Learning curves (22 page)

Jen’s heart sank. She’d been building up to a conversation with her mother, had planned it meticulously, and put it off effectively for days. Now the mountain had come to Mohammed and she’d forgotten everything she wanted to say.

“Mum?” she said, wishing she’d stayed in the bath.

“Oh, so you still remember who I am, then?”

“Yes, Mum,” Jen said with a sigh, wondering guiltily whether amnesia might not be rather an attractive option right now.

“I’m really sorry.”

“Jen, I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Jen, look, about this afternoon. I overreacted and I wanted to apologize . . . ,” Daniel muttered to himself as he came out of the tube and started to walk the twenty-minute journey to Jen’s flat, trying to work out the best opening line. He’d thought about phoning, but it seemed so impersonal and anyway, you couldn’t make up on the phone; everyone knew that. Firstly it was fraught with difficulties—not seeing someone’s face made it very difficult to judge whether you could start cracking jokes yet; and secondly the best you could hope for at the end was the promise of a future meeting, whereas when you made up in person you could really . . . consolidate things.

Easy, Daniel, don’t walk before you can run,
he warned himself as he began to get carried away with images of him and Jen consolidating their relationship again and again. First he had to convince her that he wasn’t a total asshole.

“Ow!”

He yelped as someone walked into him.
Bloody people not looking where they’re going,
he thought, looking up to see a face he almost thought he recognized, but rejected the thought immediately because he didn’t know anyone who looked like he’d been sleeping rough for several weeks.

“You want to keep your eyes open,” the face said, to Daniel’s indignation.

“Me?” he said incredulously. “You’re the one walking into people.”

The face looked at him curiously. “You’re Jen’s ex, aren’t you?”

Daniel frowned. Of course. It was the ex-boyfriend. The tramp. “Think you’re a bit confused there,” he said quickly, deciding that he really didn’t want to engage in conversation with this guy. “You’re the ex. I’m Jen’s current boyfriend.”

“Not the way she describes it.”

“You’ve seen her?” Daniel kicked himself as he spoke. He didn’t want to know if this tramp had seen Jen. Didn’t want to encourage him.

The tramp looked at him, a little mocking smile playing on his lips. “Look, mate,” he said as if letting Daniel into a big secret, “the thing is, me and Jen . . . well, there’s more to it than just, well, me being her ex-boyfriend. We’re still close. And as far as she’s concerned, she doesn’t want to see you again.”

Daniel’s eyes narrowed. “Well, in that case, she can tell me to my face,” he said firmly.

The tramp grinned. “You’ve got more balls than me, I tell you. Don’t think I’d fancy going to her flat just to be told to go to hell, but I suppose it takes all sorts. The thing is, mate, you missed the bus, so to speak. And I’ve . . . well, hopped back on, if you catch my drift.”

Daniel stared at him. Jen was going out with someone who referred to her as a bus? Anyway, it was impossible. He’d seen her a couple of hours ago and she hadn’t said anything about this joker.

“Still, I’ll just be on my way,” he said and the tramp shrugged.

“Fine with me. I’ll see you in a bit, then.”

“What?” Daniel asked sharply.

“I’m just popping out for some wine, so I’ll be with you in a few minutes. You’ll probably need a drink, come to think of it.”

“You’re going back round to Jen’s?”

The tramp nodded. “We’re celebrating the fact that we’re getting back together,” he said firmly. “Actually, mate, you did me a bit of a favor arguing with her like that. Made her see sense about me and her. I appreciate that.”

Daniel suddenly felt a bit sick. What had he done? Jen was back with this . . . this idiot, and he couldn’t even blame her. Who’d want to go out with someone who flew off the handle when you popped in to see them at work?

“It seems my timing is rather off,” he said quietly.

“Like I said,” the tramp said with a shrug. “You’ve missed the bus, mate.”

Slowly, Daniel turned around and walked away, the bouquet of flowers he’d bought hanging limply at his side.

Gavin watched him walk away, then turned back round. He was doing Jen a favor, he told himself. Sometimes you needed to protect your friends—from other people, but also from themselves.

