FIG TREE
Published by the Penguin Group
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First published 2010
Copyright © Lucy Kellaway, 2010
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Four lines of ‘It’s No Use Raising a Shout’, taken from Collected Poems by W. H. Auden, is reproduced by permission of Faber and Faber Ltd.
‘Separation’ copyright © W. S. Merwin, 1963. All rights reserved.
All rights reserved
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN: 978-0-14-195949-8
January 2010
2008: Part One – Temptation
Part Two – Addiction
Part Three – Withdrawal
January 2010
By the same author
Martin Lukes: Who Moved My BlackBerry™?
For David
Two words: four letters, then eight. The shape of them was so familiar and yet shocking to see now, after all this time.
Stella had just got back to the office after lunch and there his name was, sitting in her inbox next to an email containing the minutes of yesterday’s board meeting. The subject line read: hi.
She knew what she must do. She had rehearsed it often enough with Dr Munro and with any friends who were still willing to listen. With unsteady hand she picked up the mouse, highlighted his name and clicked ‘delete’.
Are you sure you want to delete this message? the computer asked.
But that was the problem: no, she wasn’t sure.
The therapist had explained that there was nothing inherently upsetting about either him or his actions. The trouble was Stella’s thoughts, which in turn caused her emotional responses. The answer, the woman had said, was to learn to control her thoughts, and then her emotions would fall into line.
As a concept, Stella had found this seductive. But in practical terms it was useless. Stella, so good at controlling most aspects of her life, had had no success in controlling her thoughts – or those that had anything to do with him. And it was also nonsense to say that his actions had been neutral – except perhaps in some far-fetched, philosophical sense. In fact they had been devastating: five lives damaged, one of them, it seemed to her in her more hysterical moments, beyond any chance of repair. In the end she had cancelled her therapy sessions and gone to Selfridges and squandered the £210 that she would have spent on fifty minutes of Dr Munro’s time on face cream instead – which hadn’t made her feel any better, either. Worse, as she kept studying her reflection to see if it was having an effect on the deep lines between her eyebrows and the loose skin around her jaw.
Two years ago, when Stella had first met him, she had given little thought to her appearance. She had felt younger than forty-four and because she was tall and slim clothes hung well on her. She wore almost no make-up, though she had started having blonde highlights threaded through her hair to hide the grey. But now, if she looked in the mirror and let her eyes go dead and her face relax, an old woman’s face stared back at her.
Stella looked at the computer screen, which was still demanding a reply to its question. It had helpfully highlighted the button YES, as if knowing that this was the path of sanity and righteousness. She moved the mouse and clicked NO instead.
She stared at his name. It was extraordinary, she thought, to hear from him today of all days. Just yesterday she had been on Primrose Hill with Clemmie, who was taking a break from GCSE revision. The two of them had got coffee from the Italian deli and were sitting drinking it on a bench in the winter sunshine. A small, fat man with a Great Dane on a lead walked in front of them, and Clemmie had said: Opposites attract, and Stella had laughed, thinking it the first normal, friendly thing her daughter had said in a very long time.
Stella had turned her head to watch the big dog and its tiny owner pass, and then had thought she’d seen him sitting at the next bench along. He wasn’t sullen and cowering as he had been when he came into her office and stood there wordlessly as she had packed her things. Instead, she could tell from the back of his fair head and from the lazy way he was sticking his legs out that he was at ease. He had his arm around someone young and blonde with skinny jeans tucked into high-heeled boots. On the pretext of putting her cup in the bin, Stella had got up and walked towards him and at just that moment, he’d turned towards her. It wasn’t him.
– You know, she had said to Emily on the phone that evening, I think I am really over it. I thought I saw him yesterday with someone young and pretty on a park bench. And I felt curious, and, yes, I suppose if I’m honest I was a bit – disturbed. But I wasn’t destroyed. I wasn’t even churned up. Even when I was certain it was him, I thought, it’s OK, I’ve moved on.
There had been a brief silence at the other end of the line.
– Well, her friend had said. Maybe you have, maybe you haven’t.
Why were one’s closest friends, the people who had witnessed all one’s ups and downs, so superior? Maybe it was simply that for four decades, Stella’s friends had witnessed one huge ‘up’ after another, and so were relishing this catastrophic down for its novelty value.
But what was even worse than her friend’s superiority was the fact that she was right. Stella’s dry mouth and thudding heart did not belong to a woman who had moved on. She got up and closed her office door. She didn’t want to do this under the appraising eye of her PA.
