on her. If she ever decided to qualify as a lawyer the bar would have found a formidable addition to its ranks. He had suggested it once, but she would have none of it, finally saying, when pressed. ‘I think of your cases as our cases, and my biggest client is you!’ He never raised the issue again.
She was the only person, other than his golf buddies, who wanted nothing from him. All of his staff were very well paid, and Liz more than the rest; he believed in rewarding talent, commitment and above all, loyalty. Whatever he paid her, it was not enough, but again, when he had tried to raise her salary to the level he thought she deserved, he was told politely, but firmly. ‘No!’
Liz was indispensable, but even Hugo had no idea just how truly indispensable she would prove to be, how could he, at this precise moment in time he had no idea what was about to unfold?
She moved towards him with an unconscious feline grace, meeting him midway between her desk and the door. ‘Your appointment arrived fifteen minutes early, I offered them refreshments, which they refused, and showed them into the waiting room.’ She handed him a small card on which she had written the names of each of his clients. He raised his eyebrows, and handed the card back.
‘The first name is the woman.’
He simply nodded his head, but remained silent for a moment, before quickly telling her of George’s predicament. She understood perfectly. ‘I’ll contact Kathy,’ Hugo’s ex, ‘and see if she can arrange a transfer to somewhere, more appropriate. You’ll pick up the tab for his wife’s stay, and you want paid leave arranged with his employers. If they’re unwilling to cooperate, I’m to give them a polite reminder t
hat their contract is up for renewal in six months, and while we only account for a single voice on the committee, it’s a voice everyone hears,’ she paused without seeking approval, before adding, ‘oh, I almost forgot, your tea is on your desk.’
Hugo marvelled, once again, at her acuity and gave her a smile, which she returned, only the merest hint of the shyness remaining. She spun on her well-turned heel and started to move off, before hesitating and looking back at him. ‘It probably isn’t appropriate for me to comment, but be careful with these clients.’ She said nothing more before resuming her walk to the desk where, he had no doubt, George’s immediate problems would be resolved.
In the twelve years they had been together, Liz had never expressed concerns about a client. He had no doubts concerning her feelings towards some, rather notorious, individuals who had crossed his threshold, but she had always maintained a dignified, and professional silence. It would be a foolish man who failed to heed her warning. He replied. ‘Three minutes,’ she nodded, before he added. ‘I’ll be careful.’ She smiled again, but her eyes betrayed her concern.
In three minutes the clients would be brought in to him. There was no need for him to check his emails, Liz would have seen to that. They would have been sorted into: dealt with, deal with later, and unimportant. Had there been anything that needed his immediate attention, he would have been told, he relied on her, completely.
He entered his office, a surprisingly simple affair for a man who loved art, especially as there were no pictures on the walls. The furnishings comprised a black leather ergonomic chair behind a rich walnut, leather tooled desk, on which his laptop lay open, powered up, and set to the left side. A clean and open notebook was to its right; he always insisted on a clean notebook for each new client. Particularly important to Hugo was the cup and saucer, sitting on the desk, directly in front of the chair. He sat down, placing his briefcase on a small table behind his desk.
Opposite the desk were the two chairs needed for his clients, another four waited patiently against one of the walls. Set to one side was a comfortable couch, in front of which nestled a Louis XIV low coffee table. Finally, a large panelled cabinet from the same French period, looked out imperiously across the entire room, its gaze taking in the second door in the room, the one to his private bathroom.
Hugo sat for a moment, enjoying the view of the skyline through sheer glass that comprised the whole of the external wall to his office, and waited for his clients.
The Meeting
Δ
Thirty-seconds later the door opened, and as his new clients stepped into his office, Hugo rose to greet them. Both visitors were dressed in immaculately cut, hand made Italian suits, each appeared completely at ease and, physically at least, flawless. They were a perfectly matched pair. Both quite tall, their build in ideal proportion to their height. There was, however, no doubt in Hugo’s mind, the woman was the dominant one.
He came around to the front of his desk and extended his hand to each of them in turn, the woman first. The eyes that looked across to him were soft, and the smile warm. While she looked directly at him, he felt completely at ease. Her hand was soft and slightly cool, yet not unpleasantly so, her grip surprisingly firm, no sign of nervousness there, he thought.
The man’s handshake, similarly revealed no anxiety, but what struck Hugo was the power behind the grip, it was immense, but with no apparent effort. This was the man’s natural grip and was belied by his build, which despite being athletic, did not suggest this degree of strength. The man looked beyond Hugo, which seemed a little strange as there was nothing in that direction but a plain wall; it was at odds with the demeanour of his companion.
Completely out of the blue, the thought occurred to Hugo that, despite having just met, if this woman was running for office he would vote for her, whatever she stood for. She radiated an aura of warmth and fidelity, her eyes a mesmerising green, had the effect of assuring him everything, everywhere would be fine.
