Learning curves: a novel of sex, suits, and business affairs

by Gemma Townley

  “I have one question for you.”

  “Okay,” Jen said uncertainly.

  “What the hell! Why don’t you tell him? Jesus, you could be running this show in a couple of years. I don’t understand.”

  “He’s not really my father.”

  Lara looked at her strangely. “Look, if this is your idea of a joke, it’s really not that funny.”

  “No, I don’t mean . . . Look, he left us when I was thirteen. I haven’t seen him since. And I don’t particularly want to. See him, that is.”

  “So you’re doing your MBA here because . . . ?”

  “Because . . . okay, this is really, really secret.”

  Lara rolled her eyes. “Jesus, enough of the melodrama, okay?”

  “Fine. I’m . . . I’m trying to find out if Bell Consulting is involved in corruption in Indonesia. You know the Tsunami aid money and the building program out there? Well, there are some dodgy deals being brokered. Dodgy houses being built.”

  “And why would you think Bell’s involved?”

  “Because one of the companies that just happened to get some of the prime contracts is Axiom, who are clients of Bell. Bell just happens to have offices in Indonesia, and its clients out there include several government departments. And” —she leaned over so she could whisper— “my dad’s going out to Indonesia next week.”

  “Bloody hell,” said Lara, a look of shock on her face. “So what are you going to do about it?”

  Jen looked at her awkwardly. “I need to get into his office. Look at his papers.”

  Lara nearly fell off her chair. “You’re going to break into George Bell’s . . . sorry, your dad’s office?”

  Jen smiled nervously.

  “Seriously?”

  Jen nodded, and Lara looked thoughtful.

  “I s’pose you’re going to want my help, then?”

  Jen shook her head, then hesitated. “Really?” she asked softly. “I mean, would you?”

  “Hell, we’re a team, aren’t we?” she said matter-of-factly.

  Jen grinned gratefully. “Does that mean we have to invite Alan along too?”

  Lara laughed. “Oh that would be priceless,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “Just asking him would be worth it to see the expression on his face!”

  They both smiled and didn’t say anything for several minutes.

  “And when exactly were you thinking of breaking in?” Lara asked eventually.

  Jen looked thoughtful. “I thought next week. When he’s in Indonesia.”

  “Right,” Lara said, doing her best to look totally unfazed. “Next week it is, then.”

  Bill was wearing a stripy jumper and army combats and his hair was tied back into a loose ponytail. Jen found herself about to ask how he got it to lie so flat and glossy, then kicked herself.

  “So, Jennifer, how’s it hanging?”

  Jen smiled weakly. “Oh, you know,” she said vaguely.

  He motioned for her to sit down. “So, already on to your second module, huh? Are you finding the course work okay?”

  Jen nodded. She knew she had to think of something to say, otherwise Bill was going to be forced to ask question after question and he’d feel bad and she’d feel awkward and he was meant to be her personal tutor; they were meant to be building a rapport.

  The problem was that she couldn’t think of anything to ask him about. Lara had been in to her see personal tutor that morning and they’d talked for two hours, covering (in no particular order), course work, whether it was a good idea to shag someone in your course—a theoretical question, Lara was keen to point out, since there was no one remotely shaggable around—rents in London, future career options, and whether or not her tutor’s husband was cheating on her (in Lara’s opinion the answer was yes, but she didn’t say that). So how come, Jen wondered, I can’t think of anything?

  “We’ve just started on external analysis,” she said eventually. “Environmental factors. Market positioning, that sort of thing.”

  Bill nodded interestedly. “Man, that’s my favorite part,” he said with a smile. “You can stop all that navel gazing and get out there, see what’s happening in the real world. Am I right?”

  Jen nodded uncertainly. All she could think about was breaking into her father’s office, which filled her with equal amounts of excitement and dread.

  “I suppose,” she said noncommittally. “I mean, sort of. We’re not actually going outside or anything.” Now that Daniel wasn’t teaching her anymore, Jen had lost her flurry of enthusiasm for her studies.