She took the mouse, moved it to the message and clicked on it to open.
Dearest S, it began.
From long practice she could gauge the state of his feelings towards her from the first couple of words of his messages. Once, long ago, during an interminable conference call, she had written a list of them in order of affection.
my own dearest, funniest, cleverest, sexiest F (this had only happened once, in the very early days)
dearest f
dearest ferret
my S
dearest S
f-
s –
hi
hallo
Dear Stella
Hallo she disliked doubly. First for its lack of affection, and then for its wretched spelling. But Dear Stella was the worst, as it was coldest. That was how the final and most awful message of them all had begun, its correct capitals underlining the correctness of the sentiment it contained.
But now, here he was, emailing her after a long, arid year, and now she was his dearest again. She returned to the message.
it’s been a long time. I’ve no idea how you are, or if you want to hear from me at all any more. I don’t even know where you are working now, but I’ve just googled you and I’m sending this to what seems is your new work email. I hope it reaches you. I often think of you, ferreting things out. Do you still do that? I bet you do.
I’ve got something to ask you, and something to tell you. So I wondered…will you have lunch with me one day next week? We could meet at the bleeding heart for old time’s sake or anywhere else would be fine too.
cheers x
First she read it quickly. And then slowly, looking at every word. The bit about the ferret was a giveaway. Referring to that was tantamount to saying that he hadn’t moved on at all either. Stella hit ‘reply’ and typed:
Dearest –
Yes to lunch. Yes to the Bleeding Heart. Thursday? 1?
Much love,
Stella
PS Yes, I still ferret things out. Of course. xx
Was it too keen? She reread his message. It was definitely warm, and he did say that he still thought about her, but he didn’t say in what way. She read it again. Maybe it wasn’t that warm. At least not effusive. Cheers was a pretty distant ending, as well as being an ugly one. Respond, don’t react, Dr Munro had said. It had been one of her more helpful instructions.
Dear –
Lunch would be nice. Have an AFJ board meeting in Rome Monday to Wed, so could do Thursday or Friday?
xS
But did he really want or need to know about her schedule? He used to resent her packed diary, and so perhaps best not to mention it now. She tried again.
How nice to hear from you. Lunch would be lovely. Thursday or Friday good for me. Let me know, Stella
She pressed ‘send’.
Bella stared at her BlackBerry in disbelief. How odd to get a message from him today, of all days.
She hadn’t thought of him in a long time. Or, at least, she might have thought of him a little bit, sometimes, but not in a bad or heavy way. But then, just yesterday, she had been packing things into boxes, finally moving on and out of her flat off the Holloway Road, and she had come across the Van Morrison CD he had given her just before it had begun. And that had got her thinking about it again.
He’d come into the office that morning – almost two years ago now – and produced the CD from his briefcase and said: Please tell me what you think of this.
The tone of his voice had been just the same, just as authoritative, as when he said: Please reschedule my four o’clock meeting.
She had looked at the CD in confusion and he had said: The best song is ‘Brown Eyed Girl’. I know you think that sometimes I can’t see what is under my nose, but it hasn’t escaped my notice that you have brown eyes.
None of his other presents had survived – when she had got back to her flat on the day after their last, awful lunch she had rounded up all of them, put them into a Tesco carrier bag and taken them to the Marie Curie shop on Highbury Corner.
The next Saturday, when she had changed her mind and gone back to retrieve the gold earrings and the pearl necklace that were far too grown-up for her ever to wear, it was too late. They were sold.
Last night she had put ‘Brown Eyed Girl’ on the CD player. Millie had objected.
– Who’s this old man?
And Bella had said: This song reminds me of a friend I used to have.
Millie blanked this, grabbed the remote, put on ‘Love Machine’ by Girls Aloud and started to strut her skinny nine-year-old body around the removal boxes.
Bella looked again at the message. He’d sent it on the old company address, so he must still work for Atlantic Energy. The subject line said simply: Hello.
Dear Bella
I expect you will be surprised to get this message, unprompted. But I have something to ask of you, which, on balance, I think might be better not committed to email. Would you allow me to buy you a drink next week? I am not sure what time you currently finish work or, indeed, where you work. However, if it were convenient, might you be able to meet me at Green’s Champagne Bar next Thursday at 7pm?
Love –
She read it, frowning. She’d half forgotten his turn of phrase: polite and precise; even his love letters (of which there had not been many) could not quite shake off the tone of the business memo. Bella felt a flash of the old resentment, hit ‘reply’ and typed quickly:
Hi – thanks for your message. Hope you don’t mind if I say no to a drink – I just don’t think there’s much point in meeting up. Hope all is well with you.
