by Ian Harwood
“Is that a complaint?” she asks, saccharin-sweet.
“No, just a remark.” Pondering her, I trace the rim of my glass with my finger. I’d believed myself to be a shoe-in for Bernard’s position if the old goat ever retired. If Juliet has her heart set on that role, then I don’t doubt, she’ll get what she wants. By hook or by crook.
And how do I feel about that?
I’m not really sure. The idea needs to be explored, when I’ve got more time on my hands and when she isn’t studying my face for the minutest of expressions.
And that’s exactly what she’s doing.
I can tell.
She does want the job.
If I concede to today’s ploy, then I’ll be aiding her in snatching the role from under my feet. Because Bernard is old-fashioned enough to believe that women can’t run companies. It doesn’t matter that his right hand man is a woman, or that he has plenty of female staff working on the top floor of the company house. For the main job, it has to be a man, but to be fair; he is from a different generation so it’s understandable if not forgivable to a certain degree.
If I let her help me today, she’ll use her time here as an example for why she should be allowed to work at the company on a full time basis.
I don’t doubt that she’d wheedle her way into the company with or without my help, but this will definitely boost up the schedule.
I’m not sure whether to be pissed off at that or if I should mellowly accept it.
Because I’m edging towards the former, I state, as calmly as I can, “And is that why you’re here? Is that why you’ve had a change of heart?”
“What do you mean?”
“If memory serves, Juliet, you were anti-sex the last time we were really together, what? Four months or so ago. Then, you decide to visit and all those ideals have flown out of the window. Now, silly me, I thought that was because you’d fallen as hard as I had. Now it seems you came out here with another idea in mind.”
Her glare lacks real heat; but there’s neither anger nor hurt hidden within its depths. I’m not entirely sure what emotions my accusation has inspired, because her reaction is frozen and she’s showing me what she wants me to see. Nothing.
That doesn’t bode well, does it?
“I want to be here for a few reasons, Joe. I won’t lie to you about them and if you’d asked, and then I’d have told you.”
“I did ask! When you first arrived. You told me you were worried about the way things were going between us. I had no reason to disbelieve that.”
“You didn’t push me for any other answer.”
“Don’t make me sound like I was on some ego-trip; that I didn’t ask, because I thought I was the only reason you’d be visiting this place,” I warn.
“Did I even say that?” She shakes her head and settles back in her chair, her glare a little fiercer now. “I wasn’t lying; I did want to see you.”
“But you had other motives for being here?”
“Actually, I didn’t. But, when I arrived and you basically admitted that everything has gone tits up, because of Cass and what have you, I thought I could help.”
“If you’re lying, Juliet, I won’t forgive you for it. So tell me now, is that the God’s honest truth?” I don’t really understand it, but I need to pin her down on this.
“It’s the truth,” she hisses, standing up and almost knocking down her chair in the process. Her hands come up; her arms cross at her chest to rub along her biceps in a self-comforting gesture that unnerves me.
I get the feeling that I’ve made a total cock up of all this.
From wanting to protect her, to needing to protect her from myself.
What a great way to start the day.
I sigh, feeling guilty and say, “Come on, let’s go now.”
She nods, the move stiff and in that one action, tells me she’s hurt and pissed off at me. And having accused her of manipulating me and her father, as well as using sex to get what she wants, who can blame her.
Her purse was already on the floor, ready for her to grab it as soon as she was ready to leave for the day and she ducks down and slots it on to her shoulder, silently following me out of the room.
Angelo and Brigida are talking in hushed whispers. But despite the low volume, there’s an urgency about their conversation, which immediately comes to a halt as soon as they realize we’re there.
Breaking the awkward silence, I murmur, “We won’t need you today, Angelo. I’m sorry for the change of plan.”
His nod is hardly deferential, but he steps aside as we start our approach to the door. I ignore the slick Buongiorno, which as a greeting, even though it’s as common as pasta over here, somehow seems too imbued with charm and flirtatiousness.
Heading to the garage, I open it and then unlock the car with the alarm remote and open the door for Juliet. Within a minute, I’ve jumped in, started the engine and we’re on our way towards the factory.
To break the ice, I ask, “What were they talking about?”
“They were concerned about something,” she mutters, head turned to the side to stare out of the window. The Italian town is filled with history, but somehow, I doubt she’s really seeing any of it.
“Do you know what?”
“I only heard a snippet.”
“Did it sound suspicious?”
She shrugs. “Somebody has found something out and they’re nervous about what that means.”
Tapping my fingers against the wheel, I let my eyes dart about the road and concentrate on my driving. I know I’m going to have to apologize, but I figure I need to work my way up to it.
The drive to the factory occurs in silence. Of the stony variety and only as we pull up before the front façade and I slam on the brakes, do I say, “I’m sorry, Juliet. Trust has never been my forte.”
It bursts out of me and is hardly the slick or cool apology I’d have preferred to make.
“I’ve gathered that, Joe.” She turns to look at me, but there’s no softness in her gaze. “I’ll forgive you, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not hurt. What you accused me of… nobody who says they care for me could really accuse me of such behaviour.”