  “Why don’t you see some businesses for yourself, then?” Bill suggested gently. “Go visit some real-life managers somewhere? I’m sure they’d be interested in talking to you. You’re going to have to pick an industry to write your assignment on anyway, so this could be part of your research.”

  Jen looked at him thoughtfully. “You mean just ring up a company and see if they’ll let me come in and talk to them?”

  Bill nodded. “Why not? Can’t hurt to ask.”

  Jen thought for a moment, knowing exactly which company she’d pick if she had her way. She imagined herself at Wyman’s, trailing after Daniel and talking to him about her assignment. Bookselling must have all sorts of external influences, and it was such a nice business, too. Very little pollution, no unethical practices— well, unless you counted those awful biographies of pop stars who were only nineteen and hardly had much of a life to write about, but then that was the publishing companies’ fault, not the bookseller’s. She snapped herself out of her reverie just in time to hear Bill ask about the rest of her life.

  “You know, relationships, social life, that sort of thing?” he asked, his face suddenly changing into his life-coach “concerned” expression.

  Jen looked away defensively. “Fine, fine,” she said evasively, trying to convince herself as much as him.

  “Pleased to hear it. And if you hit any problems, you come to me—that’s why you’ve got a personal tutor. To help you through stuff.”

  “Thanks, Bill. I appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome! Now you just keep those problems coming, and I’ll just keep on helping. Deal?”

  Jen grinned. She did actually feel better. “Okay, Bill,” she said seriously. “It’s a deal.”

  9

  Jen sat in front of her computer, took out her mobile, and dialed a number. Then she hit END and put her phone down again. For the fifth time.

  Just do it, she told herself. Just pick up the phone and call him. He liked your assignment. He gave you an A-minus. Now you just have to ask him if you can spend some time at his office, for research. It’s an opportunity. Grab it!

  And the risks? she thought worriedly. What if he laughs, says no, tells me he’s too busy. He probably doesn’t even remember me.

  She looked again at her assignment, with Daniel’s writing on it and the official stamp at the bottom giving her the name and number of the marker. Daniel Peterson’s direct line.

  He’d be way too busy to see her. It was a stupid idea.

  Although if she never even tried, she’d never know . . .

  Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, Jen pressed SEND on her phone and listened as it automatically re-dialed the number. After two rings, someone picked up.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi!” Jen said quickly. “I . . . I was hoping to talk to Daniel. Daniel Peterson.”

  “Well, that’s lucky. You are.”

  Jen frowned. “I . . . Oh God, is that you?” she said suddenly. “I was expecting a PA or something . . .”

  “She’s having lunch,” Daniel said amiably. “So, what can I do for you?”

  Jen felt herself getting hot. “It’s Jennifer here. We . . . we met at Bell Consulting and . . .”

  “Jennifer from the men’s room?”

  Jen got hotter. “Yes. The thing is I . . .”

  “And from the bench?”

  “Yes.” She could sense that Daniel was smiling, even ove
r the phone, and it made her flustered. She looked at the piece of paper in front of her on which she’d written exactly what she wanted to say, but her eyes could barely focus on it.

  “I was just wondering,” she said hesitantly, “the thing is, we’re doing external analysis at the moment and my personal tutor thought . . . I mean, I thought . . . I mean, well, we both thought actually that it would be good to get out into the real world, so to speak. Talk to someone about real business issues . . .”

  “That sounds like a very good idea,” Daniel said. “Which company did you have in mind?”

  Jen went red. “Well, um, yours, actually.” There was a pause and Jen held her breath.

  “I see! Well, I’m sure something can be arranged,” he said.

  He’s going to suggest I go and work in the bookshop, Jen thought to herself desperately. He thinks I’m some weird stalker. He’s going to hang up. He’s going to . . .

  “I’ll tell you what,” Daniel said conspiratorially. “I’ve been thinking about getting out and doing a bit of research for ages but just haven’t made the time to do it. You could join me if you like—external analysis in action, so to speak.”

  Jen was taken aback. “Get out where?” she asked.