Bella
She read it over and thought it sounded mean. Maybe the favour was something simple. And would it really be so horrible seeing him after all this time?
The memory of that last day, when he had escorted her to the lift and looked at her as if they were perfect strangers, had stopped hurting. She had not seen him at all for a year, not counting that time, a couple of months after she’d left AE, when she had seen him on the Piccadilly Line with his two boys, both of whom were clutching large Spamalot programmes. She was sure he had seen her. But he made no move towards her and she made none towards him. She had gone home and wept.
But now his words didn’t tug at her at all. The miracle of indifference, which she had prayed for, had crept up on her unawares, and now she really was unmoved by his message. And so maybe it would be fine to meet up. Only not for a drink – lunch would be safer.
Perhaps something nice would come out of it, she thought. It would do her good to be able to say: Look at me now. I’m so over you. I’ve got a proper job – I’m an account manager now, and I love it, and I’m making better money. And I’ve even started seeing someone nice, who really wants me in his life properly, which – let’s face it – was more than you ever did.
Bella deleted what she had written and started again.
Hi – yes, it would be great to meet up but drink is difficult for me as I’m always dashing home to be with Millie (so no change there!). could do a quick lunch. am working as an assistant client manager at Lambert Finch (ad agency) so all is well with me. maybe you could pop into my office in Charlotte St, and we can go around the corner and grab a sandwich?
bella x
She looked over what she had written. That was better. She pressed ‘send’.
Stella’s story – a story she told and retold to herself in the hope that she might come to understand what had happened to her and why she had behaved as she had – had started two years earlier, on the day that Julia Swanson resigned.
That morning, Stella had got in to the office early. She was writing a presentation for the board and unless she stole a march on the day she would get caught up in endless meetings and nothing would get done.
She walked across the marble floor towards the glass barriers and reached into her handbag for her wallet, which contained her security pass. She put her bag down on the receptionist’s desk – manned at this early hour by a uniformed night security guard – and started to rummage through its contents. Nothing.
In her head she retraced her movements from the night before. She had left the office early for a lecture on the newly attractive economics of nuclear power and then had gone on to a dinner party with Charles’s old boss from his days at Granada. She had paid for the cab on the way home – Charles, as ever, having no money with him – so she must have had her wallet then. Which meant that, with any luck, it was now sitting on the table in the hall.
She asked the guard for a temporary pass and he opened the visitors’ book.
– Name?
– Stella Bradberry.
– How are you spelling that?
– I am spelling it, she said crisply, B-R-A-D-B-E-R-R-Y.
Slowly he wrote it down, omitting the third R.
– Department?
– Economics.
– Who’s your line manager?
Stella sighed. Why, she thought, do I have to give my line manager’s name in order to get into an office where I have worked for the last twenty-two years?
– Stephen Hinton, she said.
The name of the CEO seemed to mean nothing to the guard, and he wrote it down indifferently.
Under ‘Time in’ he entered 7.12, looking up to check on the clock, which was a giant, elliptical Atlantic Energy logo set into the wall over the lifts. He handed her an oblong of plastic on a string to wear around her neck.
She smiled at him and felt a little jab of discomfort when he didn’t smile back. Charles used to laugh at the way Stella always needed everyone to love her, even people she didn’t especially like herself. As she got older she was getting a bit better: she could tolerate not being loved by security guards, but only just.
She pushed through the glass barrier and pressed ‘home’ on her mobile.
– Darling. Are you still in bed? … No, I’ve just got in … Can you check and see if I left my wallet by the front door?… Oh, thank God … I’ll get Nathalie to send a bike later.
Stella took the lift to the twelfth floor and went along the corridor past the aggressive works of modern art that Stephen Hinton was so proud of. She eyed the latest arrival: an oversized blue canvas with some hessian fabric stuck to it. She looked at the name of the picture. ‘Tower of Nothing’, it was entitled.
Her office was on the wrong side of the building, looking north over the building sites of the City of London, and was slightly smaller than her status merited. Some of her male colleagues made a fuss about this sort of thing, but she quite liked the way that her office was smaller and her pay lower than her worth to the company. It made her feel off the hook in a way that she knew was illogical, but she didn’t care.
Stella had made no attempt to make her room homely – others had filled their offices with photos of their families, but she considered that sentimental. She had only one picture – of herself with Nelson Mandela, taken when she’d visited Atlantic Energy’s South African subsidiary six or seven years ago.
