Chapter 45 Partnership
Mirrors do not tell lies. Mine tells me that I’m extremely attractive. Tonight, the bar glistens with glass and gold, and I’m slightly jealous of the people who get to look at me as I sip a martini, elegant as an actress in my silver dress.
I was not always like this. Becoming beautiful has been a carefully stage-managed process, but it starts with what’s inside.
As a girl I always wore the prettiest dresses, but inside, I was a dishevelled creature of dark desires.
I felt like a grotesquely stitched together mismatch of monster and doll.
I was only five when I remember first gaining some control over these mismatched inner and outer worlds.
I stole someone’s favourite doll, and the pleasure silenced the inner turmoil for a time.
I knew, instinctively, that I should keep this secret pleasure hidden from others’ eyes, but I kept the doll as a memento of that first feeling. Nelly has it now.
My mother tried to love me, despite these crimes, for which I’m grateful.
Children who are easy to love tend not to steal, lie, stab or disappear from their rooms at night.
I think she thought it was all down to him, but I don’t think it was only him.
It wasn’t his hatred that made me weak, it was her love that made me strong.
One violent man can do a lot of damage, but one strong woman can do a great deal more.
The man sitting along from me at the bar has a buttery complexion, dyed hair, and a forehead so shiny it looks like it’s been polished with grease.
His open-necked baby-blue silk shirt is so taut it gapes around his belly button.
Even from the distance of two bar stools, I can smell his musky perfume and vape-smoke.
In the mirror, his bleach-whitened teeth shine like warning beacons and his heavy gold rings glint with menace.
His name is Josh Krill. He’s not a crime boss, but an influential partner at Stephen’s bank.
According to Stephen, his word can make or break a prospective partner.
We’re both drinking expensive cocktails in the Rivoli bar.
He bought a cocktail that cost ￡120. This is merely part of his courtship display.
He might say the same about my flattering low-cut dress that almost falls from my shoulders, and the glittering platinum and emerald necklace that dances on the smooth skin between my neck and chest. Every now and then his eyes glance over at me as if I’m wearing an all-you-can-eat buffet sign.
I don’t mind the Ritz. Their drinks are well mixed, their bar staff impeccable, and their waiters most attentive.
It’s the customers I object to. Setting this up has been no trouble at all as Stephen told me that Josh was particularly attentive to the interns, so I messaged Josh via a fake LinkedIn account to ask for advice on getting an internship.
I used a rather beautiful photograph of Aimée as my profile picture, and Josh was quick to reply.
We went back and forth on a professional level, then he suggested we move the conversation to WhatsApp, where things became more casual and even a little flirty.
Before I knew it, and in response to my desperation to learn from him, he suggested we meet privately to share his wisdom, adding ‘and anything else that might occur between consenting adults’.
Well, I’m only human, and my fake self was overwhelmed by the heady mixture of gladiatorial preening alongside the kind suggestion of an illicit relationship with an older man in exchange for his hand on my arse as he pushed me up the corporate ladder.
I replied with emojis to suggest my current state – prayer hands along with shivers of excitement, although in truth, I was patching up Nathan’s grazed knee after a fall.
I reminded Josh that I was only a recent graduate and explained that I couldn’t pay him anything for his advice.
Josh’s response to this was so honest and caring that I was quite touched:
I’m happy with payment-in-kind. xxx
In the lead-up to this exciting date, I did a little research and discovered, all via his own boasting, that Josh has five children, a stunning wife, a villa in Tuscany, a boat (not quite a yacht yet), three cars, a pilot’s licence, a love of rugby, and a huge pile in Surrey.
All to display his fertility and status.
His fake date is already thirty minutes late.
Josh has downed two cocktails and is getting annoyed.
He glances my way once or twice, but I’m not his type by at least eighteen years.
He texts Aimée, which I read surreptitiously and then reply.
Aimée tells him she will be half an hour late because she wanted to wear something special for him and has been out shopping.
He texts back to say she doesn’t need to wear anything.
After his third vintage cocktail, and increasingly annoyed texts to Aimée, I text on her behalf to say that I have to cancel. He texts back with a slur reserved for women who are believed to have promised something without providing satisfaction.
‘Been stood up, have you?’ I say.
‘Not a bit,’ he says, turning to me. ‘Just been enjoying the view in the mirror.’
‘Do you make a habit of taking advantage of interns?’ I ask.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Aimée. A prospective intern. I understand you suggested sex in return for a career opportunity.’
‘What’s it got to do with you?’ he says.
‘I’m her mother,’ I say, and although it galls me to say this, I’m pleased with his surprised reaction.
‘Don’t know anyone by that name,’ he says, and turns away from me.
‘I’m also a friend of Natalie da Costa. Do you remember Natalie? Left your firm quite suddenly in 2014.’
Josh swivels in his chair. ‘I don’t know who you are, but I’ve got nothing to say. And neither does Natalie da Costa.’
‘Is that because you sexually harassed her, paid her off and made her sign a non-disclosure?’
‘You can’t say that.’
‘Or Simone Farrell? She left in a hurry in 2018 after working under you. Another pay-off?’
‘If you keep making accusations you can’t prove, you’re going to find yourself with a fucking big lawsuit.’
‘There are three other women, do you remember their names?’
‘I’m leaving,’ he says, and waves to the barman for the bill.
‘I understand you booked a room for your meeting with Aimée. I asked at reception. Rather presumptuous,’ I say and smile. ‘A standard double too. Not even a deluxe room. That’s a little cheap, don’t you think?’
‘Fuck you!’ he says, waving a gold card at the card reader without looking at his bill.
‘I’m thinking of writing a story and sharing it with the press. I have all these details of strange departures – and Aimée’s messages of course.’
‘Listen to me carefully,’ he says, balling his fist. ‘Don’t fuck with me. I’m not someone you fuck with.’
‘Why not? It might lead to ￡50,000 and an NDA. I’ve even shaved in anticipation.’
‘Funny, ha-ha,’ he says, taking his jacket from the back of his stool and throwing it over his shoulder.
‘You want to comment?’
‘If you’re a journalist, you can’t print this. Not one of those women will say a word against me.’
‘Because nothing happened, or because they’ve legally given up their right to call you an arsehole?’
‘I can afford the best lawyers money can buy. Just give me your name, and I will end you,’ he says.
‘There’s another young woman in your company who is not currently legally bound. She’s also very happy to talk. It’s enough to get this story out there.’
‘You’re bluffing.’
‘I have connections in your bank, and I believe there are a number who have yet to speak up, but it’s amazing what happens when one breaks the ice.’
Josh stops and looks at me, his face red and puffy.
‘You can avoid all this trouble, though.’
‘What do you want?’ he says, and sits down.
‘A small favour. An associate of mine wants to be made partner. I want you to make that happen. It may just save your marriage, and even your career.’