by Sally Graham
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
A message from Sally
How to keep in touch
Legal Notice
Chapter 1
“Why the hell does he want to go to Easter Island? Don’t they teach geography in New York?”
“Honey - remember the mantra: no job too small, no fee too large! It’s the business we’re in - making the impossible, possible. You’ll do it - you’re the best we have in the Pacific region.”
Tamara slammed the phone on her desk. Her week was not starting well.
“Sounds serious. Coffee?”
“Double strength! The President of some fancy American hedge fund wants to take clients on a whirlwind tour of the world’s must-see mystery locations. No expense spared, of course. But they’re already on the runway at O’Hare airport in Chicago. I’ve got sixteen hours to get this thing fixed!” Tamara frowned for a moment and then reached for her smartphone. “I just might be lucky though. There’s this guy in Melbourne….”
Donna smiled and walked over to the coffee machine. Tamara had an awesome reputation as a successful fixer. Her client list testified to her ability to meet the needs of the mega wealthy individuals who paid hefty fees for corporate concierge services.
Donna glanced across the office at her boss. The brilliant Sydney sunshine flooded the fifteenth floor open plan office and silhouetted Tamara’s slim figure and stylishly cut blonde hair. Donna had long stopped being surprised when Tamara appeared in yet another designer business suit that flattered her enviable figure.
Working with clients who dominated every country’s rich list meant that you always had to be immaculate, and possess the personal confidence to communicate warmly. But even after working as her personal assistant for two years, Donna still found Tamara Tremaine a puzzle.
Tamara glanced at her. “Are you looking at me or the coffee?”
Donna didn’t answer but put the drink on her desk. She had learned to live with the way that Tamara kept people at a distance, and learned not to take it personally. Tamara was a terrific boss, and Donna loved working with her.
“Thanks. Good weekend?”
“Great - we went sailing round the harbour and finished up at that new seafood place on the waterfront.”
“We?” Tamara teased. “Which one this time?”
Donna blushed - she always got embarrassed when she discussed her boyfriends with Tamara, and it always turned out to be a one-way conversation. Tamara never shared her romantic involvements. Not that Tamara was secretive; but she didn’t appear to have a love life. Which was odd, as Dona had once confided to her mother, because her looks stunned people when she entered a room.
“Yeah, ok, so it was the banker.”
“Donna, Donna, when will you learn?’ Tamara asked in mock exasperation. “Surely you’ve learned from our clients that money does not equal nice guy! Why can’t you find a nice teacher and make him happy?”
“Listen, the so-called rich guys that I date are nothing compared to the clients we work with!”
“Hmm, I expect that’s true,” Tamara said absentmindedly, turning back to her screen. “This trip to Easter Island won’t come in for less than two million.”
Donna decided to exploit the lull in the conversation. “Is that why you never meet clients?” she asked.
“Why would I want to meet clients?” Tamara asked in surprise. “Most of them work in different time zones anyhow. They’re too busy to meet people - that’s why they pay us to sort their lives out for them. Now - let’s see the schedule for today.”
Tamara headed the Australian office of one of the largest global concierge companies. Its work focused on smoothing the lives of successful women and men trying to cram thirty-six hours into a twenty-four hour day. So for the next two hours they worked through the assignments handled by the Sydney office of Square Circle Concierge Services.
“OK - we know what we’ve got to do. Let’s prioritise. Farm out the un-gettable London theatre tickets to the hospitality team. Check the files for the dietary requirements for the Middle Eastern oil sheiks and their entourage which we handled last year. No point in re-inventing the wheel. Get back to San Francisco to check if their guy still wants to walk over the Sydney Harbour Bridge in moonlight. I’m just fixing the insurance cover.” They both laughed. “Which alone is going to cost more than the entire trip!”
“There’s just one more email,” Donna said tentatively.
“OK - bring it on!”
“It’s from Simon Henty.”
Tamara frowned. “What on earth does he want? We fixed his itinerary weeks ago. It’s signed and sealed. He’s paid in full as well,” she added.
“He says it’s urgent. He needs to speak with you personally.”
“The guy’s a creep. I don’t mind handling the corporate stuff for him - I only have to cope with his assistants, and heaven knows he gets through them fast enough. It must be a different voice every time. But he insists on planning his personal trips himself - and he thinks I’m interested in the latest fashion eye-candy he takes along with him.” Tamara sighed in exasperation. “He’s even tried rocking up here once to do things face-to-face. Thank God I was on vacation.”
“It’s a key account,” Donna said nervously. “He’s worth billions.”
“He’s not our wealthiest client,” Tamara answered dismissively. “But let’s see what he wants. When’s he calling?”