She turned on her computer and waited while it clicked and whirred and played the triumphant four-note symphony that welcomed her to Windows. She opened up her email and scanned down the ninety-four messages that had arrived since last night. At the bottom, with a red exclamation mark beside it, was an email from Julia Swanson.
Must talk. Tried to catch you yesterday but you were in meetings all day. Wanted you to know that I’m seeing Stephen this morning to hand in my notice. Eeek. Lunch? Jules x
Stella wasn’t surprised it had come to this. Julia had been unprofessional and unwise and now she was paying for it. Yet the news made Stella feel unsettled. She didn’t really like Julia but neither did she want her to go, as without her there would be no other women in senior management to gossip with.
She typed:
God are you sure? That is terrible news (for me) … I’ll miss you … Yes to lunch, though am v busy doing board presentation so will have to be quick.
12.45? xS
For Bella it began that same day, the day that Julia quit. She was half an hour late getting into the office – which wasn’t like her. But that morning everything had gone wrong. Millie had refused to go and put on her school sweatshirt and Bella had ended up screaming at her. Millie had started to cry, and Bella had said that if she didn’t stop she couldn’t go to the party at the weekend. Millie had recovered by the time they got to school, helped by a strawberry Chewit, but Bella hadn’t: these pointless scenes left her feeling distressed, and almost envious of her contemporaries who were spending their twenties getting drunk and behaving exactly as they pleased.
Then there were delays on the Piccadilly Line – someone was having an even worse morning than she was, and had decided to fling themselves under a train. Stuck under a man’s armpit on a stationary tube, Bella opened Metro and read her horoscope.
Your career is progressing well and it seems that your plans cannot fail. Do not get carried away with your ambition. All work and no play will get you down so also take some time out for you.
What crap, she thought. Progressing well? I don’t think so.
She changed at King’s Cross on to the Northern Line and then ran the short distance from Moorgate tube to Atlantic Tower, fearing her boss’s wrath. She never knew where she was with Julia. One minute she would behave as if her PA was her best friend, the next she would be shouting at her over some minor transgression.
Bella went up in the lift, and at the third floor Stephen Hinton got in. The CEO fixed his eyes on the security pass that Bella hung around her neck, making her feel that he was staring at her breasts.
– Good morning, Bella, he said, reading her name off the pass.
– Hi, she replied, and then neither of them said anything and looked at their shoes. What are you meant to say to the CEO? She wasn’t sure, but she hated silences, so she said: There was a person under the train this morning at Caledonian Road.
He stared and then guffawed, which didn’t strike Bella as the right way to respond at all.
She got out at the twelfth floor and went along the corridor past the new work of art, which was a bit of old rag stuck to a canvas. She’d heard that the company had paid $140,000 of shareholders’ money for that, which was pathetic.
The plate of blueberries that Catering delivered every morning was still waiting outside Julia’s office, which must mean that Julia was late too. Bella picked up the shrink-wrapped plate, pushed open the glass door with her foot and was surprised to see Julia’s coat left carelessly on her chair. Bella picked it up, admiring its swirly Paul Smith lining. She took off her own H&M duffel coat and slipped on the other coat. It was both too long and too tight; Julia almost never ate and so, despite being six inches taller than her PA, was considerably thinner. Bella envied her both the coat and the figure. Hastily she took it off, hung it up and started going through her boss’s emails.
At the top was a message from Stella Bradberry saying I’ll miss you. What was that about? And why had Julia fixed a lunch with Stella when she was meant to be taking out the new oil correspondent from the Financial Times?
She looked up to see Julia approaching. She was immaculately made-up as ever, though Bella noticed a tightness about her, an intensity that she had only seen once before, and then by mistake.
– Sorry I was late, Bella started to say, but Julia batted it away.
– I wanted you to be the first to know: I’ve just resigned.
– Oh!
Bella knew this was an inadequate response, but didn’t know what else to say. What she was thinking was: I would have quit in your shoes. Though she never would have been in Julia’s shoes, as she would have had more sense. But she couldn’t say anything because she had never worked out if Julia knew that she, Bella, knew all about it. Sometimes she thought Julia must know – as it would be stupid to expect her not to have read the emails. Though not as stupid as writing them on the office email system in the first place. Julia’s approach to privacy would have made Bella laugh if it hadn’t been so tragic. She had simply transferred all her messages to and from him into a folder marked ‘misc’, which was available on the desktop for anyone who wanted to look.
