Ulterior Motives (7 page)

“Rush delivery, ma’am. Got the order Friday.”

“Delivery of what?”

Francesca examined the packing lists. “Mandarin grammar books.”
 

“
All
of them?”

“I think so, Shelley.”

“What’s going on here?” said Wayne, coming out into the hallway.

“Who ordered this?” Shelley asked.

“School number 112, ma’am. It says so right there on the receipt,” the deliveryman said.

“School number 112?” Wayne repeated. “That’s in—”

“Los Angeles,” Shelley finished. “There’s been a mistake. We’re school number 121.”

“No mistake, ma’am. Your address is listed right here.”

Shelley looked at his list. It was their address, all right.

“Someone in distribution has really messed up. Francesca, get on the phone to LA. Tell them we’ve got their books.” She noticed the deliveryman starting to leave. “Wait, where are you going?”

“Got other deliveries to make, ma’am.”

“Can you take these books with you? They’re not ours.”

“What should I do with them?”

Wayne’s eyes met Shelley’s. “I wouldn’t touch that line with a ten-foot pole, if I were you.”
 

Shelley noticed that Wayne was holding a thick sheaf of papers. “Is that the information Jerome sent from Chicago?”
 

“Yes. You’d better have a look at this when you get a chance.” He handed the stack of papers to her. “Jerome says we definitely have a problem on our hands. Tanner looks like a clever bastard.”

Shelley held the papers as if they might burn her fingers. “All right, as soon as I get a chance.”
 

“Excuse me, ma’am, but just where do you expect me to put these books?” asked the deliveryman.

“Maybe you could take them back to your loading dock. Just get them out of my hallway. They’re blocking the way and are probably causing a fire hazard.” Shelley frowned as she took a cursory glance through the accumulated information about Ross’ career.

“I have other deliveries to make, ma’am, I can’t—”

The front door opened again. Shelley glanced up, hoping it wouldn’t be a new client walking in to find chaos reigning at her language center. She, Wayne, Francesca, and the deliveryman bickering over a dozen boxes of Mandarin grammar books wouldn’t present a picture of keen professionalism.

It was worse than a new client.

“Ross!” she exclaimed.

“Hello, Shelley. I hope I haven’t come at a bad time,” he said as he surveyed the confusion.

Wayne stopped arguing with the deliveryman and gaped at Ross. “Ross Tanner?”
 

“Yes. Word travels fast around here, doesn’t it? Makes me feel so welcome, like one of the family already. You must be Wayne Thompson?” Ross said pleasantly, oozing upper-crust charm.

For once, Wayne was robbed of speech. He just nodded and accepted Ross’ proffered hand.

Francesca’s eyes widened when she recognized Ross. Although she kept sending Shelley meaningful glances, she was on the telephone to the Babel school in Los Angeles and couldn’t take time out to comment.

“What are you doing here?” Shelley asked Ross.

“Yeah,” said Wayne with a regrettable lack of couth.

Ross glanced at Wayne, a subtly assessing glance, before saying to Shelley, “There’s a business matter I’d like to discuss with you.”

“Business?” Shelley repeated. He was a competitor, not a client. “What kind of business?”

“It’s... delicate. I would prefer to discuss it in private.”

“Ma’am, I need to get going,” said the deliveryman.

“You can’t leave behind a dozen boxes of Mandarin grammar books that don’t belong to me,” Shelley argued. “Just wait a few minutes and we’ll sort this out with the LA school. Please.” She turned back to Ross. “I’m really busy—”

“You should have made an appointment,” Wayne said as if he had just found a clever loophole.

“Considering the strained relationship between the Babel and Elite schools in Cincinnati, I suspected your appointment calendar might be full if I called ahead,” Ross said.

Shelley clutched the report about Ross to her chest, feeling absurdly guilty about it. “We wouldn’t refuse you an appointment just because we’re competitors,” she said with dignity. “If you’ll give me a few minutes to sort this out, then we can go into my office to discuss your business.”

“Great. I’ll just have a seat over here,” Ross said agreeably.

Shelley deplored the seats in the lobby, since they were squat and uncomfortable, and most people looked ridiculous sitting down on them. Ross, however, slid onto his chair with graceful ease and lounged there like an indolent panther, watching them all with an enigmatic expression that Shelley suspected concealed amusement.

She, Wayne, Francesca, and even the deliveryman stared at him as if they were waiting for his permission to go about their business.

“Don’t mind me,” he said politely. He settled back and let his eyes rest on Shelley.

“Shelley,” Francesca said, “the director in LA says he hasn’t ordered any Mandarin books.”

“What? Give me that,” Shelley said, taking the phone from Francesca.

“Hello, this is Shelley Baird,” she said into the receiver. “Well, your school number is on all of the boxes. Yes. School number 112... . But it must be your number. It’s always been your number.”

Shelley looked up as two more people came into the lobby. She heard one of them, a young blond man with a Scandinavian accent, tell Wayne they were from the international students’ union at a local college.

“Just a minute,” Shelley said into the receiver. She introduced herself to the blond boy who had spoken. “Have you found a Pashto speaker?” she asked eagerly.

“Yes. Right here,” said the boy proudly.

“Great! Let me finish this and I’ll be right with you.” She spoke into the receiver again. “I’m sorry, what were you saying? Oh... Oh. I see. Well, why did they do that? I see. All right. Well, thanks for your help, we’ll get right on it.”

Shelley hung up the phone and turned to Francesca. “For reasons no one understands, headquarters changed the numbers of all the schools out West last week. LA thinks those books are supposed to go to Portland, Oregon, but he says we’d better call first and ask. Will you please do that, Francesca?”

“Excuse me, ma’am,” said the delivery man, “but I can’t wait around—”

“Where are you going on your vacation this year?” Shelley asked him.

