Chapter Four

At 8.55 a.m. on the twenty-first of June, I was back at Leo Components. This time, however, I arrived by taxi, and fully aware of what I was walking into.

Same business outfit as last time, but I’d had a head-to-toe beauty treatment at the hotel spa the day before. I’d also allowed the stylist to trim my hair; not that it looked any different while in its usual French pleat. The pampering made me feel relaxed and confident, ready for anything Jack Smith could throw at me.

Today the sky was overcast. With no sunlight to burnish it, I was struck by Grimshaw’s bleak monochrome: ashen clouds fused with smoke from its chimneys, soot-scarred factory walls reared above murky canal ways. It was as though I’d stepped into a Lowry painting.

This was an industrial heritage that could apparently inspire, however, as well as oppress. The taxi driver took great pride in relating snippets of social history, pointing out where the Victorian mill owners had once lived … where local lads had fought Irish migrants for work … where a series of strikes had brought down the last of the textile manufacturers.

Absorbed in a bygone age, I found that the last part of the journey passed quickly. Too soon, we pulled up outside the nondescript office building I’d visited almost two weeks earlier. I glanced up at its windows and grimaced in anticipation of the ordeal to come.

In the reception area, I gave my name and took a seat, welcoming the opportunity to get a better feel for the working environment. The décor was lacklustre: magnolia walls, relieved by occasional panels of maroon to match the newish-looking carpet tiles. But there were one or two decent paintings in the same style as the watercolour I’d noticed on my previous visit; and some large black-and-white blow-ups also caught my interest, various metal shapes whose purpose baffled me.

Phones rang, people came and went: the postman, visitors like myself, even a group of sixth-formers. The receptionists, often considered to be the barometer of an organisation, both seemed efficient and courteous – as well as being young and pretty.

At five past nine, the redhead came over to me with an apologetic smile. ‘Jack’s very sorry, but he’ll be delayed about ten minutes. Would you like a cup of coffee?’

As her boss was paying handsomely for keeping me waiting, I smiled back. ‘Thank you – white, no sugar.’

Ten minutes turned into twenty; I’d finished my coffee, read the front page of several issues of Metal Matters and lost some of my equilibrium. I picked up my bag and went over to the reception desk.

‘I’d like to speak to Jack Smith’s PA,’ I said to the redhead, as pleasantly as I could.

‘Sure.’ She dialled an extension, waited for several seconds, then replaced the receiver. ‘No answer, Betsy must have just popped out for a minute—’

‘Don’t worry, I know my way.’

Before she could stop me, I made for the staircase – a monstrous feat of engineering, all shining brass handrails and balusters with the inevitable rampant lions as corner supports – and walked briskly to the first floor. Last time I’d taken the second door on the left, straight into the Chief Executive’s office; this time I turned in at the first door, which was slightly ajar and bore the nameplate ‘Betsy Walker’.

The room was empty, but the adjoining one was not. A familiar voice spilled through the open connecting door, the tone harsher than I’d ever heard it; someone had clearly rubbed the black velvet the wrong way this morning.

‘… Not on my watch. The safety of the men on the shop floor comes first – I don’t give a toss about anything else!’ A pause. ‘And you’d better behave yourself tomorrow. We’ll have a visitor, female, so watch your language.’

‘What’s a woman doing at a Leo Components union meeting?’ Another man’s voice; gruffer, with a thicker accent.

‘She’s giving me some coaching.’

A knowing guffaw. ‘Coaching? What sport’s that in – bedroom gymnastics?’

‘Sod off, she’s not my type. And even if she was, she’d freeze my bloody bollocks off at forty paces.’

‘Not like the bird you were with at Zorro’s the other week, eh? Saw it in the paper. Did she have anything on under that—’ Thanks to his accent, the rest was unintelligible.

And then they laughed, in that stupid nudge-nudge wink-wink way that men do – while I just stood there, overcome with anger and embarrassment. Which meant that, when they came through the door a few seconds later, my face drew their attention like a beacon.

I fixed Jack Smith with a look that would have made freezing his bollocks off seem like a merciful release. So I’m not your type, am I? Funny, I got quite the opposite impression at our first meeting. Or are you just narked that I didn’t instantly drop to my knees and worship the babe magnet of the North West?

When he saw me he stopped dead, laughter fading to an uncertain smile. But I’d underestimated his powers of recovery. In two strides he was in front of me and somehow my hand was in his possession.

‘Hi there, sorry to keep you waiting,’ he said, tone softer now, eyes boring into mine. I deliberately flicked my gaze to the sturdy, balding man beside him who acknowledged me with a cautious nod. As if in retaliation, the grip on my fingers tightened. ‘Let me introduce Nick Suggett, our union rep. Nick, this is Alicia Marlowe, my – er – coach.’

