Learning curves (11 page)

Jen frowned, wished she hadn’t drunk quite so much wine, and did a quick mental pros and cons list. Pros, she’d have him for a few more hours; she wanted him to kiss her; it was the polite thing to do; God, she wanted to rip his clothes off. Cons, she might never see him again, her flat was a mess . . .

“Everything all right?” Daniel asked.

“Great, thanks!” Jen said brightly.

The car purred down through Green Park and Chelsea until they arrived at her road in Fulham, and Daniel drew the car to a standstill.

“Thank you so much,” Jen said quickly. “It was really kind of you to give me a lift. And the lunch, too . . . I had a really lovely time.”

“Me too,” said Daniel, turning off the ignition and turning to look at Jen properly. It was the kind of look that usually signalled that there might be kissing in the very near future. Jen undid her seat belt.

“So, which one’s your flat?” Daniel asked, looking up at the building ahead of them.

“Oh, it’s not in this building—it’s the one across the road.”

Daniel turned to look. “That one, with the tramp standing outside?” he asked.

Jen turned to see what he was looking at. “Yes,” she said. “The one with the . . .” She peered more closely, then let out a little yelp. “Oh, God. That’s not a tramp. That’s Gavin, my ex-boyfriend.”

Daniel raised his eyebrows and quickly sat up a bit straighter. “Oh, right. I, er, better let you go, then.”

“No, don’t. I mean, I don’t know what he’s doing here. There’s no reason why you should go . . .”

Gavin had turned around and was staring at Daniel, who was doing his best not to stare back.

“No, really, it looks like he wants to talk to you. I . . . I’ve got to get back anyway . . .” he said, his voice suddenly less intimate.

“I’m so sorry,” Jen said despondently. “I . . .”

“Look, it’s really no problem,” Daniel said quickly with a sudden and false-looking smile on his face. “You go and . . . well, you go.”

As she got out of the car, Jen leaned down to look at him one last time.

“See you,” she said, with a slight question mark at the end.

“Yeah. It was fun,” Daniel said with a wink, and turned the engine back on.

Jen watched him drive off, then turned round to face Gavin.

“And what the hell do you want?” she asked crossly.

12

“What are you doing here?” Jen asked again.

She looked irritably at Gavin’s mousy hair, which looked like it hadn’t had a wash in several weeks, and his lopsided grin.

“I came to see you, gorgeous. Didn’t realize I’d be interrupting anything. He a friend of yours, is he?”

Jen ignored him, taking out her key and opening her front door.

“You’re looking . . . good,” Gavin said in a voice that suggested he thought the opposite. “Smart, I mean. Shiny hair.”

“You’re looking like shit,” Jen replied cautiously. “What’s with the clothes?”

Gavin grinned. “And I thought you liked a bit of rough. Well, next time I’ll know to bring my sports car.”

Jen raised her eyebrow at him and he shrugged. “Just been helping organize a rally against a supermarket,” he said, lolloping into the kitchen and helping himself to a large glass of milk. “Ended up meeting some really cool travelers so I’ve been kicking around with them for a while.”

Jen nodded. “So that would explain the hair,” she said curtly.

Gavin grinned sheepishly. “I think it suits me, actually. Mind you, I could kill for a bath. If we’re friends, that is?”

He looked at Jen hopefully and she tutted like an irritated mother. “You can’t just keep coming round here,” she said brusquely. “I’m not your girlfriend anymore. I’ve got my own life now.”

Gavin looked hurt. “But you’re my friend,” he said. “I can go, if you want. Steve said I could sleep on his floor . . .”

He picked up the large, musty-looking bag he’d been carrying and moved slowly toward the door. Jen let him get halfway there, then relented. “One bath. That’s it.”

“And some food?” His eyes were twinkling now. “You do the best food, Jen. Just one meal, and tomorrow I’ll be off, I promise.”

“Tomorrow?”

Gavin grinned and leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. “You wouldn’t kick me out, would you? Not now I’m here. Not when you haven’t seen me for so long?”