  “Bookshops of course. To watch the great book-buying public make their purchases. I’m free on Sunday if you are. And I’ll throw lunch in, too.”

  “Really?” Jen said incredulously. “I mean, really. No, that sounds very interesting. I’d love to. If that’s okay . . .”

  “Great. Meet you outside Book City on Oxford Street at one?”

  “Okay,” Jen said quickly, her heart suddenly floating on thin air. “One sounds great!”

  “I liked your assignment, by the way.”

  Jen grinned. “I hoped you would.” She frowned. Had she given too much away?

  “So, one, then.”

  “One.”

  And feeling like a teenager, Jen hung up the phone.

  Jen leaned over Lara, who was sitting in the library staring at a computer screen.

  “Okay,” she whispered. “Reconnaissance report is as follows: One P.M., his personal assistant goes to lunch. One-fifteen P.M. the two administrative assistants go to lunch. One-thirty P.M. his PA comes back with a sandwich and eats it at her desk reading the Times.”

  “And he’s definitely in Indonesia?”

  Jen looked at Lara shiftily. “I’m pretty sure he is,” she said. “I’ve been up to the eighth floor three times this week and he hasn’t been there, nor his coat or anything else. And one of his consultants definitely mentioned this week when he was by the water cooler the other day.”

  “Okay then, go on.”

  “Well, we’ve got to get in at one-fifteen P.M. exactly to avoid his PA. If you can be on lookout duty, I can find what I need in five or ten minutes, I’m sure. And I’ll see if I can log on to his computer, too.”

  Lara turned round and rolled her eyes. “Are you really sure about this?” she asked eventually. “I mean, it sounded kind of exciting at first. And, you know, it still is. Kind of. But I was actually hoping to get an MBA here rather than being slung out for breaking and entering.”

  “You wouldn’t be breaking and entering. The most they could get you for is aiding and abetting, and anyway, I told you, if anything goes wrong, just leave me there.”

  “So you can be slung out instead?”

  “I’m not the one who actually wants an MBA. Seriously, just walk away and pretend you don’t even know who I am.”

  Lara shrugged. “Okay, then. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, shall we?”

  She smiled encouragingly at Jen, and Jen tried to smile back brightly, but her insides were churning.

  “See you in the restaurant at one P.M.?” she asked Lara, who nodded silently.

  Jen opened a book in front of her and waited for the seconds to tick by.

  At one P.M. Jen and Lara were standing in front of the restroom, next to the lifts. Jen had a clear line of vision to Emily’s desk and could see one of the administrative assistants. Lara was busily applying lipstick and talking about fictional relationship problems—at least Jen assumed they were fictional. They’d decided that if they were having a conversation about relationships and sex, no one would interrupt them or ask what they were doing.

  “She’s coming,” hissed Jen as Emily stood up, put on her coat and started walking toward the lift. As she approached them, she paused briefly, looked as if she was going to stop and say something, then thought better of it, pressed the call button for the lift and, a few seconds later, disappeared behind the gray metallic doors.

  Jen let out her breath and wiped away the small beads of sweat that were gathering on her forehead. This was all getting a bit too real, she decided.

  “Why am I doing this?” she muttered under her breath, and Lara looked at her quizzically.

  “Truth, justice, and world peace, wasn’t it?” she said with a wry smile, and Jen grimaced.

  Ten minutes passed, more slowly then Jen thought possible, and then, at last, she saw the visible administrative assistant stand up. A few seconds later, she too was walking toward the lift, followed by her colleague. It was now or never.

  Quickly, Jen and Lara sprung into action. They walked as nonchalantly as they could toward George’s office, then Jen quickly ducked in while Lara stood guard outside.

  It felt very strange to be in her father’s office, a room that she hadn’t seen for sixteen, maybe seventeen years. It had the same smell—expensive leather, fresh flowers— and the same full bowl of fruit he insisted on getting delivered every morning and from which nothing was ever eaten.