“I said you’d be free at noon.”
“OK - let’s see what he wants. Maybe he’d like to go to Easter Island?” she laughed.
“So what is this Simon Henty guy like?” Donna asked.
Tamara didn’t look up. “Don’t even ask,” she said. “He’s not worth it. He’s one of those hedge-fund guys who nearly crashed the economy. They’re bad news.”
“And rich?”
This time Tamara did raise her head and looked at her assistant. “Rich? You can’t measure it. They pay themselves billions of dollars.”
“Seriously? You’re kidding!”
Tamara reached down and pulled out a file from a cabinet by her desk. “Here - you can take a look at these print-outs. I got our New York office to email background information when we won Henty’s account. Everything’s there you need to know about Simon Henty and his money.”
Donna walked back to her desk and started flipping through the files, reading aloud now and then as she did so. “Hmm - He’s good looking, isn’t he?…. Lots of girlfriends….. Models, mostly…. Likes going to nightclubs….. A lively social social life……. Hey, here we go…. I don’t freaking believe it…. Listen to this….He has a quoted salary of $3.6 billion. BILLION, Tamara. Is that possible?”
“That wasn’t his best year,” Tamara answered. “Somewhere in there you’ll find that he made nearly $5 billion - the figures are crazy,” she said bitterly. “Bankers like him caused the trouble that the rest of us are in since the financial markets crashed. They’re like hyenas, feasting off carcasses.”
Donna looked at her friend. “I don’t think I’ve heard you talk like that before. Strong stuff! Is that why you’ve never met him?”
“It’s partly that, I suppose. I hate his business and his lifestyle, and I despi
se the way he tries to lord it over everybody. OK, he’s a client, and I do my best to exceed his expectations, but I don’t think that means I have to socialise with him. Besides,” she laughed, “I’m not famous enough.”
Donna picked up the file again. “He’s sexy, isn’t he? I mean, he looks pretty fit. Nice wavy hair. And, wow - look at this close up - he’s got great eyes. Laughter lines too!”
“Don’t get any ideas. He’s a seriously single guy - Simon Henty is not into one-on-one relationships. He’s into money, period.”
“Let me at him!” Donna joked, closing the folder. “He hasn’t met me, yet.”
Chapter 2
S.H.I Towers soared above the Sydney skyline. The combination of retail, office and rental apartments had won architectural awards and featured in the latest spy movie. Viewed from a passenger ferry crossing Sydney harbour, the sky scraper’s sharp profile contrasted with the soft curves of the Opera House. If you worked for Simon Henty Industries, you were on your way. If you rented one of the floor to wall glassed apartments, you’d arrived.
But on the 30th floor, Simon Henty wasn’t going anywhere.
He stared at his Blackberry for the umpteenth time and cursed. How could she behave like this? What had possessed her? They had planned this trip for months and now, within hours of their departure, she’d dropped the bombshell.
To: Simon
From: Shelley
Subject: Our holiday (not)
Hi, Simon. Look - there’s no easy way to tell you this, so I won’t beat around the bush. I’m not coming on the trip with you. And, I’m not going to be part of your life any more. We’ve had lovely times but we both knew that the dance was coming to an end. The vacation will not change anything. I’d prefer to leave when we have good times to look back on, and not have us argue. Please don’t try to contact me. As soon as I’ve sent this I’m dropping the phone over the side of the ferry. Take care, darling - S.
Simon banged his hand on his desk in exasperation. He was damned if he was going to chase after her, but the email hurt him. At one point he’d even thought that Shelley might be The One. Not that he was a settling down type - life was too short for that - but maybe they could have spent more time together. Time that wasn’t characterised by the frenetic whirlwind of corporate deals and social events that filled his diary.
The tall, rangy chief executive of S.H.I stormed out of his office into his secretary’s workspace. “Have you got that company yet?”
“Which company?” asked the flustered PA. The other girls looked intently at the screens, hoping they would not be in the firing line of their boss’s well known quick temper.
“The company that’s arranging my vacation. Circle? Cube? Something like that. The woman with a weird name,” he shouted.
“Square Circle, Sir. Yes, I have. She’s called Tamara. I’ve fixed for you to talk at noon.”
Simon suddenly looked at her, and his voice changed. “Yes, well, thank you. Put me through then, OK?” before striding back to his office.
Tamara. A name that reminded him of a cheap cocktail. He’d never met her but he had to admit she always did good work for him, even if her voice only just managed to mask a slight strain of disapproval.
The last conversation he’d had with her was typical: “Can you give me her name again, Mr Henty, so I can sort out immigration when you get there? Oh, I’m sorry: I thought I had it on file. It’s a different guest, then ?”