Jen folded her arms and looked at him. Gavin was unlike anyone else she’d ever known. Energetic, charming, hopeless at practical things but better than anyone else at what he did best—drawing people in, getting support, and winning people over. Everyone wanted to look after him, everyone wanted to be close to him. But he was like a stray cat—affectionate and loving when he needed something, then off like the wind once his appetite was satisfied. As his girlfriend, Jen had been envied and pitied in equal measure by those around them. But, she’d discovered, not being his girlfriend anymore didn’t seem to offer the protection from him that she’d expected.

“You’re going to have to find someone else to spring your little visits on, Gavin,” she said eventually. “You can stay tonight, but that’s it. Seriously. Don’t you have another girlfriend?”

She asked the question partly to test herself. To check for her response if he said yes. She was pretty sure she was past caring.

“Not like you.”

“You are so transparent, Gavin. Stop with the flattery, okay? I’ve already said you can stay.”

“You’re the best, Jen. You really are.”

She rolled her eyes and opened the fridge, watching Gavin walk to the bathroom and start to run his bath.

“So, you still working for your mum?” Gavin asked, simultaneously talking and wolfing down a plate of Jen’s signature green Thai curry.

Jen frowned. “Kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“It’s . . . complicated.”

Gavin grinned. “I love a bit of complication. So go on, then.”

Jen shrugged. “Okay, but it’s a secret.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die. Actually, I don’t hope to die. Why the fuck would I hope to die? But I won’t tell anyone.”

“I’m doing a bit of corporate espionage.”

As Jen spoke she could feel elements of her mother rise up within her, wanting to show off, to impress Gavin with her dramatic tales of spying, and she squirmed slightly.

“Cool.”

Jen frowned. It was just “cool”? No questions? No looking at her with newfound respect and wonderment?

“Yes,” she continued. “It’s related to this whole corruption scandal in Asia. The Tsunami money? I’m . . . well, I’m leading the team trying to find out who’s involved from the UK.” Was she really this shallow, she wondered, as she spoke. Was she still desperate to impress Gavin? She was making it sound like she was working for the government, single-handedly running an investigation, when all she’d done was follow her father around and then discover that it wasn’t even him in the first place.

“That’s really cool. So who is it?”

Jen picked up her empty plate and took it over to the sink. “Oh, we’re following a few leads,” she said vaguely.

“What leads? Come on, this is interesting.”

He was sitting up now, looking at her expectantly. Jen sighed. This was her fault for wanting to sound good. She thought for a moment, then sat down again.

“Well, we thought it might be Bell Consulting. You know—they’ve got offices over there, government clients, and Axiom—the construction firm—well, they’re a client too. But it isn’t them, so I’m kind of back to square one.”

“Bell Consulting? That’s your dad’s firm, isn’t it?”

Jen nodded, feeling herself getting a bit warm. It was probably the curry, she told herself.

“And how do you know it wasn’t him?”

“I just . . . know.”

“What, because he told you?” Gavin laughed and Jen shot him a look.

“Maybe.”

He looked at her in mock amazement. “You’re serious, aren’t you! He told you he wasn’t involved and you believe him. Oh, Jen. Oh, little sweet Jen.”

“I am not little or sweet,” she said hotly, suddenly remembering why she’d been so keen to show Gavin just how much she was achieving on her own. She’d spent two years running around after him and he’d returned the favor by constantly making out that she was the one that needed looking after, that she was too naïve and trusting.
Mind you,
she thought to herself,
I went out with you for long enough. Maybe you had a point.

“Look, he didn’t just tell me. There was more to it than that,” she said matter-of-factly, taking Gavin’s plate to the sink and washing it up. She felt self-conscious, defensive.

“Whatever you say.” Gavin was smiling to himself and Jen took a deep breath. She would not rise to the bait. She would not let him get to her.

“So this guy in the car today. He your boyfriend?”

Jen put the plates down. “Maybe.”

“What, he hasn’t made up his mind yet?”

She turned around, her eyes flashing now. “Maybe, if you hadn’t pitched up today. Maybe, if you weren’t waiting outside my flat,
he’d
be here now.”

Gavin grinned. “Oops. Did I get in the way? Hey, it’s not a bad thing to let him know he’s got competition, you know. It’ll keep him on his toes.”

