Chapter 7
Senior management had to be working together to drive Aiden mad. They must have a plan, he thought. No one could be this annoying by accident.
Seven men sat round the conference table, a homogeneous group of prosperous, middle-aged, similarly dressed men; all with identical expressions on their pink, satisfied faces. He ran his eyes over them, trying to remember who was who. There was the chief operating officer on his left, and the chief financial officer on his right. Then the man with the thick grey hair and the stylish heavy-rimmed glasses was the chief business officer. The managing director sat opposite, and next to him the head of safety. The other two were the heads of UK and international operations. They answered to the chief business officer. Aiden wondered why they needed to be there.
At the end of the table, Tallulah sat with a laptop, taking minutes, her silvery head bent over her work. He’d been told that Elaine usually took that role, so he asked Tallulah who, despite her appearance, was working out much better than he’d anticipated. It would teach him not to jump to conclusions. Of course it was only day two, but it was obvious she was a temp and not someone who had been corrupted by the lackadaisical air that hung around the company. He must make an effort to be nicer to her. It wasn’t her fault he was stuck in London when he’d rather be in New York. Or anywhere, really. And it wasn’t her fault he couldn’t look at her without his mind veering off down inappropriate alleys. His eyes focussed on the small hands tapping at her laptop.
“Mr Marlowe?” The chief business officer pulled his attention back to the meeting.
Instead of giving succinct reports, answers, and summaries, every single one of the management team rambled on for minutes without saying anything of use.
The CBO gave him a curious look, and Aiden realised he was expected to comment. Unfortunately he’d just missed the point of the long-winded waffle. “Could you say that again?”
The man repeated himself, and Aiden wondered why he’d bothered. There were no facts in any of the sentences.
“I still don’t see why we made a loss on that Sheffield project,” he said patiently. “The costings and analysis suggested a healthy profit.”
“I don’t understand it at all,” the CBO said.
John Etherton. Aiden remembered his name at last. “Have you looked at the financial breakdown?”
“Not yet.”
“Why not?” That was the first thing Aiden would have done.
The man began to burble on again, excusing himself, and Aiden switched off until he finished.
“You all know I’m not familiar with the company, but I do know that this sort of loss is unacceptable. I want you”—he pointed at the chief business officer with his forefinger—“to go through the money stuff. I want an analysis of why the figures don’t add up. I want you in my office to talk me through it on Friday. No later.”
He caught sight of Tallulah furiously typing at the end of the table.
“Friday?” the chief business officer said. “That’s not possible. And shouldn’t that be the CFO’s job?”
“It had better be possible.” Aiden gave him a steely glare. “I’ll be talking to Malcolm as well.” He’d remembered the CFO’s name. Malcolm Riordon.
“Your father—”
“I’m not my father, and he’s in no state to be bothered by minutiae.” Aiden pushed himself to his feet. “Friday.”
The CFO stood up. “Just one minute.” His face was flushed and his breathing heavy. “John’s right. The finance is my job. You’ve no business—”
Aiden had no intention of letting these men bully him. “I’ve every business. My father put me in charge, and I want to get to the bottom of the poor financial performance. You’ve obviously noticed nothing, so it’s time for a fresh pair of eyes.” He pointed at John, ignored the CFO’s angry blustering, and stalked out of the room.
Once back in his office, he wandered over to the window and looked out on the street. The buildings shimmered in the heat, and he was grateful for the air conditioning. He turned back and shouted through the open door. “Tallulah?”
She appeared in the doorway, blue eyes meeting his, her face annoyingly patient.
“We should go now. You can sort out the minutes this afternoon.”
“Right, sir.”
She was doing it again.
“Don’t call me ‘sir.’”
“Right.”
He frowned. He hadn’t really registered what she was wearing. It certainly wasn’t conventional office wear. He examined her from head to toe. She wore wide-legged trousers, with a cream on cream stripe, a black camisole top and a wide multi-coloured belt. He squinted. It wasn’t a belt at all; it was a scarf; a fringed scarf, its end trailing below her knees. On her feet, she wore multi-coloured espadrilles with a high wedge, and her hair hung down her back in a ponytail of spiralling blonde curls. She only came up to his shoulder.
