The phone messages were from people in other companies trying to sell her things. The texts were from Andreas and were sent after eleven p.m. She had fallen into a drunken stupor long before then. She should have guessed; they were not about work. The man didn’t seem to understand the word ‘no’. She had tried being polite and subtle but it hadn’t worked. She would have to tell him loud and clear that she didn’t feel anything towards him and she never would. She considered composing a text reply but decided it would be easier to go into his office and deliver the message verbally.
She marched through the automatic doors of the office which only just accommodated the speed of her movement. Colin the security guard looked up from page three of his newspaper and gave her an encouraging smile.
“Good morning, Miss Fanshaw.”
“You know it’s Mrs, Colin.”
“One day you’ll realise you made the wrong choice.”
“If it was only one wrong choice I would be okay.”
“You’re better than the lot of them put together. Go sort ‘em out, Miss.”
She signed in with her swipe card and walked past Julia Sinbad into the inner sanctum with her head held high, as if she had a meeting with Andreas. He was not there. But there was a plate of doughnuts on the low table with a flask of coffee and a tray of china cups. She was light-headed with hangover hunger. She’d had nothing since the rocket salad with Antonia. It was a big pile of doughnuts, different varieties. Most of them would probably go uneaten. She took a chocolate one with a hole in the middle and scoffed it quickly, leaving traces of chocolate around her mouth.
She was still thirsty. She poured herself a cup of black coffee from the flask. She carried it round to the back of Andreas’s slab of a desk and placed it on the blotter. The cup made a brown ring; she really should have used a saucer. Board members used a saucer. She had always wondered what it would be like to sit in that high-backed leather chair, swivelling from side to side like an evil genius. She would try it out for size, just for a second.
She settled down into the padded seat and put her feet on the carpeted floor. In front of her was a pile of papers. She picked one up, and leaned back nonchalantly, holding it some distance from her eyes. She drank some coffee. Yes, this was definitely what she was born to do.
“Caroline, why are you sitting in my chair? And why have you got chocolate around your mouth? I didn’t expect you to take my texts literally, not here, anyway.”
“Sorry Andreas, I was thinking of getting a chair like this for my office at home and I wanted to see if it was comfortable.”
“I see you’ve made yourself at home, drinking the board’s coffee, going through my papers.”
She stood up, tried to pick up the coffee and put down the paper at the same time, spilling the coffee over the papers. Andreas rushed forward to rescue the papers from the pool of brown liquid, but knocked half of them on to the floor. She bent down to pick them up and realised it was several pages of his expenses claim from the trip to South America. She leaned closer to check what she had seen. The moment her back was turned she felt his hand go up her dress and fondle her arse.
“Andreas!”
“Who’s come to work with a bare bottom?”
“Get your hands off me.”
“Why are you playing hard to get all of a sudden? You weren’t so frigid in Rio.”
“I came in here to tell you to stop sending texts. It’s got to stop. I’m a married woman. If there’s any more I’ll make a complaint.”
“Who to? The boss?”
“Andreas, I don’t want to complain. I know you’ve helped my career. Just stop the texts and let’s get back to how we were before.”
“Like when I was in London and you were in Frankfurt?”
“Yes, like that.”
“Okay, if that’s the way you want it. Now if you’d care to let me get on with running the company…” Andreas gestured towards the door with an extended arm. “Tell Ivan to come in on your way out.”
Ivan Kalashnikov, Director of Finance, Andreas’s loyal number two, and Caroline’s line manager. She guessed she was going to be sent to Siberia. She went across to Ivan’s desk and gave him the message with a smile that looked like a grimace, then back to where Julia Sinbad was sitting, head down over a bible-sized contract.
“Julia, I’ve seen something that’s bothering me. I have to tell someone, someone I can trust. Can we go to the small meeting room for a few minutes?”
“If you’re sure it’s necessary,” said Julia.
The meeting room was like a cell in a modern prison, but without the window. Julia closed the door. The strip lighting made Caroline look as white as quality copier paper. Julia handed Caroline a paper tissue.
“You’ve got something round your mouth. I’ve only got a few minutes. What is it?”
“I’m telling you this because you’re a woman and I think you’ll understand. I know Andreas has told you the basic facts of what happened in Rio.”
“It was very worrying.”
“You bet it was. But what’s even more worrying is that I think Andreas was involved in setting it all up.”
“Be careful what you say. It’s a serious matter to make allegations against the Chief. Are you suggesting he engineered a romantic setting so that you would seduce him?”
“What? Me seduce him? No, I’m talking about the kidnap – when I was taken from the beach to a house in the hills.”
“Andreas said nothing about a kidnap. He said you went to an unauthorised meeting with the parent company of Instrumentos Medicos and used your inside knowledge of Monsaint’s strategy to try for a vice-president post with them. And when he found out, you pleaded for your job, seduced him, and persuaded him not to say anything.”
