Pinstripes (10 page)

Clara barely looked at him. She was too busy feeling self-conscious. Here, in a room full of her peers, she felt unsure. They had got their jobs by the usual means while she had not. They saw her as a slacker and were probably wondering, as Tim was, why she was there.

She sat near Toby, grateful for a comrade. She took notes as the researcher gave a rundown of the market movement and any predictions for the day ahead. The meeting was short and soon they all filed out. Clara felt nervous as she picked up the phone and called her first client. If he was surprised to hear from her, he didn’t show it. He was perhaps a little more shocked when she told him she was calling to fill him in on ‘market developments”. She gave him a five-minute summary of the markets – Sarah had said the secret to a good morning call was to keep it short. He thanked her and she hung up. She repeated this with all her clients. The only person she spoke to for longer was Jenny Pickard, a client she liked and with whom she socialised. They had arranged to go out together that night, so they agreed a place to meet.

When Clara had finished she checked her screens, and then her phone started ringing. She took order after order, and executed them as though she had done it all her life. Toby watched in amazement as she shouted to traders for prices, wrote tickets, and although she was confused at times with the quantities, she got them all right. By lunch-time, she had taken more orders than in all the time she had been a salesperson.

***

Tim felt edgy. He watched Clara working hard and wondered what the hell she was playing at. He knew she didn
’t need to work, and she knew that the only reason she was a salesperson was because he was sleeping with her. She didn’t even know what a salesperson did. That was the way Tim wanted it. She had to owe her job to him totally; she had to be dependent on him. His claim on her would be considerably weakened if she began to do her job well.

The other problem was that Tim did not want Clara to work at SFH for ever. The plan was that when he left his wife for her and they were together full time, she would give up work because he would need her to look after him. If it didn
’t work out between them, which he doubted, he needed to be able to fire her from SFH for incompetence. Tim had set this whole thing up so that he held all the cards. Now, it looked as if Miss Hart was taking control. Tim knew that he had to put a stop to it. He had to get her back to being dependent on him.

There were two ways in which he could do this. First, he could tell her of his plans for them, of how she would be his full-time woman, how she should give up working sooner rather than later to prepare for the role. Somehow he thought she might insist on working for longer, at least until he left home. Tim sighed. He knew that was what she would do, and although he had decided to leave his wife, he wasn
’t sure when. Therefore, he had to make sure that Clara’s good intentions didn’t last. He wouldn’t be able to do anything about the situation that weekend, but he knew someone who could. He picked up his mobile phone, called his dealer and arranged for six grams of cocaine to be discreetly delivered to the office that day.

If he gave Clara huge amounts of her favourite white powder, she would soon be unable to keep up with her job. All she would be good for would be to wait at home, legs wide open, for him. If Clara wanted to play hard to get, Tim Pemberton would always be one step ahead of her. That was why he was in the position he was in. No one could get the better of him.

Just after three, Clara received an e-mail from Tim, asking her to come into his office but to make sure she told everyone it was she who wanted to see him. Clara pressed the delete button. “Thank fuck the slimy bastard’s away this weekend,” she said to herself, as she got off her chair and shouted to the desk, “I’m just going to chat to the chief,” as she walked away.

She knocked, waited for him to beckon her in then closed the door behind her and forced a smile.
“Timmy, how are you?”

“
Fine, darling, but you have some explaining to do.” He was using his curt, pissed-off voice. Clara suppressed a giggle as he let his cut-glass demeanour fall and sounded like one of the cast of
EastEnders
. Clara was one of the few who knew that the public-school persona was all bullshit. Tim was such a snob and he couldn’t bear to admit his past. Clara had only found out about it by accident. She respected him for. his achievement, but despised the way he made out he was a direct descendant of the Queen of England.

“
I don’t know what you mean, hot cakes.” Clara feigned innocence.

“
The morning meeting. What were you doing there?” All his elocution lessons forgotten, Tim sounded rougher than sandpaper.

“
I thought I was supposed to be there, but I just hadn’t made it before. Anyway, baby boy, I decided to make things easier for you by being good at my job.” She smiled enigmatically, the sort of smile that always made grown men swoon.

Tim looked uncertain.

“Um, well, yeah.” He stopped speaking and stared into Clara’s sparkling blue eyes. The silence lasted a few seconds, in which time Tim seemed to remember who he was supposed to be. “Very commendable, Clara. I was just surprised. I’m all for you making my life easier but, darling, just remember whose cock you suck, and discuss your ideas with me in future,” He ended with one of his sleaziest smiles, which he thought of as a turn-on but made Clara feel like investing in granny knickers and a floral nightdress. She made a mental note to think seriously about doing so.

Clara sighed. She
’d known he’d hate the sudden turn-around in her – she knew it meant he had less control over her – but she decided to play up to him. After all, granny knickers or not, she still needed him for now.

“
Darling, I’m only interested in keeping you happy. The job thing is just something I wanted to do to ensure no one finds out about us. Well, until you want them to, of course.” She gave him her best little-girl smile.

Tim was mollified. Actually, he had a huge hard-on. That smile always made him think of Clara in a gym slip. He made a mental note to buy her one. All thoughts of anything but what was happening in his trousers fled from his mind.

It was at times like this that Clara wondered what had happened to the intelligence that had got him to the top. She decided long ago that where she was concerned he must have buried it beneath his ego and his cock.

“
Fine, good. Listen, baby, as I’m not going to be with you this weekend, I’ve got something to remind you of me.” He passed over five wraps, checking furtively that no one could see them, and watched as she tucked them expertly into her skirt. She blew him a kiss, and walked back to her desk, where she put them safely in her handbag.