“Is that what you call business wear?”
She raised her chin. “It’s the nearest I’ve got. I’m not buying a completely new wardrobe just for you. No one’s complained about my clothes before.”
Aiden definitely didn’t believe that, but he couldn’t be bothered to argue. Besides, his own linen suit was a lot more casual than anyone else’s clothes. Just because he had to work there, didn’t mean he had to follow the archaic dress rules the rest of senior management abided by. “If you say so.”
She appeared to be good at her job; she could wear what she liked. After all, Davy was perfectly dressed for the office, and he was completely useless. His assistant’s dress sense seemed pretty unimportant next to the losses he’d heard about at the morning meeting. What’s the management team thinking about? And how come Father’s let them get away with it for so long? He decided he was going to talk to Francesca. He didn’t care if her feelings had been hurt. It wasn’t up to him who ran the company, and it wasn’t as if he wanted the job. This place needs a firm hand. What’s Father been doing for the last year? Not his job, that’s for sure. And why didn’t Francesca—
“Mr Marlowe?” Tallulah’s voice interrupted him. “Did you want to leave? Now?”
He shook off his introspection and followed her out of the office.
The heat hit them as they left the building. It was muggy, oppressive, and laden with moisture. Tallulah heaved out a sigh and rubbed her wide forehead. Aiden found himself looking enviously at her cool outfit. He’d made the mistake of wearing a shirt and tie.
“Won’t you burn?” He nodded at her bare arms and wide neckline.
“I don’t burn. I’m wearing sunblock anyway.” She dodged round a couple of tourists who were loitering in the middle of the pavement and took her place at his side again.
“How long have you worked for Marlowe’s?”
She glanced up at him, hesitated. “A month. I was temping, but they asked me to stay on. There’s been a recruitment freeze you know?”
“I’d heard,” he said. “So you’re permanent now?”
She hesitated again. “Not really. I’m covering while you’re here.”
“Why don’t you apply to go permanent?” After only a day and a half, he could tell she was head and shoulders above Davy. “Elaine isn’t likely to come back.”
A small smile crossed her face. “They offered me a permanent job.”
“Didn’t you take it?”
“I’d have to wear business appropriate wear,” she said, giving him a sidelong glance. “We’re here.”
The apartment building was in a street off Tower Hill, a mixture of old and new. A slope led down to what he assumed was the garage, and adjacent steps led up to ornately carved wooden doors.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“Nothing wrong with the location.” He paused and assessed the exterior of the building. “It might be noisy at night.”
“It’s got high-performance double glazing.”
Aiden eyed the building with disbelief. The windows looked like the original Georgian windows.
“Internally,” she said. “And the apartment’s on the fifth floor. Anyway, the traffic’s not that bad after about eight o’clock.”
She led the way up the stairs to where a short middle-aged man in a suit waited. “Mr Walker? This is Aiden Marlowe. He’s interested in the apartment I looked at yesterday.”
The man wiped the moisture from his forehead before leading them to an elevator and holding the doors to let them precede him into it. “Hot weather we’re having,” he said.
“Mmm.” Aiden replied.
“Wouldn’t be surprised if it broke soon,” the man said. “I can feel thunder in the air.” The lift came to a halt, and the door opened on a corridor, with polished wooden floors and windows at both ends.
Mr Walker opened the end door. “This is it. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms,”
Aiden paused in the foyer and looked around. Three doors opened off it. Through one, a wide room was obviously the living space, the one on the right was a cloakroom and the other led to an internal hallway.
Mr Walker ushered them into the living room. “This is a good-sized room,” he said. “It’s very light.” He walked towards one of the two windows that reached almost from floor to ceiling.
Aiden followed him, looking down at the street. Tallulah had been right; he could hear none of the noise of traffic.