“Oh my God, Julia, this is unbelievable. I was snatched from Copacabana beach. I thought I was going to be raped and murdered. But I saw Andreas’s expense claim in his office and it includes the cost of a pleasure boat, a country villa, hiring two security guards, a van and a Range Rover. And fourteen bunches of bloody flowers. I think he kidnapped me so that he could rescue me and I would, well, fall gratefully into his arms.”
“Andreas sends flowers to the office manager of every business he visits to say ‘thank you’ for their hospitality. It’s one of his nice touches.”
“I know rather too much about his nice touches.”
“So you admit being in his arms?”
“It wasn’t quite that romantic. I was just glad to be alive.”
“Leave it with me,” said Julia. “Give me a couple of hours to speak to Paul and one of the non-executive directors. This is really very sensitive.”
“Shouldn’t I speak to Paul? Make a formal complaint to HR?”
“Definitely not, leave it to me.”
“Thanks, Julia. I knew I could rely on you.”
Back at her desk, Caroline found it impossible to concentrate. She felt like she had opened the can of worms and now they were crawling all over her. Monsaint had been her whole life for the past five years, and she was at odds with the big boss. She tried to ring Robert to tell him she had a problem with Andreas. He would know the best way to handle it. His phone was switched off; she hoped he was in court and not still in bed with Antonia.
By lunch time there was still no word from Julia so she went out for some fresh air and to browse the second hand book stall under the railway arches. It was run by a grey-haired woman in a red woolly hat.
“Are you looking for anything in particular, love?”
“Do you have an advice manual for people who have screwed up their lives?”
“Oh dear, I think you need this one.” The woman handed her a book with a lurid cover.
“It doesn’t look like a self-help book,” said Caroline.
“It works just the same,” said the woman. “You read it and realise it could be much worse. It’s based on a real-life story.”
“With a cover like that? How do you know it’
s real-life?”
“Cos I wrote it, love, twenty years ago. I used to look more glamorous than this. Those cabinet ministers were a funny lot, but you can’t change the past. I’m happier doing this than I ever was then. My idea of the high-life now is a flask of tea and a biscuit. Would you like some?”
Caroline shared the woman’s sweet tea and felt fortified. Something would be worked out, wise heads would prevail. She bought the woman’s dog-eared life story and jammed it into her pocket. When she strode back into HQ, Colin was waiting for her with a message.
“I’m sorry, Miss Fanshaw, you’re to wait down here. Mr Larkins is coming down to see you.”
“Paul? Down here? What’s wrong with up there?”
“I’m afraid you’re not to be allowed in.”
“Not allowed in? I work here.”
“Mr Larkins will be down to explain. I’ve told him you’re here.”
She took one of the seats normally occupied by hopeful photocopier sales staff and prospective interns clutching CVs. The lift doors opened and a grim faced Paul Larkins emerged carrying a box. Colin buried his head in his newspaper.
“These are your things,” said Paul. “Can I have your phone, please?”
“What’s going on, Paul? And no, you can’t have my phone. I need it to make calls.
“I have to insist. It’s company property and evidence as well.”
“Evidence of what, exactly?”
“You have been suspended while I investigate an allegation of gross misconduct.”
“Hang on a minute. You’re suspending me? I’m the bloody victim. You should be suspending Andreas.”
“We only suspend the person against whom the allegation has been made. Witnesses continue at work. In any case, you can’t suspend the chief executive; just think what would happen to the share price.”
“What is this allegation against me? Who’s made it?”
“I can’t say anything more until I’ve conducted the investigation. You’ll get a letter within a week outlining the allegations. You’ll get a chance to reply at a hearing.”
“This is absurd. Andreas put his hand up my dress this morning.”
“Please don’t say anything; it will only make things worse. And think very carefully about your position. I’m not allowed to suggest you resign. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Me, resign? I told you, I’m the victim. He’s been pestering me for weeks.”
“I understand you’re upset. Everyone is when it comes to this point. But I’ve been in HR all my working life and never, I mean, never, does it work out well if it goes to a company hearing. When there’s a dispute between an executive and a more senior executive, the more senior executive always wins. So go home and think about it. Sometimes it’s best to learn a lesson and cut your losses.”
She looked through the cardboard box which had once contained thermometers.
“Where’s my laptop?”
“Company property, evidence.”
“You realise that everything I need to make my defence is on the phone and computer?”
“Let me know if there’s anything specific you need and I’ll see what I can do. But you’re wasting your time.”
“I want to file a grievance.”
“You can’t file a grievance when you’re subject to company disciplinary proceedings. That would lead to chaos. It’s in black and white in the HR manual. Go home, and may I remind you you’re not permitted to talk to any employees of Monsaint or our customers whilst you are suspended. Sorry it had to come to this, Caroline.”