“What?”

“Your vacation. Where are you going?”

“Well... Mexico.”

“Ah! Sir, if you’ll wait around till we find out where those boxes are going, and if you’ll then get them out of here, we’ll give you three complimentary Spanish lessons.”

“Well, I... Three free lessons, did you say?”

“Absolutely. Just think of it. You’ll be able to check into your hotel, order food in restaurants, ask directions, and barter over prices. You can eliminate all the normal hassles of a tourist in a foreign culture.
If
you’ll just give me a hand here.”

“I can learn all that in just three lessons?” the deliveryman asked dubiously.

“I give you my personal guarantee,” Shelley assured him. “We offer private lessons with the most modern, intensive, successful instruction in the field.”

The man hesitated for another moment, weighing his options. Finally he said, “Well, I like your face, ma’am. I don’t think you’d try to snow me. You’ve got a deal.”

“Thank you,” said Shelley, shaking his hand. “Wayne, will you please get this gentleman three lesson vouchers and arrange a schedule for him? Now,” Shelley said, turning to her newly found Pashto speaker, “let me explain the situation to you, sir. I’m Shelley Baird.”

Shelley offered her hand to the man. He stared at her uncertainly for a moment before taking it in a brief handshake. She waited for him to offer his name. When he didn’t, she said, “I’m afraid I didn’t get your name.”

He stared at her.

Shelley looked uncertainly at the blond boy, then back to the Afghan man. “What is your name?”
 

“Hmm?”

“Do you speak English?” Shelley asked slowly.

The man smiled shyly and responded, “Are with numb English.”

Shelley felt disappointed but not very surprised. She had been through false starts before when looking for interpreters of unusual languages. As she had told the coordinator in Washington, she wouldn’t find someone overnight. Nevertheless, she didn’t appreciate having her time wasted. She turned again to the blond young man.

“Didn’t I specifically say that I need an Afghan who is an American citizen and speaks fluent English?” she said patiently.

“Well, his English is a little slow—”

“It’s a little non-existent. If he can’t tell me his name, how do you expect him to give accurate simultaneous interpretation of complicated legal language?”

“Well, perhaps...”

“And where are his citizenship papers?”

“Um.”

“I appreciate your help,” Shelley said diplomatically, “but my instructions were clear and specific. If you ignore them, I’m afraid you simply waste your time and energy. Not to mention my own.”

The boy sighed. “I’m sorry, Miss Baird. We thought it might be good enough that he spoke Pashto. Better luck next time, eh?”

Shelley smiled politely, not wanting to offend someone who possessed good intentions, even if they were misdirected. Besides, he might be able to help her in the future.

Shelley showed them to the door, then turned to face Ross. His eyes watched her with an interest that she sensed was purely professional in this instance. She resented his presence during such a chaotic day, not wishing him to see her operation at anything less than peak efficiency. On the other hand, he of all people should know that this was a complex business that seldom provided a calm—or dull—day.

Francesca was on the phone to Portland, making arrangements to ship them their Chinese books. Wayne was shuffling some papers on Francesca’s desk, a transparent excuse for staying in the lobby to study Ross. Ross was unperturbed by Wayne’s ill-concealed interest in him, and he returned Francesca’s glances with a flattering, slightly flirtatious expression.

He certainly did dress up the lobby, Shelley reflected.

The door opened again behind Shelley. She turned to see a German teacher enter the arena.

“Guten Tag,
Shelley,” the woman said.

“Guten Tag, Ute. Wie geht’s?”

“Was ist das?”
Ute asked, surveying the disorder in the hallway.

“It’s a long story,” Shelley said. “You’re early today, aren’t you?”

“Ja.
I have come early because I must speak with you about something.”

Shelley glanced at her watch, hoping she would have time for both Ute and Ross before her next appointment arrived. “Of course, Ute. I have agreed to see this gentleman first, if you don’t mind waiting.”

Ute looked at Ross. Her expression reflected what Shelley had come to accept as a normal female reaction to his presence. Although Ute was a married woman awaiting the arrival of her third grandchild, her face lit up with a fascinated smile as she introduced herself to Ross. He stood up and took Ute’s hand.

“Sehr erfreut. Ich bin
Ross Tanner,” he said, surprising Shelley.

“
So
,” Ute said with interest,
“Sie sind Herr Tanner. Wie geht es Ihnen?”

“Danke gut. Und Ihnen?”

“Shelley,” Francesca interrupted. “Portland wants to speak to you. They say they didn’t order Mandarin books. They ordered Cantonese books.”

Shelley sighed and took the receiver. While she talked with the director of the Portland school and patiently explained that the mistake wasn’t her fault and she didn’t know who was responsible, she was aware of Ute and Ross carrying on an animated conversation nearby. Shelley had already demonstrated the extent of her German vocabulary, so she had no idea what they were saying. Ross’ German was obviously fluent, and she wondered where he had learned it. She had the impression that that was what Ute was asking him.

“Yes, I’ve examined the contents of the boxes. According to the English on the cover, they’re definitely Mandarin and not Cantonese,” Shelley told the distressed director in Portland. “Well, I’ll send these back to distribution. You’d better give them a call and explain the problem. No, I don’t know why these things always happen to you.”

Shelley hung up the phone with a rueful smile. However bad her day was, it sounded as if the director in Portland was having a worse one. Shelley shook her head. She really liked this job, but she hated the bureaucracy involved in such a big organization.

Once off the phone, Shelley caught Ross’ eye. They’d better get this conversation under way before something else happened. He tore himself away from an enamored Ute, evidently saying he had enjoyed chatting with her, and followed Shelley into her office.

Shelley sat at her desk and put the faxed report about Ross Tanner behind her, out of view. She had intended to be all business, but curiosity got ahold of her.