by S. J. Coles
A sunny, smiling blonde in an electric-pink bodyform dress met him at reception when he arrived at Swanson and Gerrard’s floor in Harbour Tower at bang-on eight a.m. The large open-plan offices were already teeming. Admin support, messengers and PAs chattered into phones while typing like dynamos. Runners hurried between desks, dumping and gathering folders and manoeuvring trollies piled high with ring-binders, files and post along the narrow aisles. The lighting was soft but clear, bringing out the bold, simple lines of the minimalist art on the sand-coloured walls. A wall of windows looking out on a rain-soaked Canary Wharf added a low, silvery sheen to the ambiance. The air smelt like paper and designer perfume with a delicate hint of something rich and floral. It was then he noticed several displays of exquisite roses, the blooms huge and blood-red, overspilling crystal vases perched on pedestals in the corners of the room.
Several pairs of eyes followed him across the office. He was sure to meet every curious look with an easy smile, like this wasn’t the first time he’d been anywhere near a high-end finance firm’s inner workings.
He was shown to one of four glass-fronted private offices that spanned the back wall. The occupants of the other three stared openly as he was ushered into the one on the end. The space was filled with a large desk on which sat an iMac, an iPad and a brand-new Samsung smartphone. A window overlooking the Thames and Blackwall Basin took up most of the back wall. Against the others were sets of empty bookshelves, a large sofa and, under the window, a low table holding a squat vase crammed to overflowing with roses. The scent in the enclosed space was cloying, almost sickly, but he kept his smile pinned in place as he brushed the arm of the sofa with his fingertips.
“For the nights when you don’t get away,” his companion said with a wink. “They’re honestly not that bad. I’ve known worse, anyway.” She smiled wider and Rick made sure to match it with a knowing one of his own. “Breakfast cart comes round at eight-thirty, but if you need anything before then, just shout for a runner.”
“Thanks. Melanie, was it?”
“Mel’s fine,” she beamed. “They’re from Mr Swanson, by the way,” she added, nodding to the roses.
“They’re beautiful,” Rick said with another practised smile. “From Mrs Swanson’s hot-house nursery?”
“You’ve done your research. Well done. It’s a hybrid Mrs Swanson’s bred especially for the wedding. St. Valentine’s Sacred Heart. Not publicly available yet.”
“I’m honoured, really.”
Melanie weighed him up then smiled again. “Have a good day, Rick. I can tell you’ll do well here.”
He couldn’t help but admit to a rush of relief when he was able to find his way around the company’s bespoke databases, storage systems and calculation software without too much trouble. He hadn’t realised until then that a small part of him still hadn’t been sure he could do this. Finding that he could at least use the computer systems without difficulty buoyed his mood. Coffee, then lunch, then more coffee arrived on his desk without him even having to ask. Ella called him around noon but he didn’t have time to answer.
All good. Speak later.
He sent the text then went to the door to ask a runner to get him some archive files on EBR and S&G’s subsidiary companies, figuring being attentive to detail from the get-go could do him no harm. The runner left with a curious look over her shoulder but soon returned with an armful of dusty folders.
It took all afternoon to get the archive files into some kind of workable order. He was vaguely surprised at what bad shape they seemed to be in and experienced a moment of confusion at some fairly jarring gaps in some of the accounts, but he pushed the feelings away, reassuring himself that this was precisely why they’d hired him.
The doubt that had haunted him ever since Cecily Swanson—all Estée Lauder-scented cashmere and Ralph Lauren coat—had offered to pay for his drink in Koffee and Kicks, finally began to dissipate. He smiled. His first payday he would take Ella out for the biggest slap-up meal of their lives. Then they’d visit their mum and tell her it was all going to be okay from now on. Even though she couldn’t talk anymore and sometimes looked at them like she couldn’t quite place them, she’d understand. She’d know that Rick had finally made it to the big time, and she would be proud.
He was attempting to subdue the rush of emotion when someone tapping a knuckle on the doorframe made him jump.