Now that he was closer to them, he re-evaluated his initial assessment, they were not perfectly matched. The man seemed more like a manikin, perfectly formed, but empty. Other than physical perfection, they appeared to have little else in common. While she exuded warm benevolence, he was marked by a cold indifference. Who are these people? he thought.
‘Hello, I’m Hugo Black, and I understand you are Tala, and Beron,’ he said looking in turn, first at the woman and then the man. He waited in vain for them to provide second names, then gestured towards the chairs. ‘How may I help you?’
Once his clients were seated, he returned to his side of the desk and sat down, then, without taking his eyes from them, lifted his cup and sipped. Drinking tea in his office first thing was a ritual he tried never to forgo; it was a blend of the golden tips of a black tea, from the Yunnan province of China known, unsurprisingly, as Yunnan Gold, with especially fragrant oil of bergamot and, purely for aesthetic reasons, sunflower petals. Introduced to the drink three years earlier, during a business trip to England, he had it specially blended and shipped to him on a regular basis. He had always found it to be especially soothing in the morning. This morning, he would soon discover, the tea was just not going to cut it.
He continued looking at his visitors, who returned his gaze, the woman with a glint in her eyes that suggested amusement. The silence lasted about two minutes, and was a new experience for Hugo. Usually, his clients were impatient to tell him everything, hungry to hear his opinion of their case. Never before had he been confronted with supremely confident, yet silent clients who, even when invited to speak, said nothing.
During the silence he tried to size them up. From their clothes, and the grand complication watch Beron was wearing - Tala was wearing an equally impressive item from a different Swiss manufacture - it was clear they were people of substance. Everything about them proclaimed their superiority. These were people who always got their way, whatever the cost, and he suspected this was most likely achieved with a simple telephone call, rather than through the services of a lawyer. So what, exactly, are you doing in my office? he thought. Under most circumstances, he would have the measure of someone within a few minutes, he felt a little uncomfortable that his visitors remained a mystery.
Beron broke the impasse, Hugo had expected it would be Tala, but her remaining silent did nothing to refute his gut feeling, that she was the one in charge. When the man spoke, the spell shattered. His voice was both authoritative and serious, without being pompous, but it was disagreeable in a way Hugo was unable to define. He could now understand what it was Liz had been trying to say, Visually, this guy is an ad man’s dream. He could be used to sell anything, until he opens his mouth, but there’s something else that’s not right, I can't put my finger on it, but he’s not what he seems.
‘My companion and I,’ Beron started to say. Hugo looked at the woman, whose face maintained her earlier, enigmatic aspect, ‘intend setting up a company to promote certain inventions and discoveries, the likes of which no one has seen before. We can't emphasise too strongly that we will change how mankind lives, forever,’ he paused.
Hugo had, in the course of his work, come across many scientists and was fully aware that the clichéd boffin, with unkempt hair and appalling dress sense was, by and large, apocryphal. Nevertheless, he thought it unlikely he would ever meet two people less the stereotype.
Both of his visitors continued to look straight at him, and while they retained their calm exterior, the woman’s green eyes were now ablaze. They want to see how I’ll react. He settled back in his chair, and took another sip of his tea, before speaking, not to the man, but to the woman with the no longer serene emerald eyes. ‘That’s, to say the least, quite a claim and, if you’ll forgive me, a little vague.’
The woman, Tala, spoke for the first time with a voice that vividly contrasted with that of her companion, where he was authoritative, she was reassuring, where he was serious, she was relaxed. ‘We lack experience in making presentations. What
we intend doing has never before been attempted, and so there’s no precedent on how it’s announced. The best way, I suppose, is just to have done with it.’ She gave Hugo a winning here we go smile. ‘We propose releasing onto the market, amongst other things: a food and water replication device; fusion power; a seeding system that will, permanently, renew your ozone layer...’
Hugo prided himself on never interrupting a client, but this was simply too ludicrous for words. ‘You can't be serious!’ he blurted out, while she was in mid sentence.
‘…and in time, cures for, and inoculations against, all known human diseases. The full list will be impressive.’ She had continued, unfazed, as though he had never spoken.
For all her evident sophistication, she had reeled off her list with the enthusiasm of a young girl describing her first day at school. Yet, while she retained her open and excited look, there was something about her eyes that appeared to caution: We are judging you, choose your next words, carefully. It then occurred to him that she had said, ‘human diseases,’ and ‘your ozone layer.’
OK, he thought, human diseases, there’s nothing too strange about that, they might be biologists, and scientists need to be precise, but ‘your ozone layer’? Whoever they are, its still ‘our’ ozone layer. He looked at them for some clue. What he had just been told was crazy, on more than one level, but they neither looked, nor sounded crazy. He had met his fair share of unbalanced people in his time, and there was always something that gave it away. None of those signs were here. Rich, self assured, well-groomed people could still be unhinged, even if he had yet to meet one, before today. What he needed was something to tip the scales one-way, or the other.