“Well, I have to say that I’ve rather been expecting you to call and apologize. But seeing that you haven’t, I thought I better call you instead.”

“You don’t think that you owe me an apology?” Jen asked, managing to keep her voice steady. “For lying to me?”

“I explained all that,” Harriet said irritably. “I was protecting you, that’s all. That’s what mothers do, you know.”

“I didn’t want protection, I wanted the truth.”

Harriet sighed. “You didn’t know what you wanted, and I’m not sure you do now, either. So anyway, I just wanted to tell you that your little leak to the press got your father very rattled. Very rattled indeed. Which makes me think he must be vulnerable. Maybe he’s worried you know more than—”

“How do you know?”

“Know what, darling?”

“That he’s rattled. And about the letter, which I never even mentioned to you? How did he find out about it, and how do you know that Dad’s rattled?”

Harriet sighed. “Oh, that. You always were a detail person, weren’t you? Well, I assumed it was you because I couldn’t think who else it would be. And when I mentioned the article to your father, he confirmed that it had to be you that leaked it. Really, darling, to think I was worried you had fallen for his charm. I was rather proud, you know—”

“You told him?” Jen interrupted. “When?”

“I wish you’d stop butting in like that, darling. I went to see him in the hospital. A major sacrifice, incidentally, because you know how much I hate those places, but I have to say it was worth it. His face . . . well, it was a picture . . .”

Jen felt herself getting indignant, hot angry words welling up in the back of her throat. But instead of letting them erupt as she usually would, she forced them down, tried to ignore them. She’d had enough of arguing. She needed to tame her temper. And anyway, what did it matter if Harriet had spilled the beans? He would have found out at some point, and since it looked like he was the corrupt bastard her mother had made him out to be after all, it was probably a good thing that she had.

“Great,” she said unenthusiastically.

“So?” her mother asked expectantly.

“So?”

“So what else have you found out? There was a news report earlier this afternoon, and the police in Indonesia have drawn a blank—they can’t find any evidence of any corruption, which is hardly surprising because no one’s exactly going to admit to taking a bribe, are they? The thing is, Jen, if we don’t get to the truth, no one will.”

Jen thought for a moment. If she told her mother everything, it would make things much easier. Harriet would know what to do with the spreadsheet. She would know what to do, full stop.

So what was stopping her?

“Well, there are a couple of things,” she said eventually. “But I need you to promise you won’t tell Paul.”

“Paul? What do you mean, darling?”

“I mean, promise me you won’t tell him what I tell you.”

Harriet sighed. “So it
is
true. Paul warned me about this.”

“Warned you about what?” Jen asked immediately, her hackles rising.

“I know you’ve never liked Paul, but I will not have you demonize him,” Harriet said angrily. “This is nothing to do with Paul. He’s about the only person I can trust nowadays now you’ve got so cozy with the enemy.”

“You can trust me!” Jen said indignantly. “You barely know Paul, and when you hear what I’ve got to say—”

“I won’t, Jennifer. I won’t hear it, do you understand? He wondered if you were the right person for this job, and I should have listened to him.”

Jen frowned. “You discussed me working at Bell Consulting with Paul?”

“Of course, darling. We tell each other everything.”

“I doubt that very much,” Jen said sarcastically, thinking of the phone call at her father’s house.

“Jen, until you can be civil, I really don’t think we have anything to talk to each other about.”

“Fine,” Jen said hotly. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Angrily she hung up the phone and slumped down on a chair. This had to go down as the worst day of her life, she decided. And she had a horrible feeling that things weren’t about to get much better, either.

26

Angel’s skin was glowing and her eyes were shining.

“I thought you said you were hungover,” Jen said as she joined her for brunch, peering at her friend closely for signs of bloodshot eyes or gray skin.

“I am,” said Angel, looking for all the world as if she had just returned from a relaxing week at a spa. “I look dreadful.”

Jen raised her eyebrows and picked up the menu.