Didn’t she understand that these over-the-top trips were the yardstick by which he measured his success? Extravagant to many people who would never be able to afford them, but a talisman to him of the journey that had taken him from the rural poverty of the outback to the creation of one of the largest hedge fund companies in the world. Simon had a barrage of assistants and secretaries who organised his company’s corporate travel, but he still insisted on making his own personal vacation arrangements.
He gazed pensively across the blue, glittering waters of Sydney harbour, criss-crossed by the white wake of ferries and motor launches. The strange thing, he admitted, was that hearing Tamara’s disapproval turned him on: Her voice sounded extremely sexy.
Tamara. He tried to picture her. Hard to tell her age. Probably in her thirties. Somebody who had graduated from a travel agency and struck lucky. Her voice suggested a brisk, no-nonsense woman who knew her business. And yet, alongside the disapproval, was there a hint of something else? God knew how much he had paid that company over the years. But he had to admit it: she was efficient.
“Sir?” His PA’s voice interrupted his frustration.
“I’ve got Square Circle holding. You have a call from Tamara Tremaine.”
He leaned forward and flicked the speaker phone. “Put her through.”
“Mr Henty - How nice to hear you. How can I help?”
Polite. Cool. Professional. And just this side of mockery, he thought to himself.
“Hi, Tamara. Thanks for getting back to me. Um - I’ve had a change of plan over the Italian trip. The one to the Amalfi coast. I’ve got to adjust things.”
“That won’t be a problem. Were you thinking of extending your stay, or returning via the States?”
Is she crazy?
“I don’t think I made myself clear. I’m cancelling. It’s off. The whole thing. My companion can’t make it. ”
There was a pause. Tamara had to react fast. If he cancelled, he would still have to pay. There terms of business were clear, and she had booked the itinerary.
“As I said, that won’t be a problem, sir. I’ll unwind the arrangements.”
God, she was smug. He could just see her face smirking with pleasure at the fact that his girlfriend had walked out on him. Irritation surged through him and he was on the brink of shouting at her when a sudden idea hit him.
“Hold it right there, Tamara. Umm - how well do you know the Amalfi coastline?”
“Well, it’s one of the most romantic regions in Italy, Mr Henty. The town of Positano is stunning. The local cuisine is renowned, and -“ Tamara had slipped smoothly into concierge spiel, underlining the attractions of her client’s vacation, “- And, of course, the luxury villa where you would have been staying - “
“Wait,” Simon interrupted, “I’m not cancelling.”
“I’m sorry? I thought you had decided not to proceed because you haven’t a companion?”
“That was the case when we began the conversation, but no longer.”
“I don’t understand?”
“I do have a companion now.”
“Ah - in that case, can I have her details?”
“You certainly can. Her name is Tamara Tremaine.”
Tamara gasped. “Mr Henty? - I don’t think - “
“No, no, you heard correctly. You’re in the business of complete client satisfaction aren’t you?” She heard him tapping his computer keyboard. “Here is what it says on your website, ‘Square Circle Concierge Services, a global leader. We square the circle when it comes to client satisfaction’. I presume you’re aware of your corporate motto?” he asked.
“Of course, Mr Henty, but - “
“Well then. I need a companion for my vacation. And you are going to provide one. Yourself. After five years of placing high worth business with you, we’ve never met. Well, now’s the chance, oh - do call me Simon. Everyone else does.” He was laughing to himself now. Everything was suddenly falling into place.
“Mr Henty - Simon - let me explain. There is a clear distinction, as I’m sure you’re aware, between personal and professional services in the business that we provide.”
“Precisely. But can I be frank? My secretary printed out a spread sheet for me earlier today that tells me how much I have paid your company since you won the account. The total amount would be a major slice of any third wold country’s economy.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand?”
“Let me cut to the chase, Tamara. What I’m saying is that unless you add your passport de
tails to my travel plans, I am placing my business elsewhere. Square Circle will no longer be my preferred supplier. You will no longer be able to trumpet the fact that you handle Simon Henty Industries. If you don’t join me as my companion, I will no longer do business with your company.”
“I’m afraid that this proposal is not something that I could ever agree to,” Tamara said crisply, hoping she didn’t betray her anxiety at the way the conversation had developed.
“Of course not. I don’t expect you to make a decision on the spur of the moment. I expect you have other commitments that you will have to change, and domestic arrangements that will need re-arranging.” He hoped she could hear the mockery in his voice now.
The phone went dead. Tamara stared at it. I wish I had a genie to get me out of this mess. She thoughtfully replaced the phone on her desk and was in a reverie when Donna came in.