“You’re not competition,” Jen said crossly. “And if you don’t mind, I’m going to make it an early night. Are you going to be all right on the sofa?”

“Do I have a choice?” His eyes were twinkling again and Jen sighed.

“No, you bloody don’t.”

As she moved toward the door, Gavin stood up, blocking her path. “So I guess it’s my fault you’re not shagging that bloke tonight, is it?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Shut up, Gavin.”

“Only, I feel like I owe you. You know . . .” He put his arms around her and leaned in to kiss her, an action that was so familiar to Jen and yet felt entirely and utterly wrong.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you, Jen,” he moaned as she pulled away forcefully. “What?” he demanded. “What’s the matter?”

Jen looked at Gavin and shook her head. “I’m not interested anymore, Gavin. You’re on the sofa, and I want you out tomorrow.”

He shrugged. “Shame,” he said with a little smile. “You’re pretty sexy, you know, Jen.”

As Jen made her way to bed, she wondered if Daniel shared that sentiment.

13

The next morning, sitting in his office, Daniel felt his mind wandering and forced himself to focus as his chairman droned on about the advantages of selling and then leasing their property portfolio. He found it about as interesting as watching paint dry.

“Why don’t you leave this with me?” he eventually suggested, desperate to get Robert Brown out of his office. He was feeling agitated, like a caged lion.

Robert nodded and got up to go. “How’s the growth strategy going?” he asked as he headed for the door.

Daniel paused for a second, trying to push the image of Jen out of his head—the elusive, beautiful Jen who made words like
strategy
and
stakeholder
sound sexy and exciting.

“Oh, you know, coming along,” he lied. The truth was that he was finding everything about his job arsewipingly boring at the moment. It was all growth charts and balanced scorecards and mergers and acquisitions, and nothing to do with books or marketing or customers. The stuff that he was actually good at.

“Well, let me know if you need any help.” Robert gave Daniel a little nod as he spoke, then left. Daniel got up and started pacing about his office. He had been in this job, what, ten months? Eleven maybe? And what had he actually achieved in that time? Nothing. Absolutely bloody nothing. But what could he achieve when everything he used to do was now out of his hands? He had a team who dealt with publishers, another who dealt with publicity. There was a director of marketing, a whole division that dealt with customer experience, and as far as Daniel could see, there was nothing left for him to do except stare out of the window and wonder how the hell he ended up here.

He leaned over his meeting table and read a few headlines on the
Financial Times,
which was spread out on top of it. An investigation was being launched into the finances of an oil company. The share price of a manufacturing firm had dropped following a slow quarter.

Dull, dull, dull. He hadn’t gone into business to manage. He’d gone into business to invent, to find new ways of doing things, to innovate. And somehow he’d ended up here, at the top and bored out of his skull.

Damn it,
he thought to himself, and picked up the phone.

“Anita Bellinger’s office.”

“It’s Daniel Peterson, from Wyman’s. Is Anita around?”

“One moment, please.” Daniel drummed his fingers on the table as he waited.

“Daniel? What a nice surprise! I didn’t think you had time for us publishers anymore. What can I do for you?” Anita sounded thrilled to hear from him.

“I wanted to talk through your list, if that’s okay. I thought maybe we could have lunch sometime.”

“Is there a problem, Daniel? I went through our list with your buyers last month and they seemed very happy.”

Daniel frowned. Of course she had. Yet another thing that he didn’t get to do anymore. “Anita, I just want to talk about books. Is that okay? I’m paralyzed here, staring at spreadsheets and listening to people talk about business process reengineering, and I want to remind myself what the hell I’m doing this all for.”

“I understand completely, Daniel. No problem at all,” Anita said quickly, hearing the frustration in his voice. “Look, I’m going away for Christmas, but we’ll set something up as soon as I’m back, okay? And Daniel, everything is all right, isn’t it?”

Daniel smiled gratefully. He knew he could depend on Anita. She’d known him when he was just starting out, had done him huge favors and taught him everything he needed to know about bookselling, from deals with publishers to getting displays right. If anyone could get him excited about his job again, it was her.

