"...and what is terrifying about being
alone", he confided, "is not to be able to think of anything else: it
has my thoughts. I has/I have… er, paralysie? Always. I look for the exits,
out of windows, wandering this way and that way and hoping someone will come
in, arrive, phone, text... anything."
She smiled benignly at his charming French accent and syntax, her manicured fingernail delicately circling the rim of her half-drunk Malena cocktail and muted a supportive “Uh-huh”.
"And it's only when someone is around can I work. My ideal, my idea of the perfect working environment, is the busy office, really busy — a lot of people, the fracas and erm... chattering, like une rédaction, er... news-room? Have you seen a newsroom, Jo?" He deftly picked up his tumbler with two fingers and took a busy sip from the glass's very edge with his youthful lips, a cue for her expected negative response and to express wonder as he expanded on his knowledge and experience in all matters.
"No, can't say I have. Well, Lee's always taken on all the publicity; answering all the questions at press conferences. Always has..."
"Oh, very busy place – so much information coming in, going out," he interrupted, "it's a miracle a story is written – this phone is ringing, that boss is shouting, meetings, deadlines, you know. But that is what I love, noise and the hustle and bustle – and the pressure! But also if I worked in a newsroom, I would have to ask, am I working for myself or for my boss? Do I have any control at all, or am I just doing what my boss says? He has all the power. What do I have? My only power is to walk. Or I do a good job and am promoted – maybe to the top.”
“Mmm…” she nodded encouragingly.
“For a journalist it is important to uncover the truth – no matter where it leads. Find the truth.”
“Oh, but don’t you think that could get you into all sorts of trouble?”
“Maybe. But we owe it to ourselves to find out the truth. What is life without truth? We deceive – us and the world. Like with my interest in your husband's company, I have been direct – very truthful indeed, as far as I'm concerned. I declared my interests, Monday last week, and a meeting with the best in Fleet Street, one or two of the business pages enfant prodige – ah, those guys think they can see into the future. I told them, right from the start, my intentions – en noir et blanc. They asked if I will fight Sphinx for overall control of Labdacids; set it up like a match, battle of good and evil. Tout de même, I've been strict... strictly fair and square: Sphinx, on the other hand, are enigma… er, riddles – treachery. People think they're a rock – rock solid. I know just what they are like – bâtard!
He closed his eyes waving his hand hastily to apologise for swearing and shrugged his I-get-a-bit-carried-away-when-I'm-excited smile. It had worked before. "Je m’excuse. Je suis toujours un peu liquidation – a near-miss, in the car, coming here. An idiot nearly collide, collision… collided with me!"
"That's alright", she responded, turning her head to one side, "I like a man with a bit of passion." He could have sworn she almost winked. "But tell me, why are we here – why this pub? I mean, the Marquis of bloody Granby – I don't think they normally do cocktails, do you? Don't get me wrong, it's all very nice, I suppose, but I mean, why? What do you expect to get from me?"He smiled. "No-no, you make it sound that I am scheming.”
“Well, you are, aren’t you?”
“Look, I'm direct: candide, franc, up-front like you say. I won't deny I’ve had an interest in your husband's company for a long moment now. Actually, I want it: ideas, vision, pedigree – it's all there. And I tried to set up a meeting last week… for the SEO, the shares… But… well… to be up-front... since I met you I haven't been able to think of anything. I can’t get you out of my mind. I can’t help it – I’m naturally inquisitive, attracted. I wanted to see how this meeting would go. How far will this go? I... really wanted to meet you – today, tonight, and get to know you much better. No, a lot better."
Inwardly delighted and flattered, she was nevertheless mature and wise enough to hold steady and refused to allow any expressions of excitement to leak through, especially at what was obviously a swiftly passing romantic thrill. Or so she assumed. "So, this is just to get at my husband's business, then."
He leaned over across the table into her space, close enough that his breath gently touched her face and moved her hair. She subtly imbibed his heady Pursuit after-shave as he lowered his voice. "To be fair, I cannot say it didn't enter my mind. You know, probably more than anyone, about the way your husband has conducted the business over the years; the plans for this second equity offer, the shares..." he drew her in closer to whisper, "and anything you say will greatly help me stop Sphinx digging their talons firmly under the skin," and then he withdrew, "but that's not all. No, not all: there's something else here. And you feel it too. I know it."
She breathed again, a little unsure just whether she was deeply fascinated by this arrogant Frenchman or… Hoping to turn the tables, she smiled, "Erik, since we’re having this conversation, I agreed to meet you precisely because of the company’s current situation. That's true. To be honest I don’t know much about it at all, but I do know the business is failing for proper funding. And that's why I’m glad you suggested we keep this little meeting quiet – and agreed to meet you here, to do my bit, but..." she paused, staring at his eyes, "alright, I admit, I've also felt a little inquisitive about you, but I don’t know enough about you. Just who is this man that comes out of nowhere, builds, what is it you said – a consultancy business? – overnight, a successful European consultancy business at that, I dare say branching out into acquisitions and mergers and deals and goodness knows what? Where does he get his skills, his business acumen? Did he inherit it, a bit like his good looks? Who does he take advice from? Which lady shares his life? So, I must say I’m intrigued, Erik. Yes, I am. It's not just the suit and tie, or the after-shave. Tell me who are you, Erik, from the beginning. If you really want to see just how far it goes…" She lifted her cocktail to eye level and emptied it as gracefully as she could, staring at the slippery orange segment on the bottom of the glass and willing it to stay in place.
"Hmm. Before I answer, please allow me to order two more. I think you're right; it's usually busy here, but it's quiet now: bon!" Tilting his glass, he raised an eyebrow – the smart, white-shirted barman effortlessly acknowledged the wordless request for 'two more' with an imperceptible nod. Sighing, he spoke quietly. "From the beginning, eh? Well, sorry, I can't: I cannot talk about my family."
"Why ever not?"
"Mauvais souvenirs… bad blood. That's right, eh – bad blood?"
"Your parents, Erik? Whatever did they do?"
He flushed. "It's not what they've… It's m… No, I cannot. It's not something I can talk about. With anyone."
She felt his resistance and looked for a way to ease him. "Erik. If you invited me here to see where your inquisitiveness would take you – clinch the deal, move in for a merger, well, this isn't going to help much, is it? I agreed to meet you because I liked you when I first me you. And when we met again in Covent Garden… you never did say what were you doing there. So when you suggested tonight, here, I was hoping to find out more about you. I suppose in the end it’s all about trust: can I trust you, Erik? I agreed to met you on trust. Because of the deal." He looked down. "Erik, if I agreed to meet you on trust, then there must be a reason." She flitted another smile. He continued to look down. "I do have a reason, Erik. Really, this meeting could be potentially catastrophic for the both of us – in ways we can and probably can't imagine. If anyone found out, well, I think you already know how damaging this could be for both of us, and our respective interests. Look, it’s obviously a bit of an issue, Erik. What if I were to promise you that I would keep anything you said a confidence, in the strictest terms?“
He remained silent. She feared she might have said too much.
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