“Although to be honest, Jen, so do you. What’s up?”

Jen put the menu down. “How is it,” she asked, “that your life can change so dramatically, and so much for the worse, in the space of about two days? I just don’t get it.”

Angel frowned. “Your life is worse? How? It isn’t your father, is it?”

Jen looked at the table in front of her. Angel would never say “I told you so”; would never tell her that had Jen listened to her, and protected herself a little more, instead of jumping straight in and allowing herself to get carried away by the idea of having a father again, she wouldn’t be in this pickle now. But it would still hang in the air.

“You were right,” Jen said simply. “He isn’t what I thought he was. Or rather, he is what I thought he was, before I convinced myself that he wasn’t.”

Angel wrinkled her nose in confusion. “Would you like to explain that?”

Jen sighed. There was so much to explain. About her father and the spreadsheets; about her mother and Paul Song; about Gavin; about Daniel and that woman . . . As she reviewed the list, she felt the familiar prick of tears, but blinked them back. This was not the time to feel sorry for herself. This was the time to do something about it.

She started talking, and watched as Angel’s eyes widened in amazement. Every so often she would exclaim “no!” or “he didn’t!” or “you didn’t!” and Jen would nod sagely and confirm that yes, it did happen and he or she did do that.

Eventually, she finished and sat back. Angel was silent for a few seconds as if processing all the information. Then she looked up at her friend.

“And what are you going to do about it? Who are you going to tell? And why haven’t you gone to box that Daniel’s ears yet?”

Jen found herself smiling slightly at the image of herself pitching up at Daniel’s office and threatening to punch him.

“To be honest, I don’t know,” she admitted. “I tried telling Mum, but as soon as I mentioned Paul Song she got really defensive.”

“Do you really think he’s involved?”

Jen shrugged. “I really hope not, for Mum’s sake, but it doesn’t look good, does it? I mean, why would he be calling my father at home? And that stupid wooden block that he said was from China, and that was actually from Indonesia . . . it just seems too much of a coincidence.”

“Do you know what the payments were for yet?”

Jen shook her head. “No, but come on. Money going into numbered accounts and Axiom’s name dotted around . . . I’ve looked at that spreadsheet a thousand times and I can’t come up with any explanation other than bribery.”

“So then you should go to the police.”

“I know.”

“But?”

Angel’s eyes were boring into Jen’s and she shifted uncomfortably. “I will,” Jen said evasively. “I just . . . don’t know what I’d tell them yet.”

“Have you spoken to your father?”

Jen shook her head.

“Don’t you think maybe you should?”

Jen shrugged. “Maybe. I just haven’t had the energy really. And I’m still so angry with him.”

“That’s a good thing. Talk to him while you still have fire in your belly. Come on, Jen. You have to do this.”

Jen sighed. Angel was right. She’d been procrastinating for days now, somehow unable to muster the energy to actually do anything. All she wanted to do was hide, pretend that none of this had happened, convince herself that it wasn’t her responsibility. It was so unlike her— usually she rushed straight into things without thinking twice—and she was letting it get the better of her.

“I guess you don’t want to lose your father again,” Angel continued thoughtfully. “But if what you say is true, then I think probably you’ve already lost him.”

“And Mum. And Daniel,” Jen said dolefully. “But look, I’ve had enough of my problems for the time being. What about you? How’s the wedding going?”

Angel’s face brightened visibly. “It’s the most ridiculous ceremony,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Everyone is spending far too much money, the outfits are crazy, and both sets of parents are so wound up they’re about to snap. Tell me, how easy do you think it would be to get an elephant to a wedding in London. Pretty hard, no? We’re going to have two . . .”

As she talked, Jen found herself listening enviously to Angel’s tales of her large, extended family. Everyone knew everyone else’s business; everyone was expected to pull together. And even though Angel complained, Jen could see that she didn’t mind really.
How reassuring,
she thought to herself,
to be part of something so solid. How nice to know that whatever happened, you had a tribe of family around you to support you, nag at you, and tell you where you were going wrong.
If she was right in her suspicions, she’d probably never speak to her father again and her mother would lose Paul Song and might never forgive Jen for it.