Before he left the office, Tim thought, after that she won
’t even get out of bed on Monday, let alone make the morning meeting. As she saw Tim leaving, Clara thought, thank God the talking testicle’s gone. She turned her thoughts to the weekend ahead and thanked God, Buddha and the god of cocaine for the precious freedom that had been bestowed upon her.

At five, she took her usual visit to the ladies
”. Although adrenaline had got her through the day, she felt wobbly and shaky and her head was pounding. After her line of coke, she felt better. She still couldn’t believe the amount Tim had given her and couldn’t work out what had brought on the stroke of generosity, but she was too in love with cocaine to imagine that his motives might be destructive. She ran back to her desk, grabbed her bag and announced she was off to meet a client.

She walked the short distance into the heart of the City to meet Jenny in a bar in Bishopsgate. Clara seldom walked anywhere, but today she took rare enjoyment in the early-evening bustle that greeted her. Traffic sat still in every road, people squealed about the night ahead; the grey sky, dotted with clouds, seemed to smile at her. Clara smiled back. People shot puzzled glances at each other as they passed a gorgeous girl who seemed to be smiling at them; some even debated following her. Unaware of the effect she was having on the inhabitants of the City of London, Clara reached the bar still smiling.

She and Jenny got on like a house on fire. Jenny was a tough London fund manager who liked to get drunk and pick up men. Her background and Clara’s were a million miles apart. Jenny, the hard-nosed, loud-voiced Oxford girl with an amazing brain had no qualms about being working class and liked to tell Clara about “all the toffs I’ve shagged”. The two girls had developed an unlikely but wild friendship, which meant that when they went out they didn’t talk about business. They got plastered, high on cocaine and usually ended up with men.

Clara ordered a bottle of champagne, lit a cigarette, and found a table. She didn
’t have too long to wait and Jenny bounded in ten minutes later.

“
Clara, how are you?” Jenny’s voice was so loud that most of the bar turned to look at them. They were not so quick to look away. The two girls cheek-kissed and Jenny sat down. Jenny was a stunning brunette. Her big brown eyes had inflicted many a broken heart, and she was a good-time girl, a lot like Clara, although she had worked hard for everything she had. She didn’t have Clara’s privileges but she had ambition.

“
Fuck, I’ve had such a shitty day. Give us some of that plonk.”

Clara poured her a glass of champagne; Jenny always said she had had a bad day and Clara suspected that she never did.
“So, what do you fancy doing tonight?” Clara asked, having forgotten to make any plans past the bar they sat in.

“
Why don’t we drink this, have another, then when we’re too pissed to eat, we’ll go to Soho, laugh at the nobs in Mezzo and go to China White. Is that all right with you?” Jenny suggested.

“
Fine, darling. Now if we’re drinking here, how about a little something to make you sparkle?” Clara raised a questioning eyebrow at Jenny.

“
Clara, I’ll keep giving you all my business. You’re a star.” Clara handed the wrap under the table to Jenny, and Jenny literally went off to powder her nose.

An hour later they were flying. They had both had a few lines of coke, they had drunk a bottle and a half of champagne and the conversation had turned blue.

“Darling, take my advice, keep away from married men. My Mr Married is so foul, I don’t know quite why I keep sleeping with him. He thinks he’s sexy and kinky and, oh, such a turn-on, but I find the idea of shagging a turnip more appealing.” Clara looked momentarily sad.

“Dump
him. When I slept with this married man last year – he was some sort of egomaniac – I dropped him like a shitbrick as soon as he said he was leaving his wife. I mean, what’s that all about? Married men are supposed to have affairs and never leave their wives. It’s such a crock of shit,” Jenny said.

“
Exactly, absolutely. He wants to leave his wife and
I
don’t want him to. I want him to stay with her. For ever and ever. And leave me.” Clara started to laugh. “Perhaps I should anonymously send him a book on how to be a proper unfaithful bastard. There must be one that says never leave your wife for your sexy-bit-on-the-side hussy.”

“
If there isn’t we could write one. And in it we should also say that married men are only attractive to single girls
because
they’re married. If they were remotely single, we wouldn’t touch them.” Jenny was warming to the idea.

“
Yes, and we should also say that married men should be better in bed because they’re married, and if they’re not what’s the point? Oh, God, I think I’m getting confused.” Clara broke into drunken giggles.

“
Anyway, I met this bloke on Tuesday and he’s a bit of all right. He’s single, tall, and rich. Oh, and he’s hung like a donkey.” Jenny giggled.

“
Christ, all that in one package! Tell me the delicious details.”

“
He’s a footballer.” Jenny and Clara burst out laughing.

“
He’s not David Beckham, is he?”

“
No, he’s bloody not. No, my man plays for West Ham, and he’s rich but he’s common as muck. Bit like me. Oh, yeah, and he’s so good in bed, I was walking like Woody from
Toy
Story
for the rest of the week.” Jenny shrieked.

‘
”So, are you going to see him again? Aren’t all footballers common? They tend to prefer rugby and cricket in public schools.”

“
Clara, you fucking snob. You clueless snob.” She always got famous people mixed up. She had once been at a party with loads of celebrities and she managed to upset quite a few. The most memorable was when she met one of the Gallagher brothers and told him she thought it was very brave of him to leave Take That, especially as he was so good at break-dancing.

Jenny continued,
“Although you’re probably right. But my footballer’s quite bright – not enough kicks in the head or something. Anyway, I’m seeing him tomorrow night for a marathon sex session.”

“
Lucky you. Christ, do you think we’ll ever find men that are enough for us? I can’t imagine settling for just one.” Clara looked frightened.

“
I don’t think there’s a man on this planet who’s enough for you. Sorry, darling.”