Authors: Laura Carter
His words are bitter and I know it’s because of his targets. At Saunders we have targets for everything; hours spent working on client matters, time spent in the office, the value of work billed to clients, the recovery rate of each invoice. If something can be expressed in numbers Saunders will have a target for it. If I do the work for Eclectic, I get to put down my hours spent and I get to bill my time and every hour I work on the deal means an hour Jack loses toward his own figures.
In truth, I don’t care much about Jack’s targets or Jack for that matter, and I’m still reeling with delight from winning the pitch. I’m not sure anyone loves their job all day every day but the rush of closing a deal or winning a client more than makes up for the bad times.
Jack presses the mute button once more to break the secrecy barrier. “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” I say.
“Good afternoon, Miss Heath,” Mr. Lawrence calls. “Lawrence, Williams and Ryans here.” His voice is matter of fact and professional without losing the soft tone he had when we met this morning. I imagine him sitting with his hands cupped and resting across his podgy belly as he speaks.
“Miss Heath,” the others say simultaneously.
Mr. Ryans begins to talk about Eclectic Technologies, mostly offering information I’ve already gathered from my research, but his enthusiasm is infectious, seemingly uncharacteristic of the taciturn and controlled man I witnessed this morning. His mood shifts when he begins to talk about Sea People International, the company he wishes to take over, and I have to wonder why he wants to buy a business he seems to resent. I remind myself that I know very little about Mr. Ryans.
Sea People runs a new social network site for travellers. The site is designed to make it easier for people to travel the world and stay in contact with friends and family. It gives them the opportunity to share experiences and has forums to provide tips to fellow travellers on the best places to visit in countries around the world. In all, it sounds like an interesting tool. I’m sure I would’ve used it if I’d ever ventured beyond Europe with my dad or on business trips to clients. I subconsciously make a note to ask Amanda if she’s ever come across it when she’s been travelling abroad.
“I want to buy it, take it to pieces and sell it to the highest bidder.” Mr. Ryans’s sharp words interrupt my thoughts.
“Well, subject to Jack’s, erm, Mr. Jones’s thoughts...” I cautiously eye Jack, seeking permission to speak but he seems happy for me to go ahead. “I think much of the due diligence will need to be carried out on the intellectual property in the company. I’m assuming the social network site is the company’s main venture?”
“It is,” Mr. Williams adds.
“Okay, then we’ll obviously review the incorporation and constitutional documents and pull together details of the intellectual property and any other assets. There’ll be some questions it’ll be easier to ask of the seller, such as—”
“Full due diligence won’t be necessary.” Mr. Ryans cuts me off again. “Find out what you can and tell me what needs to be done from a legal point of view. There’s a very pressing timescale on this.”
“I completely take that on board, Mr. Ryans, but for the protection of you and Eclectic Technologies, I think—”
“Miss Heath, I’ll have my people look into any matters that concern me. All I need you to do is deal with the logistics from a legal perspective. Got it?”
“She’s got it,” Jack bites.
“Of course,” I say shyly, under attack from all angles. “There’ll be requirements on Sea People’s part as the seller to make sure the sale is carried out legitimately. I’ll pull together all the information I have access to and I’ll start drafting documentation for Jack to review.”
There’s silence on the line and I wonder what’s happening in the Eclectic Technologies’ boardroom.
“Thank you, Miss Heath,” Williams eventually says.
The line goes silent again.
“Miss Heath?” Perhaps he thinks I could have left the room owing to their unnecessary and frankly rather rude time delay.
“Yes?” my voice has lost all conviction.
“We should be grateful if you would carry out as much work as possible on this. Mr. Jones, please supervise where necessary but for reason of...ah...costs, we would like Miss Heath to complete the majority of the work.”
“Of course,” Jack and I chorus in harmony.
“Miss Heath. Mr. Jones.”
The line falls dead and I watch Jack suspiciously, waiting for a backlash, but it doesn’t come and I guess he’s thinking we’ll take any crap they throw at us because the money is good. My working on the deal might not help his target related bonus but as a partner, he’ll still take a share of the profit.
I despondently trail back to my desk and slump into my chair. Something doesn’t feel right. Mr. Ryans seems to resent or even distrust the company he’s looking to acquire, yet he isn’t interested in due diligence. I shrug. Who am I to complain, I’ve just been handed potentially one of the biggest opportunities of my junior career. My desk phone rings and I lunge forward to answer it, not knowing how long I’ve been lost in thought.