“. . . and so I had to climb down the drainpipe. It was so exciting—like being a teenager again.”

Jen frowned. Had she just missed something interesting? “You climbed down the drainpipe?” she asked.

“Yes! Well, I could hardly have my family knowing that I was going out on a date with the man they want me to marry!”

“You were going on a date with the man they want you to marry, and you wanted to keep it a secret? I’m confused.”

Angel rolled her eyes. “Jen, keep up, will you? He’s a very gorgeous man, and I like him. The last thing I want is for my parents to get the idea that they can set me up in an arranged marriage with him.”

Jen frowned, then shook her head. “And you think that
I
like to make things complicated,” she said with a little smile.

The following morning, Jen found herself back in Bill’s small office, sitting upright, ready to go. She had a plan, which she’d developed the night before after her brunch with Angel, and now she was ready to kick things off.

Number One: Leave Bell. She didn’t want anything to do with Bell Consulting anymore, and didn’t want an MBA if it meant turning out like Daniel.

Number Two: Tell her father exactly what she thought of him, and make it clear that she would be telling everyone else, too, including the police.

Number Three: Tell her mother about Paul Song, in no uncertain terms. Harriet would simply have to listen, whether she liked it or not.

Number Four: Have it out with Daniel. Let him know that she saw him in that restaurant, that she knew what he’d been up to, and that she wasn’t going to stand for it.

Of course, Number Four was the bit she was most dreading, the one she hoped that she wouldn’t get to any time soon. It was one thing shouting at her father, but it was quite another thing to confront the man she loved. Or thought she loved. Particularly since he didn’t appear to love her back. Still, she’d cross that bridge when she came to it. Right now, she was focusing on Number One.

“So, how’s Jennifer today?” Bill asked with a big smile. “And how are your studies going?”

Jen looked Bill in straight in the eye. “Actually I haven’t really been here much for the past couple of days. I’m . . . I’m thinking about quitting the course.”

The smile disappeared off Bill’s face and was replaced by a look of concern.

“Quit the course? But you’re doing so well! Is it the assignments that are freaking you out, because you really don’t have to worry. I can help you through the research . . . it’s a piece of cake, really.”

Jen smiled. “Thanks, Bill, but it’s not the work. It’s . . . well, it’s just that I don’t think I really want anything to do with the business community or Bell Consulting.”

Bill looked worried and stroked his beard. “I see. That’s quite a strong position you have there. Any reason you’d like to share?”

“As far as I can see, all businesses do is try to extort money out of people, and I don’t want anything to do with it. And as for Bell . . . well, let’s just say I don’t want to be a consultant either.”

Bill nodded. “Sure,” he said. “Business is a terrible thing. All those people working hard and providing goods and services that people need. Dreadful, I agree.”

Jen frowned as she realized Bill was making fun of her. “They may make goods and provide services, but they’re only doing it because it makes them money,” she said firmly.

Bill frowned.

“Sounds like a pretty naïve view of business if you ask me,” he said seriously.

Jen arched an eyebrow at him. “Naïve?” she asked indignantly. “I hardly think so.” She’d been thinking that she was becoming too cynical if anything.

Bill stroked his beard. “Okay, then let me ask you something. Let’s take a drug company. What do they do?”

Jen sat up straight. “Easy. They develop drugs which they then sell at a huge profit and convince governments to stop other companies producing these drugs cheaper, even if they could save lives all around the world. They’re hideous companies. Really awful.”

Bill smiled. “Okay, so you think that once they’ve developed a drug they should give it out for free?”

“They should sell it at the price it costs to make it. Not charge people an arm and a leg.”

“But wouldn’t the price include the research and development costs, which can mean years of scientists conducting expensive experiments?”

“Yes, but . . .”

“But?”

“But they still make huge profits.”

“Which makes people pleased to invest in them, which means they have more money for research.”

“They’re only interested in drugs that can make money for them,” Jen said sullenly.