  On the walls were photographs—George with Bill Gates, with Richard Branson; sailing, skiing, playing tennis. In each photograph his face drew you in— animated, strong, charismatic, powerful. And selfish, Jen thought to herself. All this fun you were having—did you ever think about me? Ever wonder what I was doing?

  She shook herself. Now was not the time for recriminations, she decided. There would be time for that later.

  She headed straight for her father’s cabinet, a large wooden cupboard that, she discovered, housed not just his paperwork, but also his golf clubs and a dinner jacket. She frowned and scanned the shelves.

  “Can I help you?”

  Jen froze. She recognized that voice, although she couldn’t quite place it. She turned around slowly just as she heard Lara answer.

  “Oh, hi! I was hoping to catch Mr. Bell’s secretary. I wanted to interview her for some research I’m conducting. Do you know where she is?”

  Jen let out a breath silently and turned round again. She knew who it was now—it was one of the guys she’d followed into the men’s room at the charity dinner. But thankfully he’d only seen Lara.

  “I think she’s at lunch, actually,” Jen heard him say. “But she’ll be back soon. She’ll need to be—the big man’s due back any minute.”

  Jen gulped. He couldn’t mean her father. He was in Indonesia. Wasn’t he?

  “Even better!” Lara said, sounding for all the world as if she meant it. “I thought he was out of the country.”

  “Why would you think that?” His voice sounded vaguely suspicious, and Jen held her breath.

  “Oh, something someone said. I must have got the wrong end of the stick . . .”

  Jen scanned the cabinet for files. Alpha, AT&T, Bar-clays, Barton’s, BOC Group, House of Fraser, the Ministry of Defense. Nothing on Axiom. Jen frowned. Where was the bloody file? There must be one somewhere, she thought desperately and carried on looking at the rows of files in case the Axiom one had been put back in the wrong place, but she got to Xerox and still came up with nothing.

  She frowned and looked around quickly to see if there was anywhere else in the office that the file might be. There was a round table with six chairs around it, but there was nothing on it except for the obligatory fruit and a carafe of water. There were also two filing cabinets, but both were locked.
Jen bit her lip—she couldn’t believe she’d come all this way for nothing.

  Then she noticed something on a low shelf. It was a pile of papers, on top of which was a handwritten note. She picked it up and felt her heart jump as she realized what it was.

  George,

  Re our telephone conversation, thanks for helping out. Contracts will all be signed next week and I’ll make sure you’re copied in.

  Yours,

  Malcolm

  Malcolm, as in Malcolm Bray? Jen thought to herself. Malcolm Bray was the chief executive of Axiom. But what did he mean by “helping out”?

  Quickly, she folded the letter up and stuffed it in her pocket. She heard the guy Lara had been talking to walk away and sighed with relief.

  “Quick,” Lara whispered, popping her head round the door. “Get out.”

  “I need a bit more time,” Jen said quickly. “Just a few more minutes.”

  “There is no more time. Your father’s not in Indonesia, is he? He’s bloody well here!”

  “Okay, so he’ll be back soon—I only need a bit more time . . . ,” Jen said dismissively.

  Lara glared at her. “No, Jen, he’s here, as in now,” Lara hissed urgently. Jen looked at her in alarm and ran to the door. Across the floor, walking purposefully toward his office with two consultants in tow was her father. And in his hands was something that looked suspiciously like the Axiom file.

  “Go!” she whispered to Lara, who shrugged helplessly and walked quickly back to Emily’s desk, pretending to put something in her in-tray.

  Jen looked around desperately. There was nowhere to run to. Nowhere to hide.

  Unless . . . Quickly she opened the cabinet doors. There could just be enough room, she reasoned. If she could shift the golf clubs along a bit. Without pausing for breath, she dived in, closing the doors behind her just as her father walked through the door.

  She squirmed around so that she could see through the crack between the two cabinet doors. Her father sat down at his meeting table, and two young men walked in. One of them was the guy Lara had been talking to.

  “Right, so, Jack, tell me what this is all about.”

  “It’s the Axiom problem. I think we need to make a statement. Distance ourselves from the company. Tell them we can’t work with them anymore.”