An awkward little silence; after a few seconds, I yanked my hand from his grasp and offered it to Nick Suggett with a polished smile. ‘Pleased to meet you. And don’t worry, you won’t get frost-bite – I save that for my most troublesome clients.’

Nick’s eyes crinkled as he shook my hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, too. Good to hear you’re keeping Jack under control.’ An appraising look at both of us from under bushy brows. ‘I’ll leave you to your coaching, then.’

While he shuffled out of the room, I swept past Jack Smith into the adjoining office and settled myself in one of the black leather chairs. As before, I took out my laptop and opened a file labelled with his name. As before, I made myself look busy – this time, not so much to avoid conversation as to regain my composure.

‘Coffee?’ His voice, behind me.

‘No, thank you. I had one while I was sitting in reception for twenty-five minutes.’

He prowled into my line of sight, hands in pockets, head down – a master class in mock humility. ‘I’ve said I’m sorry. Something cropped up on the shop floor, and Nick wanted to speak to me urgently. That’s what running this business is like.’ A pause. ‘Look, when I told him you weren’t my type, that was—’

‘Entirely mutual.’ To drive the point home, I looked up at him, my face devoid of expression. ‘In case you need a translation, that means you’re not my type either. Which leads us seamlessly into your personality type and the questionnaire results. If you sit down, we can do an initial run-through before the management meeting.’

He hesitated, as if debating whether to obey. When at last he took the seat opposite me, I thrust a copy of the results at him. In my desperation to avoid physical contact, I let go too soon and the print-out slapped onto the glass-topped table. Unthinking, I reached over to pick it up – and our fingers snagged. I recoiled – a response so sudden and intense that I couldn’t have covered it up, even if I’d wanted to.

He shot me a curious glance while he scooped up the papers. ‘Is my personality that toxic?’

‘Let’s find out.’ To my horror, my voice was little more than a croak. I cleared my throat – twice, for God’s sake! – turned over the header page and succeeded in delivering my usual introduction about the value of self-awareness. ‘We’ll start by looking at whether you tend to be inwardly or outwardly focused. You are definitely the latter – read the description and see if it rings true.’

For a few moments there was silence; then he said, ‘I suppose it does. “You like to be in a fast-paced environment” – yes. “You tend to work out ideas with others” – yes. “Talkative” – yes. Although not so much when I’m with you.’

I ignored the last comment. ‘Next we’ll look at how you like to take in information. You’ll see that you value concrete facts and details, and practical applications – more what we call “sensing” than “intuitive”.’

He studied the page and frowned. ‘I think I’m both. Yes, when it comes to business targets I like to deal in specifics. But when it comes to people, my hunches tend to be right … I mean, as soon as I saw Nick this morning I knew he’d try to screw me over, and then I could tell that you—’

‘What you could tell about me is irrelevant, we’re confining our conversation to your working environment.’ A slow, deep breath. ‘Anyway, this is about preferences – it doesn’t mean you’re not intuitive. The third section shows how you make decisions. You’re “thinking” rather than “feeling” – for example, you prefer to be fair at the expense of keeping people happy.’

‘It also says I enjoy finding the flaws in an argument. So here’s one – shouldn’t you be asking the management team these questions instead of me? For all you know, I could be pulling the wool over your eyes and simply making up the answers.’

I smiled in spite of myself, relishing a challenge that I could meet head on. ‘First, these questionnaires are designed to make that difficult to do and straightforward to detect. Second, since individual growth starts with self-awareness, you’d be doing yourself no favours. And third, as you’ve suggested, I will be gaining a more holistic and objective view of you through your interaction with others over the next few days.’ I couldn’t resist sowing the seeds of a future business opportunity, even though I wouldn’t be involved. ‘Sometimes we’re asked to coach an entire Board, in which eventuality everyone completes the questionnaires – to inform both individual and team development.’

He stared back at me, as if pondering an intelligent reply; then he let out a low whistle and said, ‘Have you been trained to talk like that, or does it come naturally?’

Once again I ignored the personal observation, took another deep breath and turned to the next page. ‘The final section describes the framework for your outer life. You are clearly “perceiving” more than “judging”. As you can see, this means a flexible approach to rules and deadlines, a preference for improvisation over planning – which can be a source of employee conflict, underperformance and frustration.’

For once his smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Makes you wonder why anyone would want to work for such an arsehole, doesn’t it? That reminds me, it’s nearly time for the management meeting.’

I glanced at my watch in surprise: six minutes to ten. I’d been too busy concentrating on the conversational thrust and parry to notice. ‘Wait, who’s going to be at this meeting? I need an organisation chart, and—’

‘Sorry, can’t do that now – you’ll just have to go with the flow. Talking of which, I’m off to the Gents.’ He sprang to his feet, headed in the direction of his PA’s room and poked his head round her door. ‘Betsy, show Alicia to the Boardroom, would you?’ A nod back at me, with a casual, ‘See you there in five.’