Caroline returned home on autopilot, taking a taxi from the station for the last three miles to her desirable pile. She opened the substantial front door and picked up the junk mail from the mat. How would they pay the mortgage? Robert would divorce her. She would be homeless and living on the streets. It was two-thirty, when commuter Surrey was catatonic with inactivity. She put on the television to distract herself but the adverts were for funeral insurance.
She picked up the mail from the kitchen counter: double glazing; breast cancer appeal; the credit card bill. No, she couldn’t face that today. She examined the one item of mail from a real person, her name and address written in ink with an elegant sloping script. She always examined the postmark, the handwriting, the type of envelope used, and worked out who it was from before opening the letter. But this time there were no clues to anyone she knew.
She got a knife from the kitchen and carefully opened the letter. There was the faintest hint of a flowery scent that reminded her of someone familiar, but she couldn’t place it. She opened out the single page.
It was from her mother. Not Bettina, her other mother. And she wanted to meet Caroline soon. Caroline cried.
Fourteen
“I had no idea this was going to be such a big deal,” said Caroline. “I didn’t think TV would be here.” The platform was lit like a stage for the cameras. At the other end of the room, a string quartet played Beethoven. The tension in the gallery was mounting; security guards were speaking into their chests. Princess Fiona would be arriving at any moment.
Caroline was glad Antonia was there for support. It was kind of Antonia to come, given the prohibition against Caroline having any contact with other Monsaint employees. Just like old times, they had got glammed up together at Antonia’s flat, helping each other with hair, make-up, and choice of underwear, though Antonia wouldn’t let Caroline wear any because she said it spoiled the line of her dress. Caroline might be persona non grata at Monsaint, but Antonia refused to abandon her friend or miss the opportunity to meet Erik Bellinker.
Arriving at the steps of the gallery, they were amazed at the crowd of journalists and photographers that were already there. Anything to do with Princess Fiona always brought out the step-ladders. They fought their way in, trying to smile, and sat in the chairs laid out for the audience and guests. They waited for Robert, Erik, Xena - anybody they knew - to arrive.
“I’ve never been up a red carpet before,” said Antonia. “You could hardly see the steps for all the flashes. Those photographers assumed I was one of the models. They kept shouting which month was I.”
“I’m dreading the moment they pull back the curtains on the pictures. God knows what Erik’s done to me since the last sitting. He’s pissed off that I backed off from him.”
“It won’t matter what he’s done. Everyone can see you look fabulous.”
“Does it work, this dress? I was worried the slit was too long and the see-through bits were in the wrong places.”
“No, it’s stunning, and slimming; dark blue really suits you. The cameras will love you.” Antonia smiled at a cameraman who was filming them perched on their seats. His young producer came over to them.
“Can I ask your name in case we use the pictures? I’ve got you down in the press pack as Miss November.”
“It’s Mrs, actually,” said Caroline. The producer had no reply.
“I’m a Miss,” said Antonia. “But just a hanger-on.”
Robert waved at them from across the room and hurried across to join them.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “The copyright dispute’s flared up again. All the band members have lost so many brain cells over the years that they can’t remember who wrote what. I left them there arguing. I hope they don’t trash the office for old times’ sake.”
Caroline looked at him frostily. “The surprise is not that you’re late. It would have been a surprise if you were on time.”
“Let me straighten your bow tie,” said Antonia, trying to be a peacemaker. Caroline had told her at the flat that things between her and Robert had been strained since she had been suspended from work. He didn’t believe her dismissive explanation that it was office politics which would blow over in a couple of weeks. She had aroused his suspicions about Andreas on that wild night at Antonia’s, and that was where his suspicions remained fixed.
“Have you heard anything from HR today?” said Robert.
“You really should let me help, Caroline.”
“Now is not the time or place,” said Caroline.
“When you’re evasive it means there’s something wrong.”
“You’re doing that couples thing,” said Antonia. “Talking to each other like I wasn’t here. I’m going to find someone interesting to talk to.”
“Now look what you’ve done,” said Caroline. “Don’t upset Antonia, she’s the only friend I’ve got at the moment.”
“Just let me help you. I know about this stuff.”
“Well if you insist, I did hear something today. I asked Ivan my boss to do some digging behind the scenes.”
“And?”
“He said he wasn’t allowed to talk to me but that I should understand that Andreas is under a lot of pressure from the shareholders and people do weird things when they’re under pressure; that I shouldn’t hold it against him.”
“You shouldn’t hold what against him?”
“I don’t want to tell you, Robert.”
“I can help. It’s what I do for a living, for goodness sake.”
“Reading between the lines I think they’ve found out that you’re representing Melody Bigger. If she wins the claim and gets the fifty million share options paid it will hit this year’s figures and Andreas will be toast. So I’m the sacrificial lamb. They’re saying I’ve betrayed the organisation’s trust by giving out false information, suggesting there’s a culture of harassment. Something on those lines.”
“So it’s my fault?” said Robert.
“In a word, yes,” said Caroline. “And now we’ll lose the house and everything I’ve worked for.”
Shameless Exposure Page 15