“Scarlett, I have Mr. Ryans on the line for you,” Margaret announces.
“Oh, thank you, put him through.”
I start to babble as quickly as I can. “Mr. Ryans, I’m terribly sorry for—” but true to form, Mr. Controlling cuts me short.
“Miss Heath, I simply called to...” he pauses and clears his throat, “...to ask that you forward all documentation to myself and Williams in the first instance.”
“Yes, of course. And, Mr. Ryans, please forgive me for assuming our scope of work. I was following the usual protocol. I’m more than happy to indulge the sensitivity and intricacies of this deal and will be sure to do the best job possible for you and Eclectic Technologies.”
“I know that, Miss Heath. It was a pleasure to meet you this morning. I look forward to working with you.”
“I look forward to working with you too,” I say, sincerely for some unfathomable reason. This devastatingly attractive man, whom I’ve known for less than twelve hours, has already shown me numerous sides to his personality. “Oh, and Mr. Ryans, please call me Scarlett.”
“Scarlett,” he repeats. His voice is low and smooth, his mild South African accent intriguing and exotic. I let the sound of him saying my name twirl through my mind. “Very well,” he says, and pauses before hanging up the phone.
To: Heath, Scarlett
From: Ryans, Gregory
Sent: Tuesday 6 Oct 2015 17:36
Subject: Future correspondence
Scarlett,
Thank you for your time today. I have discussed our call very briefly with Williams and Lawrence and we believe we may move forward in a more productive and efficient manner if you collate the information you obtain and bring it in person to the office, in order for us to discuss it together.
Regards,
Gregory Ryans
CEO Eclectic Technologies
“Mmm,
Gregory
. Gregory Ryans,” I whisper to myself.
To: Ryans, Gregory
From: Heath, Scarlett
Sent: Tuesday 6 Oct 2015 17.39
Subject: Re: Future Correspondence
Mr. Ryans,
I am happy to progress the matter in the manner preferred by you and your board. I will be in touch as soon as possible with a suitable time, once I have collated sufficient information to make a meeting worth your while.
In the meantime, please do not hesitate to contact me should you have any queries.
Best regards,
Scarlett Heath
Senior Associate
Saunders, Taylor and Chamberlain LLP
“Time’s up! Let’s go!” Amanda yells into my office, swinging by one hand on the side of my doorframe.
I blush as if I’ve been caught red-handed doing something abhorrent but I’ve no idea why. With a smile, I reluctantly shut down my computer. I could really use a drink. “Give me two minutes. I need to make a quick call home.”
* * *
Amanda is nestled into a burgundy leather booth when I return with a mojito for her and a 1930s cosmopolitan for me. She looks at home in the chic surroundings of the wine bar. As ever, her auburn hair is flawless, curled at the edges and resting just below her shoulders. Her cream silk camisole looks effortlessly sexy as it flows over her curves and into the top of her ruffled skirt.
“Mojito time! Cheers,” she says, taking her cocktail from me and flashing her Hollywood smile. “Nice!” she adds after taking her first gulp.
I laugh as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and slide into the booth beside her. “Elegant. So, how was The Bod on Saturday?”
“His
name
was Joshua.”
I raise a suspicious brow. “Was?”
Amanda’s
love
life—and I do use the term loosely—is somewhat mercurial. She dates a lot and there’s rarely a keeper. The last one, by Amanda’s standards, was months ago and it never really got out of the blocks to start the race. Tom. A mummy’s and money boy. A trust-fund baby. They made it to six dates and Amanda ate well and for free for five consecutive weekends but Tom was never going to stick with someone with such wild tendencies. She drew the line at picnics and polo and he drew the line at a club.
“Was,” she confirms. “He bought me a nice dinner and I thought I might actually like him.”
I roll my eyes on a giggle and receive a shoulder bump.
“Hey, I did.”
“So what happened?”
“Well, he said he’d go my way in a taxi. You know, to make sure I got home safe, but then he came on to me quite heavy in the cab and was a bit of a prick when I said I’d never put out on the first date. Soooo, I got the taxi driver to pull over outside of some amazing house and watched Joshua drive off. I waited until he was out of sight and jumped in another cab to take me to my flat.”
She pauses for a sip of Mojito and reflects on how little she has left in her glass.
“Can I get you ladies another drink?” a waitress asks as she passes our table, a tray held high in her hand.
Amanda lifts her empty glass onto the tray. “Please.”