“Mr Bennett. Busy already, I see.” Cecily Swanson stood in the doorway, her lean frame lengthened even more by a pair of scarlet stilettos. She smiled with lips painted the same shade, but her sloe-dark eyes were still impossible to fathom. She wore a tastefully simple tan dress and a simple gold chain around her neck. Her only other jewellery was her diamond engagement ring, the huge stone glinting even in the soft light. Her bare, toned arms were crossed and her mahogany-coloured hair was loose and ironed flat, falling past her shoulders in a poker-straight cascade.
Everything about her was lavish, controlled and exquisite. Rick rose and put his hands in his pockets, smiling warmly, like he saw lavish, controlled and exquisite every day. “Miss Swanson. How nice to see you.”
She stepped into the room and shut the door. “Settling in all right?”
“Great, thanks. I think I’m getting to grips with everything.”
“Oh, I’m certain you are,” Cecily Swanson said, leaning her hip on the corner of the desk. “I told you about this Saturday, yes? Our little New Year’s party?”
“Counting the minutes, Miss Swanson.”
“Oh, Cecily, please,” she said, her smile widening.
“Cecily,” he said, pleased his voice was level.
“Will you be bringing a guest?”
Rick searched her face but it was hard for him to tell if she was really asking him another question entirely. “I was going to bring my sister, but she has to work.”
“Oh, shame. I would have liked to meet her.”
“She would have loved to meet you too,” Rick replied, careful not to let the thought of what Ella might say to that statement show on his face.
“Another time, perhaps.”
“Of course,” he said, trying not to shift under her intense scrutiny. “Oh, and please thank your mother for the flowers.”
“Oh, yes,” she said with a slightly bored tone, eyeing the roses disdainfully. “Mother does love her little hobbies. She absolutely insisted on doing the flowers for the wedding. Roses are so passé.”
“Traditional, some might say.”
“Traditional is just a nice way of saying ‘dated’.”
“Well, she clearly has a talent for creating excellence.” He wondered if it was too much, but her face warmed with approval.
“I’ll be sure to let her know that. And you be sure to let me know if you need anything, okay? My office extension is speed-dial one on your desk phone. Tell Bryce it’s you, and he’ll put you straight through.”
“I will. Thank you…Cecily.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing what you do here, Rick,” she said, straightening with another glance at the files on his desk. “I’ll be honest and say I’ve put myself on the line, hiring you. But I’m confident you’ve got what it takes.”
“I won’t let you down.”
Her smile widened. “I’m sure. Just don’t spend too long rooting through these old files,” she said, tapping her manicured fingernail on the archive folders. “This merger is all about the here-and-now. And Swanson and Gerrard has come a long way since these accounts were current.”
“Of course,” Rick said, hoping his returning uncertainty didn’t show on his face. She smiled and left. Rick sank back into his chair, very aware of the stares both he and Cecily received as she walked away.
The rest of the week went by in a rush of long hours, endless reading and numbers beyond counting. A runner appeared on the third day saying Rick’s time was up with the archive files and he need to return them or submit a request for an extended withdrawal. He wasn’t quite sure what instinct drove him
to remove some of the summary papers before returning the files, but it wasn’t one he could deny. He told himself he needed those numbers. The smaller companies S&G owned, past and present, had to be significant to its net worth, even if it would end up a byline in one of the appendices of the agreement. He tucked the papers in an envelope and slipped them at the back of his file drawer, telling himself he would steal a moment soon to read them properly, just to assuage the nagging doubts at the back of his mind, then return them before anyone noticed they were gone.
Saturday rolled round and the butterflies returned. By the time his sister had finished dragging him up, down then up Oxford Street again, Rick was dazed and ready to drop.
“Remember,” she kept saying. “This party is a bigger test than the interview and your first week combined. They wanna be sure you’re one of them.”
“I’ve been practising this shit for years,” Rick tried to reassure her for the umpteenth time. “I know what to do.”
She nodded but said no more and he could see the thoughts racing behind her eyes. He remembered the look on Cecily Swanson’s face, and, for the briefest of seconds, he wondered if it was worth it. But when he was looking at himself in the wardrobe mirror, dressed in a new charcoal-grey Armani suit, crisp navy shirt and midnight-blue tie, the doubts evaporated like sprayed scent on a hot day.