“I do care for you,” I insist, half-turning towards her, both relieved and concerned at her lacklustre answer.
“Obviously that isn’t enough. You’re right, I did have ideals about sex and I broke them because I wanted you. Because I knew something was happening over here and you were drifting away from me. If sex was the only way to keep you, then I figured it was worth it. I was wrong.”
I grab her hand, disconcerted when she doesn’t try to tug it away from me. It just lies limply in my grasp. “Look, don’t be hasty. I made a mistake. We’re allowed to make them sometimes.”
“I know and I’ll forgive you, like I said I would. But anger and hurt don’t work on an on/off switch button. I can’t flicker between the two.” She sighs. “Look, let’s go inside. I’m interested in the running of the place. Not for any ulterior motives.” At that, she flashes me a cold look. “Simply, because I’d like to learn more about my father’s company.”
My hands grip the steering wheel for a second as I stare out of the windscreen and on to the façade of the factory. Its barren, utilitarian look is like a million other factories and doesn’t warrant my attention. But I study it, trying to build up the courage to tell Juliet how I really feel.
Only when her hand grips the door and she makes to open it, do I burst out, “When you were nineteen, you came into the office to bust your father’s balls about his finishing school idea. I watched you stride down the hallway in a bright yellow shirt and navy blue pants. You didn’t see me; you were so focused on entering the lion’s den and rectifying what you saw was a wrong.
“When you were twenty-one, you wanted to go to Rwanda. You stormed down that hall to your father’s office when he refused to pay for the ticket. Nearly every year, at one point or another, you came bursting down that hallway. And every time, something
inside me was glad to see you. It’s only now that I realize why that is.”
“And why is that Joe?”
“Because you made a place for yourself in my heart. You’re a fighter, Jules. I love that. I don’t want that to change, but I’m new to wanting fighters.”
“Yeah, you prefer the dumb blondes.”
I wince. Mostly because I know it’s the truth and I can’t deny her words. Even though I’d like to.
“I did, Jules. I’ve been waiting for you to grow up; I just never realized it until Cass said something to me, after I was promoted.”
I’ve been thinking about this. Thinking about the catalyst that stopped me from reacting to every word Juliet uttered and biting back like a boy pulling a girl’s pigtail at school. And it was Cass. She made me see that what I felt for Juliet was complex.
Even though I haven’t said the words, not properly at least, not the ones Jules really wants to hear, I can tell she’s softened towards me a little. Not a lot, but a tad. And I’m relieved, because I don’t think I’m able to say more. Not yet at any rate.
She sits there in the quiet for a little longer and then, says, “Thank you for telling me that, Joe. But it doesn’t make me less mad at you.”
Conceding defeat and recognizing the truth of her words, that she deserves to have her sulk, I simply nod, pull the keys from the ignition and climb out. I meet her at the other side and together, we walk into the factory.
The building is two parts of one whole. The work floor takes up three-quarters of the large premises. We’re talking 20,000m² of manufacturing heaven. The remaining quarter is taken up with the administrative offices.
The offices are on one floor, joined by one, long corridor with off-shooting doors. From the entrance, if you stand in the centre and look down the hall, you can see my office at the end and I nod at the receptionist and walk towards my place of work.
It might seem small, but the corridor itself is at least thirty feet wide and even at this time of the day, is already bustling with people. Some offices are communal, some are for individuals; people deemed as important by the old boss, which is something I haven’t really altered. From what I can gather, there was a rather large cull from the factory floor and the management, but there was a hefty workforce still in place by the time I arrived on the scene.
In truth, the police saved me from having to make redundancies.
We make it to my office in silence, and I open the door for her to walk through and shut it behind me. My mind is rifling through the tasks that need to be completed today; as well as the supervisors I’ll have to meet in order to discuss one of the orders that is due to ship out.
Until I close the door and turn around, I fail to realize that we’re not alone.
Gianni Ali is sat, perched against the edge of the desk and if I do say so myself, looking extremely angry.
“Where is she?”
“Where’s who?” I frown at him and his unpleasantness, “For God’s sake, I don’t know where every single member of staff is; even if you think I should. I’ve about three hundred women on the payroll, I can’t account for every single one of them just because they’re involved in some kind of drug gang.”
“I’m not talking about your staff, I’m talking about Monica. Where. Is. She?”
Ignoring him, I move from the door towards the desk and begin to shuffle through the notes that have been dropped on to the surface by my PA. That Juliet is here will actually be a relief. It will save me a hell of a lot of time not having to mime my orders to the Italian woman. Attempting to read her pidgin English, my voice is absentminded as I say, “Juliet, this is Gianni Ali. I’d tell you who he is, but the walls might have ears.” My eyes flicker from the sheet and towards her. “He’s helping us eradicate the rats from the factory floor, aren’t you, Gianni? You’re pest control.”
His mouth is grim, but he nods at Juliet. “It is a pleasure to meet you, signora. Now answer my damned question,” he demands.