I glance at my watch. “I really can’t stay, Amanda, this will have to be the last.”
“Okay, last one,” she concedes. “How did the big pitch go this morning?”
“Mmm,” I nod through my cosmopolitan. “We got the work.”
“Excellent! Shame you’ll have to spend more time under Jack though.”
“Hey, less of the ‘under Jack,’ you’ll make me sick,” I say, only half in jest. “Anyway, they’ve asked me to take the lead on the matter with Jack supervising. It’s a really big deal, I think.”
“Wow, yeah it is, that’s a great opportunity. Is it to save costs do you think?”
“Hey!”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” She giggles.
“Well, actually, yes. But like you say, it’s a good opportunity and the CEO is a bit...well...interesting.”
“Interesting?” Amanda takes her turn to raise a brow.
“Okay, yes, he’s extremely hot and must be filthy rich but that’s not what I mean. He’s kind of, I don’t know, serious and sexy and polite and...” I shrug, genuinely unsure of how I feel about Mr. Gorgeous CEO Ryans.
“Somebody likes somebody,” Amanda purrs.
“As if I do. I’d never go there.
We
can’t ever go there. Clients are a strict no-go. Jack would throw me out on my arse.”
“Yeah, because you chose someone else over his ugly wrinkling vileness.” She shudders for effect, the ultimate dramatic arts prodigy.
“Amanda! He’s my boss. Urgh, another year or so and maybe I won’t have to work in his shadow. Anyway, no, Gregory, erm, Mr. Ryans, is not interesting in a good way... I don’t think.”
“Well, if he’s a gorgeous bazillionaire and you’re not interested, please send him my way. I’d gladly mess up my career for that!”
The waitress returns to take our empty glasses and Amanda settles the bill for the second round of drinks, tapping her card against the contactless machine.
“Bear hug and smooches,” she demands, then plants a kiss on my cheek and squeezes me as tightly as she can before she heads in one direction for her bus north to Camden and I walk in another to catch the tube to West London.
Chapter Three
My excitement builds as I ride the nine stops home on the tube. I can’t wait to see him. I can’t wait to hear him say my name and watch his face light up as I read him chapters from his favourite book. In those brief moments, when he remembers, he’s my same old comforting, sweet, gentle and polite Dad. He can still melt my heart with the twinkle in his eye that he reserves just for me, his Scarlett.
The jerk of inertia as the tube comes to a stop forces the couple who’ve been playing tonsil tennis beside me for twenty minutes to come up for air. I blush when they catch me looking. Two security men in padded hi-vis jackets gawp as I burst from the tube and bound up the steps from the platform to the street. I run along our road and halt in front of our town house to take a deep breath before pushing through the wrought iron gate and darting up the path to the porch. I fumble trying to place my key in the lock then throw my bag on the hall table as I practically jump inside.
“Hi, Sandy!”
“Hello, Sweets. How was your day?” she asks in her usual singsong way, always sounding much older than her forty-two years.
“Busy but good. How’s your day been? How’s Dad?”
“He’s doing very well today,” she says, helping me out of my mac and hanging it on the hat stand in the vestibule. “He sat in his chair for the best part of the morning. We even managed a game of cards.”
It’s another fleeting and increasingly rare moment of good health and happiness. I know better than to be optimistic but Sandy still beams with pride, her smile reaching her brown cheeks, her warm eyes glowing.
“He’s been asking for you,” she adds. I can’t prevent a goofy grin spreading from ear to ear as I kick my shoes off onto the polished rosewood floor. “He has?”
“He really has. Today’s been the best I’ve seen him in weeks.” She’s triumphant, like an invisible barrier has been crossed.
“I can’t wait to see him. Thank you so much for looking after him so I could have a drink tonight.”
“Don’t be silly, you don’t need to thank me. It’s nice to hear you want to go out. You need to remember you’re still
you
and you’re still young.”
“I should say the same to you. Do you mind if I go straight up to see him?”
“Not at all. Should I heat your dinner and you can take it up with you?”
The irresistible scent of Sandy’s Toulouse sausage and lentil casserole suddenly fills the air around me and I realise I’m starving.
“You’re my angel,” I say, planting a big kiss on her cheek, causing her to giggle and fuss her short black hair. “I’ll heat it myself. You put your feet up.”