“It’s fine, really. Look, thanks, Anita. I’d say I owe you, but you already know that, right?”

“Have a good Christmas, Daniel. Get some rest. And have some cash ready for all the books I’m going to tell you about.”

Daniel grinned and hung up, then turned back to his spreadsheet.

“And you’re absolutely sure that you’re following the diet I gave you?”

George stared petulantly at his doctor and huffed loudly. “You calling me a liar?” he challenged.

“No, George. I’m asking a question, that’s all. It’s your health that’s at stake here—if you don’t want to take it seriously, then I’m not going to force you.”

George lowered his eyes to the floor. Blasted diet. Buggering exercise program. It was inhumane—he was expected to survive on a diet of vegetables and walk ten thousand steps a day. Ten thousand! He’d carried the ridiculous pedometer the doctor had given him for one whole day and had made a grand total of 2,500 steps. And that had been a particularly exhausting day, too— he’d had no driver and a meeting in town, which meant walking out onto the street to hail a taxi. His doctor was becoming worse than Harriet—she’d always been trying to get him to eat carrots and vile things called chickpeas, but he’d had absolutely nothing to do with any of it. And didn’t intend to start now.

“I thought I paid you good money to look after my health for me,” he said sulking. George had no time for weakness—in others or himself—and the idea that he might be anything other than invincible was too much to bear. “Anyway, you chaps always over-egg the pudding, don’t you? Always very cautious. I’m more of a risk-taker. Live fast and—”

“Die young?” Dr. Richards interjected. “George, take it from me: You don’t want to die young. And you certainly don’t want to find yourself bedridden or incapacitated, do you?” George looked at his feet.

“No, I didn’t think so. So no more cigars. No more red meat. Get some exercise. And stay off the claret, okay?”

George shrugged. “I’m not happy about this,” he said crossly. “Not happy at all. I might still get myself a second opinion.”

Dr. Richards stood up and shook George’s hand warmly. “I would be disappointed if you didn’t,” he said with a smile.

George left Dr. Richards’s surgery in Harley Street and decided to walk back to his office and notch up some steps on that Woods pedometer. It wasn’t often he got time to himself during the day, and it was rather nice and bright. Bloody cold, but the English were built to withstand low temperatures, he thought to himself. It was the sun that got them into trouble.

He wondered what Jen was doing now. She’d be in Bell Towers, listening to a lecture or maybe working in the library. God, how incredible it all was. A week ago he had a daughter only in name. Today, he was a proper father again, and she was a little chip off the old block, too.

He wished he was allowed to brag about her. Tell Emily, tell his colleagues—particularly the ones who spoke endlessly about their offsprings’ achievements. But she’d made him promise not to, and anyway, he could wait. The last thing he wanted was for Harriet to get involved, after all. He had enjoyed some precious time with his daughter and he didn’t want anything to get in the way.

And of course he had to remember the circumstances. She was his daughter, but she’d been hiding in his office for God’s sake. He was pretty sure she believed him, but he had to be careful.

Maybe he’d call her. See if she was free for lunch. He quickly took out his mobile phone and dialed Jen’s number. It went through to voicemail.

“Jen? Just your father here, wondering if you’re free for lunch? If not, don’t worry. I’ll . . . well, I’ll talk to you soon, I hope. Work hard now! Cheerio.”

Did he sound ridiculous, he wondered? He probably seemed like an old man to her. It was easy to ignore the passing of time, to let years go by and assume that they hadn’t touched you, he thought to himself. That you were still the young, dynamic man you always were. But children had a way of bringing you crashing down to earth. Jen was, what, twenty-eight? He was fifteen years older than he’d been when she last saw him. His hair was graying, his stomach protruding, his face sagging. What must she think? Had it been a shock to her?

He frowned.
Come on, George,
he told himself gruffly.
Snap out of it. You’ve got things to do.
Still holding his mobile phone, he dialed another number.

“Hello, Paul Song speaking.”

“Ah, Paul. Just checking in to see how the trip to Acech went. Shall we meet at the usual place tonight? Say seven P.M.? Good, good. Look forward to it.”

Thrusting his phone back in his pocket, George upped his pace and strode back toward St. James.