“I can’t answer what I don’t know,” I tell him honestly. Having scanned through the memos and failing to understand a large majority of them, I mentally assign them to Juliet’s care. If she wants to work here, then I can definitely provide her with the requisite material.
In truth, the idea fills me with relief.
I can handle pressure, deal with stress and am capable of wading through shit to attain what I want, but that’s in my mother tongue. In Italian, it’s fucking impossible.
“You must know. She is working for your company. She is on a retainer and I know that you’ve been working with her here.”
“Not for the past fortnight. I had an idea that required further investigation and she took it upon herself to take part in the actual research of it. She sent me a note telling me that she was going off somewhere and I haven’t heard from her since. So, I repeat, I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”
“If you’re lying to me, you will regret it,” he warns.
Shrugging, because I’m speaking the truth, I merely retort, “Sticks and stones, Gianni. Look, I’m as concerned about her as you.”
“I doubt that.”
“Well, you can doubt as much as you want. Monica was a valued colleague, she made my life a hell of a lot easier around here and with her gone, it’s set me back a good week or so. I never expected her to actually take on the research herself; I mean, it’s not like we can’t afford to hire a security firm to do it for us. I can’t help that she’s a hands-on kind of woman.”
“What information did you ask her to research?” he asks, steam-rolling over everything I’ve said and focusing on just that aspect.
Pulling in a breath, I sigh. “Did you listen to any of the details I just mentioned? I told you, I didn’t ask her to research it. I asked her to deal with something for me but I did not specifically send her out into the big, bad world to look into what was concerning me.”
“Semantics. Tell me what was concerning you.” His repetition of my words is done with mockery and I have to withhold an angry sigh. Instead, I suck in a calming breath and beg for patience.
“Brigida.”
Gianni frowns at me and I can tell he’s doing a mental roll call of the entire population of the townspeople, taking specific note of the staff here at the factory. I can tell the instant he recalls who Brigida is; his frown is like lead. “Your housekeeper? What about her?”
“I don’t trust her.”
“And because you don’t trust her, you sent Monica on some wild goose chase?”
For the most part, during this two way discussion, Juliet remained silent. But at this point, she butts in and to my surprise, it’s to my defence. “Look, I understand that you’re concerned, I’m just not sure why. If you’re who I believe you are…” Her eyes flicker towards me and I nod, silently confirming that this is the pain in the arse detective from the Guardia di Finanza. “… then I can understand your interest, but Monica is a lawyer, paid by my father’s firm to do a job. I can’t see what that has to do with you. The terms of her employment are in no way your concern.”
Her private education showing in the cut-glass accent of her speech, I duck my head to hide a slight smile. Juliet in battle mode is a sight to behold.
“Signora, my apologies. I did not realize you were Signor Rustin’s daughter.”
“And why is that of any importance? I’m going to ask you again, what does this matter have to do with you?”
Gianni’s mouth tightens and for a moment, I can tell he’s stuck for words. Taking advantage of his silence, I pull out my chair and take a seat, and then decide to take pity on him, because Juliet might not know, but I do. This guy has fallen head over heels for Monica; I recognized that the minute I first laid eyes on the pair of them, that day in the police station. That’s why he’s concerned and because I’d be the same way if Juliet was involved, I tell him, “If and when I hear from her, then I’ll let you know. I’m not hiding anything from you; like I said, I had a funny feeling
about Brigida and I asked Monica to have someone look into it.”
For a moment, the strain of Monica’s silence and absence is apparent on Gianni’s face. The lines at his eyes appear more prominent and the wrinkles bracketing his mouth are deeper. But he nods, apparently accepting my words at face value.
“What is wrong with this Brigida?”
“I don’t trust her.”
“And you have every person you don’t trust investigated?” he asks in a cynical tone.
“No. Only when there’s a secret drug lord peddling his wares via my company’s first European asset.” About to say more, I stop when the phone rings. Without begging his pardon, because I couldn’t give a shit whether the guy thinks I’m rude or not, I pick it up and bite out, “Steel, here.”
“Joe, It’s Monica.”
Even I’m astounded at this turn up in events. “Well, talk of the devil. Guess who’s here asking after you.” I shoot Gianni a look and nod at the alert expression overwriting his features.
While I can’t see her face, I know she’s grimacing the instant she says, “Gianni.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s Monica?” Gianni bursts in so loudly that Monica’s words are drowned out. Before I even have a chance to nod, he grabs the receiver from me and in voluble Italian, begins to yell down the line.
I watch him for a good minute or so, then boredom sets in and I turn to Juliet. “What the hell’s he on about?”
Switching her attention from the phone conversation to me, Juliet’s brow puckers. “Monica seems to know who killed that policeman.”
Stunned, I rock back in my chair.
Well done, Monica.
If she’d been here, I might just have given her a kiss for that.
It would seem my instincts were correct. Brigida is up to her neck in this sorry situation.
Why am I not surprised?
Chapter Twelve
I have to give Juliet credit where credit is due. She might be a miracle on two legs; managing to keep her virginity for such a protracted length of time when she looks the way she does, but she certainly isn’t timid.