“And if they didn’t make a profit, do you think there would be the same level of investment?”

Jen frowned. “I guess not . . .” she started, then stopped.

“Business itself isn’t bad,” Bill said gently. “You need rules, codes of conduct. But making money isn’t in itself a bad thing. Motivates some people more than others of course. . . .”

“What about corruption?” Jen demanded. “Businesses are rife with it.”

“Not as rife as a lot of governments.”

Jen sat still for a few seconds. What would he say if she told him about the spreadsheet she’d found on her father’s computer, she wondered. Would he think corruption wasn’t rife then?

“Jen, don’t quit. Not now. If you feel strongly about these things, do something about it—don’t just walk away. You always struck me as more of a fighter. . . .”

Jen stared at him. “But . . . ,” she said, leaving the word hanging in midair.

“
But
is a great word if you want to divorce yourself from a situation. Is that what you want to do?”

Jen nodded, then shook her head. That was the last thing she wanted to do. But stay at Bell? That would be impossible. Wouldn’t it? She frowned, and noticed Bill looking at her, hopefully.

“So you’ll keep at it?” he asked, as Jen wrestled internally. Maybe he was right. Maybe walking away was the cowardly option.

“I don’t know,” she said slowly, wondering where this left her action plan. “But I’ll definitely think about it.”

“Okay, but while you’re thinking, you probably want to crack on with your research. And don’t you have an assignment due in?”

Jen smiled slightly. “I still hate business,” she said defiantly.

“Glad to hear it. See you next time?”

Jen nodded against her better judgment. If the second item on her list went as planned, she’d probably be kicked out anyway.

“So you see, Mrs. Keller, our position is very difficult. In these circumstances we are forced to request additional collateral or suggest that the firm seek alternative financing arrangements . . .”

“Ms. Keller.”

“I’m sorry?” The young man in the suit shifted awkwardly in his chair. He hated these conversations. Didn’t see why his boss at the bank couldn’t have made this meeting. All right for him, crying off at the last minute, blaming a more important meeting elsewhere. He was probably drinking coffee in a Starbucks somewhere feeling all pleased with himself for dumping this on someone else.

“It’s
Ms.
Keller. You called me Mrs. Keller.”

“Right. Right. Sorry about that.”
You’d have thought she had more important things to worry about,
he thought, wondering to himself how much longer he’d have to be here.

“So, what sort of additional collateral are we talking about here?”

“Oh, you know, property. Other valuables—the odd Grand Master tucked away, that sort of thing.” He looked at Harriet and mentally kicked himself. Bad time to be having a laugh, making little quips. No, keep it serious. Like an undertaker.

“My house, I believe is . . .”

“Already mortgaged, yes.”

“And our revenues aren’t . . .”

“Not enough to guarantee future repayments, Ms. Keller, no. That’s the problem we’ve got here. You see, banks aren’t like venture capitalists: They don’t benefit from your success. We just get our regular payments with interest. If you do twice as well as you expected, we get the same amount. We don’t like taking risks, that’s the thing. So unless you can find some alternative financing arrangement . . .”

“You mean I have to sell my business?”

The young man shifted uneasily. “Like I say, you’ve got a few days to decide what to do. You can sell up, or you can find someone to invest some money, or . . .” he trailed off.
Or you can file for bankruptcy
wasn’t something that just tripped off the tongue. “Only, if the decision is to pull,” he continued, deciding that there was no need to actually spell it out for Ms. Keller, “that won’t give you much time, so you’d be better off, you know, working out your options.”

Harriet glowered at him and he shrank back slightly. “Please go now,” she said softly, and he grabbed his papers and crammed them in his briefcase, not caring that it wouldn’t shut properly, and then bolted for the door.

Five minutes later, Harriet left her office and ran into the café across the road. As she came out, she wrapped her coat around her and clutched her free-trade organic coffee. She hadn’t been out of the Green Futures building during daylight in days, she realized—not even to buy a sandwich—and it was rather nice to have a cool breeze on her face.