He smiled at his reflection. His black hair was neatly trimmed with an immaculate fade down the back and sides, courtesy of Ella and a pair of new clippers. The cool blues and greys complimented the warm, walnut colour of his skin and the mixed hazel of his eyes. He put his hands in the trouser pockets and stood to his full six-foot-three. Ella was right. He could act the part and talk the part. Now he really looked the part.
He was ready.
He willed himself to act cool when his Uber drew up to the covered entrance of The Savoy hotel. The facade was floodlit from below, making it glow bright in the bleak, dark night. The row of flags over the entrance swayed in the freezing January wind. The raindrops speckling the bodywork of the Bentleys and Rolls-Royces discharging well-dressed passengers outside the doors, which gleamed like jewels. He made himself step out of the Uber driver’s Honda Civic like it was a chauffeured limousine, tipped the doorman and moved into the glittering interior. The reception staff, in full evening dress, directed him to the Beaufort Bar where the Swanson party was gathered.
He strolled through the vaulted halls trying not to stare. Everyone wore formal evening wear, accented with gold, platinum and diamonds. All the women had styled hair and designer gowns. The men wore tailored dinner suits and expensive cologne. The air was heavy with the smell of rich people and gourmet cooking, threaded through with the light, fresh smells from dozens of towering floral arrangements, lilies and carnations, set against the walls.
He stepped into the glittering dimness of the Beaufort Bar and had to take a moment to gather himself. He was well-practised at looking comfortable amidst extravagance and wealth. His dad had taught him all he knew, master that he was in the art of blagging his way into high-end clubs and restaurants, even when his credit cards were regularly declined and his name appeared on blacklists more often than it didn’t. But even so, the jet-painted room with its gilded alcoves, plush booths and crowd of people sipping drinks from gold-edged crystal stole his breath for a moment.
When he heard someone say his name, he gathered himself in an instant.
“Rick, I’m so pleased you could make it.”
Cecily Swanson was resplendent in a black velvet gown that fell to her high-heeled silver mules. Ice-white jewels glittered at her neck and in her ears, contrasting the warm gold of her skin and the deep red of her lips. She wore her hair in flowing waves, and her deep, dark eyes were lined in sixties’ starlet-style eyeliner. Rick was surrounded by the smells of coconut and jasmine and he made a very obvious show at being momentarily awestruck.
“Thank you so much for asking me.”
“You look great,” she said, brushing his tie with the ends of her long fingers. “These shades really suit you.”
“Thank you. My sister has a good eye.”
“Is she in fashion?”
Rick hesitated. “Catering.”
“Oh, how wonderful. Sadly, Mother’s already determined who I’m to have for the wedding breakfast, but maybe we could talk to her for the next board dinner? But enough about business. Come. Come and meet everyone.”
She threaded her arm through his and led him to a table near the grand piano. The half-dozen people sat round it fell quiet as they approached.
“Everyone. Dad. This is Rick Bennett, out newest JA.”
“Mr Bennett,” the stout, iron-haired man with coal-black eyebrows and the same deep, dark eyes as his daughter rose and held out his hand. “The wild card. So nice to finally meet you. Cecily’s told me all about you. I hear your first week went well.”
“Yes, sir,” Rick said, shaking the man’s wide, dry hand. “It’s been a dream, really.”
“Dreams aren’t real, Rick,” the older man said, lifting his whisky glass in half-salute. “We deal in reality here.”
“Absolutely, sir.”
“Please. ‘Sir’ is for the office. Tonight, I’m Lloyd. And this is my wife, Antoinette.” He indicated a slim, faired-haired woman sat in the next seat. Her eyes were very blue, as was her gown. Her makeup was heavy, though it didn’t hide the drawn nature of her slightly pinched features. She didn’t stand but inclined her head in Rick’s direction. “Nice to meet you, Mr Bennett.”
“And you, Mrs Swanson. And thank you for the roses. You really shouldn’t have gone to the trouble.”