“The kitchen’s through here.” Mr Walker showed Aiden through an arch in the wall next to the window. The kitchen had a similar long window at one end, a circular table at the other, and a supply of glossy modern cupboards and appliances.
Aiden nodded. He couldn’t imagine he’d be using the kitchen much, but it was certainly impressive. He followed Mr Walker back into the foyer.
“This is a small visitor’s cloakroom,” he said, and these are the bedrooms. You can see that both are a good size, and both have their own bathrooms.”
Aiden inspected both. They were spacious, light, and well-furnished. The bathrooms veered on luxurious. “I’ll take it,” he said. He couldn’t imagine he’d find anything more suitable. “Have you got the contracts?”
After a short discussion about guarantees, deposits, identification, and other housekeeping issues, Aiden signed the papers. “I’ll move in the day after tomorrow,” he said. “I imagine that’s acceptable?”
“Yes. We’ll have your keys ready.”
“Well done, Tallulah. That’s exactly what I was looking for.” Aiden’s mood lifted, and he glanced at his watch as they left. It was twelve thirty. “I’m hungry. Let’s find some lunch.”
Tallulah caught up with him. “I’d better get back to the office.”
He didn’t want to eat lunch by himself. Besides he was curious about her, and he liked to get to know the people he worked with. Maybe if he knew her better, her attraction would wane. “Come on. That’s an order from your boss.”
Tallulah’s eyes flashed, but her mouth curved into an insincere smile. “Of course, sir.”
“Don’t call me ‘sir.’” Amused by her attempts to hide her belligerence, he led her to the Italian restaurant that belonged to the apartment building. “Let’s try this.”
“You’ve already signed the contract,” Tallulah pointed out. “It’s too late to back out if you don’t like the food.”
He laughed, and she gave him a surprised look. His bad mood had dominated him since he arrived in London so it was no wonder she thought he was permanently grouchy. Maybe it’s time to relax a little. He guided her to a corner table and ordered drinks.
Tallulah sat opposite him, sipping her sparkling water. Strands of hair escaped from her ponytail and, curling in the moist heat, fell around her face.
“So why don’t you want a permanent job?” What does a fairy want out of life? “Have you no ambition? Do you just want to drift?”
Tallulah placed her elbows on the table, resting her chin on her hands. Her pointed face gave her the appearance of an irritated kitten. “Are you always like this? Just because I have no desire to be a regular office worker doesn’t mean I have no ambition.”
“But—”
“Are you saying that everyone you employ at Marlowe’s is seething with ambition?” She raised one eyebrow, reached across the table for a breadstick, and nibbled on the end of it.
“I don’t—”
“I’m surprised the building isn’t a warzone if that’s the case.”
“I didn’t mean that,” Aiden glared at her, unused to being interrupted when he was speaking. Anyway, the building was more like a convalescent home than a battlefield. “I just think that it’s better to have ambition.”
Tallulah shrugged. “I have ambition. Just not to be a drone in a suit.” She gave his jacket a pointed look.
“So what is your ambition?” He ignored the implied insult. At least she was talking.
“What are you? The Stasi or something?”
“No. I’m just interested.” He liked her vivacity and energy and the way she stood up for herself. She appeared fragile and ethereal, but there was nothing delicate about her character. It was a pity she worked for him, as he’d always thought it a bad idea to sleep with the people he worked with. Fairies were definitely not his usual type either; he tended to gravitate towards cool, sleek, ambitious women like Sasha had been before her meltdown. He frowned. Sleeping with your administrative assistant was a cliché, and he certainly didn’t want to follow in his father’s footsteps. The fantasies would have to go.
His attention jerked back to the real Tallulah as she let out a put-upon sigh. “I want to be an artist.”
Why am I not surprised? “So, what are you doing about it?”
This time her sigh was filled with impatience. “A lot. Are you trying to start an argument?”
“Me?” Aiden rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Start an argument? Of course not. I’m interested.”