I tap my foot on the farmhouse tiles that match the units in the kitchen, willing the microwave to flash my bowl of casserole just a little quicker. Impatient, I open the door before the ping and take the semi-heated bowl upstairs with a freshly baked baguette, still warm from the oven. Sandy’s breads are to die for.
His television is playing, the blue light flickering under his bedroom door on the first floor landing. Opening the door with my elbow, I tentatively step into the room.
My father turns in his bed and gives me a dashing, warm smile. Despite his grey-white hair, he looks youthful, ardent and delighted to see me. This is what I’ve been waiting for all day. Neglecting my hunger, I set my casserole on his bedside table, my need to hold him overwhelming.
He’s still beaming at me as I reach down and wrap my arms around him. He holds me tightly as if he’ll never let me go.
Don’t cry, you’ll frighten him.
I fight back the rivers building behind my eyes. I know my subconscious is right so I unravel myself from his tight cocoon and sit back into the chair by his bed.
“Martha, I’ve missed you.”
My world begins to crumble around me, slowly, excruciatingly slowly, the syllables
Mar-tha
replay in my mind. My chest tightens and a lump forms in my throat.
“No, Dad,” I choke. “I’m Scarlett.”
Confusion distorts his face. “Where’s my Martha?”
I bite down on my bottom lip to steady my wobbling chin as my eyes cloud.
It’s not his fault.
My subconscious reminds me.
But I can still be pissed!
I yell back at it.
Taking a deep breath, I try to rationalise my thoughts, for me, for him. “Mum left a long time ago, Dad. I’m Scarlett, your daughter.”
“No!” he yells. “No. No. No.”
He flaps his arms on the bed.
“Dad, please,” I croak. “I’m your daughter. Martha was your wife. Martha was my mother.”
“I. Want. Martha!” he screams. His arms move from the bed to me, striking my chest and my face.
“Dad!” I plead, grabbing his hands, shocked that he no longer has the strength to fight me.
“Scarlett! Doctor Heath!”
My dad stills and looks at Sandy. He’s coming back. He moves his gaze to me and I can no longer bear it. My shoulders shudder as uncontrollable sobbing takes over my body.
“Sandy,” my dad whispers.
“Yes, sir. Let’s get you settled again, shall we?”
His face changes as his life story untangles in his defective mind. His face contorts until he looks pained. He reaches toward me steadily, a little uncertain. My body, unquestioning, bends to meet him. His damp palm rests on my cheek and I dissolve into his touch.
“Dad,” I whisper.
“Scarlett,” he croaks.
* * *
I’m up and dressed early enough to make sure I can have breakfast with Sandy.
“Is he often like that with you?” I ask.
She flutters around the kitchen in her peach dress, her beige apron pulled tight at her curvaceous waist, her hair pinned back at the sides just behind her ears, the way she does when she’s cooking. She avoids my eyes as she pours milk onto my cereal.
“I’m so sorry.” I will myself not to cry again but the restless night sleeping at my father’s bedside has left me tired and, if possible, more emotional than usual. I’ve never been a crier. It’s as if all the tears I’ve never cried have erupted in the last couple of months as I’ve watched Dad’s health deteriorate. Some days, most days, he’s barely recognisable.
“Now stop that,” Sandy says, tenderly brushing an escaped tear from my cheek. “Don’t give up on him.”
The whole thing is taking its toll on Sandy too. The image of her standing in the doorway to my father’s room keeps coming back to me. Her eyes were red and swollen. She prepares my father’s pills and sets up his breakfast tray, intentionally keeping her back to me.
“He’s getting worse quickly isn’t he, Sandy?”
She stops, dead still at the breakfast bar. She seems to process my question then continues to set out my father’s tray.
“He still has his moments,” she says, turning to me and placing her warm hand on mine. “He’s a fighter, Scarlett.”
“Sandy! Did he do this to you?” She pulls her arm from me quickly and wraps her other hand around the plump, marked red skin of her wrist.
“He gets a little frustrated, that’s all. It’s nothing a tough woman like me can’t handle!” She flashes me a big grin but her eyes are solemn.
“He’s becoming too much for you.” My voice breaks. I know what the next step will be. “Sandy, I really appreciate your help. I know Dad does too. He’s just not the same anymore, and you’re not a nurse.” I take a shallow breath. “You’ll tell me when it’s time, won’t you?”
Sandy returns her hand to mine. “Doctor Heath is a good man. He’s always been good to me and I’ll help him for as long as I can. I love you both more than you could ever imagine.”
I manage to nod but my eyes are on fire.