“Oh, no trouble dear,” she said. “With Valentine’s Day and the wedding coming up, the nursery has something of a surplus.”
“Mother is queen of the back-handed compliment,” Cecily said with a tight smile before introducing the last four people at the table, two men and two women, all relatives, all members of the board, all assessing him with the same dark eyes.
“It really is great to meet you all. And thank you, all of you, for the opportunity.”
“Rick, if everything goes to plan, we’ll be the ones thanking you before the year is out.” Lloyd Swanson’s smile was broad, but Rick had to tell himself that the hungry look in his eye must be either the low lighting or his over-wrought imagination.
“I won’t let you down, Sir…Lloyd.”
“Come on, Rick,” Cecily said, tugging on his arm. “Let’s get you a drink.”
“Cecily, dear,” her mother said, her cobalt eyes heavy. “Harry was looking for you.”
“Well if he looks hard enough, I’m sure he’ll find me. Rick?” She looked at him expectantly. He nodded to the Swansons and crooked his elbow for Cecily’s arm. He felt the family’s eyes on his back all the way to the bar.
“And that’s the formalities over. Well done. I know it must be twice as intimidating when the family are also your bosses,” she said, perching on one of the barstools and waving at the bartender. Rick took the one next to her, careful to keep his rushing thoughts from showing on his face. “Do you trust me?” she added, her eyes flashing.
“I’m sorry?”
She leant a little closer. “Do you trust me, Rick?”
“Any reason I shouldn’t?” he asked, going for playful.
“Nothing comes to mind. Two Dramatists, please.” The bartender began gathering bottles and Cecily smiled knowingly. “It’s their best cocktail. You’ll love it.”
He accepted the tall glass from the bartender with a nod. Cecily sipped her own, her eyes on his. He lifted the cocktail and breathed the sharp, rich smells of coffee and bourbon. He sipped. The mix of Jack Daniel’s, coffee liqueur and champagne was heady, fragrant and light, all at once. It sparkled down his throat, and even after just one mouthful, the alcohol fuzzed the edges of his mind.
“It’s good,” he said, swallowing more in the hope that it would help him keep cool under her heated gaze.
“Isn’
t it?” she said, running her finger round the edge of the glass to make it sing. “So, tell me more about yourself, Rick. Did you grow up in London?” She rested her chin on her hand, the flash from her diamond ring nothing compared to the glint in her eyes.
“I did. Greenwich. How about you?”
“Born in Oxford, actually. But we moved to Kensington when I was about four, after Dad became a partner. But you know all that,” she said with a slow smile.
“I do?”
“Of course you do. The first thing anyone does when offered an interview is google the partners.”
“Swanson and Gerrard isn’t the sort of firm you need to google,” Rick said.
Cecily smiled a pleased smiled, finished her drink and gestured to the bartender to bring two more. She chattered on, about Kensington, the firm, occasionally touching the back of his hand where he’d rested it on the bar. He forced himself to hold her eyes and laugh in all the right places, even though a sinking certainty was forming in his belly. When there was a lull and her glance slid from his eyes to his mouth, ice crept up his spine.
“Hey, Rick. I just want you to know—”
“Cess!”
Her expression hardened as a broad, round-faced man joined them. Harry Gerrard-Hanson’s mousy hair was even thinner than in the online pictures. His sunken eyes were mud-brown and his dinner suit had clearly been tailored about half a stone ago. “There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“I haven’t been hiding, Harry,” she said, with a too-sweet smile. “I’m just talking to a friend. This is Rick.”
“Rick?” the man said with an expression halfway between suspicion and derision.
“From the firm.”
“Well, delighted, I’m sure. Cess, my parents are here. They were hoping to at least have a few moments of your company this evening.”
Cecily’s expression was perfectly maintained but coolness filled her eyes. “And God forbid we disappoint them. Rick, excuse me. Enjoy the party. I’ll catch up with you later.”
She squeezed his hand then strolled away. Her fiancé lingered a moment longer, examining Rick with narrowed eyes, then followed her.