She grinned. “Okay. I’m in the last year of an arts and textiles degree. I’ve been studying part time at London University. I pay for it by temping, and it’s the long vacation at the moment so I’m getting in as much work as I can.”
Aiden raised his eyebrows. “And what do you intend to do with the degree when you’ve got it?” There were lots of arts graduates out there and not that many niches for them.
“Lots of things. I do comic art, pop art, and cartoons at the moment. I’m doing a graphic novel with a friend, I sell cartoon art at weekend art fairs, I’ve had a couple of exhibitions at comic-cons—”
“Comic what?”
“Comic conferences. You know? Like sci-fi conferences?”
He shook his head; he’d never heard of either.
“Literary conferences?”
“Not my field. I must come and have a look.” Aiden felt a stirring of interest. “So are you from London?” He leaned across the table. “Originally I mean?”
“I was born here. What about you?” She chewed on her lower lip and surveyed him through her eyelashes.
Is she doing that deliberately? “Down in Surrey, where I’m staying at the moment.” He paused as their pasta arrived. “It’s a relief to find somewhere of my own though. I’m starting to relive my teenage years more with every night I stay in the house. I couldn’t wait to get away in the first place, so coming back is not a good thing.”
Tallulah frowned. “Don’t you get on with your family?”
“I like them better at a distance,” Aiden said. “Fran and I get on all right, but she’s in a temper at the moment, because our father put me in charge. What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Do you get along with your family? Do you live with them?” He imagined she wouldn’t be able to afford to live alone in London, not as a student, whose only income came from temping.
Tallulah pulled her ponytail over her shoulder and tugged at the end. “My mother’s dead, so no.”
“And your father?”
“Haven’t a clue who he is.”
Aiden stopped. “I’m being intrusive, aren’t I?”
She gave him a small smile, but the blue of her eyes had darkened. “Don’t worry about it. It was a long time ago.”
He really, really wanted to ask when her mother had died. Does she have any other family? Where does she live? He made a huge effort to return to impersonal subjects; he wasn’t normally so nosy. “So how many times have you temped for Marlowe’s? You seem to know it quite well.”
“This is the third time, and I’m good at fitting in.” She wrapped spaghetti round her fork, twirling it in the spicy tomato sauce. “I spent last summer here, and then I did some part time fill-in for a maternity leave in March.” She licked the sauce from her fork.
“You’ve done a great job finding the apartment.” His eyes followed the movement of her tongue.
“You already said that.” She rolled her eyes again. “It was really difficult. I had to pick up the phone at least twice.”
He laughed.
She put her fork down. “How’s your father doing?”
“Okay. He’s due out of hospital tomorrow. If everything goes well, I’ll spend tomorrow night with them and move out the day after.”
“Will he be coming back to work?”
Aiden shrugged. “He says so, but I don’t know.”
“Would you stay on?”
He lost the train of his thoughts as her wide blue eyes focussed on him.
“Mr Marlowe?”
“No way.” He waited while the waiter cleared their plates. “I have absolutely no interest in construction.”
“What is it you do?”
He told her about the venture capital investment company he and his partners had founded five years earlier. “We specialise in biotechnology. It’s an exciting area to be in, but you wait a long time for any return on your investment.” He waved at the waiter. “I’d like coffee. A double espresso, please.” He looked at Tallulah.
“A macchiato,” she said.
“You have an unusual name.” It suited her.
“I chose it myself.” She leaned back, smiling.
He raised his eyebrows.
“I was called Jade. I changed it when I was fourteen.”
“Jade?”
She pulled a face.
“No, you don’t look like a Jade.”
“Do I look like a Tallulah?”
“You look like a Tinkerbelle.”
She stared at him, and he felt a slight embarrassment. Am I flirting with her? My administrative assistant? He didn’t do that. I’m becoming a cliché, he thought. It had to be the stress of the past week. He drained the strong coffee and stood up. “We’d best get back.”
On the way, he tried to keep the conversation impersonal and asked her where she lived.
“King’s Cross.”
“Not far then?”
She shook her head and followed him back into the building.