– What are you going to do? Bella asked at last.
– I’ve been headhunted. I’m going to join Wiley & Marston as a senior political lobbyist.
Bella wasn’t quite sure what this was.
– Congratulations, she said. When are you actually going?
– They’ve asked me to leave today, so I’ll be on three months’ gardening leave at home.
Bella thought this unfair. If you quit on a salary of £140,000 they paid you to stay at home for three months. But if she were to quit on her salary of £29,000 she’d have to work out every last minute of her four weeks’ notice period.
Stella looked at the sentence she had just written.
We support urgent but informed action to stabilize greenhouse gas (GHG) concentrations by achieving sustainable long-term emission reductions at the lowest possible cost.
She was wondering whether to redraft it to make it snappier when Julia put her head around the door.
– Ready? she said.
Stella got up from her desk and told Nathalie, who sat in a glass antechamber to her office, that she’d be back in an hour.
They walked around the corner to Le Pain Quotidien, a bakery shop with scrubbed wood tables pretending to be in rural France, and Stella ordered a tricolore salad. Julia said she’d have the same, though she told the waiter she didn’t want dressing or pine nuts and wanted only one slice of mozzarella.
– So, said Stella, once the waiter had taken their orders. How did Stephen take it?
– I’ve never seen him so upset, Julia said. It was just extraordinary. He put his head in his hands and for a second he didn’t say anything. Then he said I was the best head of press we’ve ever had and he offered me a pay rise and a promotion.
– So weren’t you tempted to take it?
– Well, said Julia. It’s not entirely about the money. It’s more about me, and where I see myself ten years from now. You know what really scares me? It’s being bored. Doesn’t that thought worry you?
Stella started to say that she wasn’t bored, but Julia went on.
– You and I are totally different. You’ve morphed into an Atlantic Energy person – it’s in your blood in a way it never was in mine. And I’m a risk junkie, while you always play it safe.
It was a funny thing about people who left, Stella thought. They always tried to make you feel bad for staying.
– Maybe you’re right, she replied evenly. I suppose I stay because I like it. Mostly.
– Yes, but don’t you worry that one day you’ll wake up and you’ll be fifty-five, forced into early retirement and it’ll be too late to do anything else? So better to leave now, in your early forties – or your mid-forties or whatever – before it’s too late.
Stella received Julia’s reminder that she was three years older in silence. At least I have kept my professional dignity, she thought, which is more than you have.
Stella’s mobile rang.
– Darling … Yes, I know, it’s in my diary … Yes, that’s wonderful, well done. I’m looking forward to hearing about it … Of course I mean it. I’m just with someone … That’s ridiculous. Stop it …
She frowned and hung up.
– Sorry about that. It was Clemmie – she’s flapping about her parents’ evening tonight.
– No, I’m sorry, said Julia. It’s tactless of me to be so demob happy.
Stella was finding the conversation surreal. There was no mention of that cab ride two weeks ago when Julia had, suddenly and inexplicably, wept and told her the story of how she had been having an affair with James Staunton and had destroyed her life and career in one stroke. Stella had tried to be sympathetic, but really she had been amazed and ever so slightly shocked. How did they find the time? And how had she, Stella, completely failed to notice that two close colleagues were sneaking off for steamy encounters in Julia’s flat? She had also failed to understand what they saw in each other. James was neither handsome nor charismatic, and so surely not Julia’s thing. Instead, he was clever and straight and decent (at least she had thought he was decent until now) and so would surely be able to see Julia for the shallow person she was.
– Well, Stella said, I’m really glad it’s all worked out so well for you, and that a situation that could have been so awful has been fine.
Julia ignored this and started to talk about the PR firm and how its political lobbyists were shaping government policy behind the scenes and how one of them used to work at Buckingham Palace.
As they ordered coffee, Stella asked: Did you tell James you are going?
Julia looked suddenly stricken.
– No. I don’t owe him any openness. He wasn’t open with me.
All day she had been helping Julia clear her office. All sorts of random things accumulate in five years. Among the books and photo frames and pens, Bella found a pale blue lace bra, which Julia calmly took from her and put into her handbag. She kept a large number of shoes in her bottom drawer – four pairs of trainers and an almost new pair of green Kurt Geiger wedges that Bella had only seen her wearing once.
– These are cool, said Bella, even though she thought them horrible.
– What size are you? They are much more you than me – have them if they fit.
– No, I couldn’t, Bella protested.
– Take them, Julia insisted. If it hadn’t been such a mad rush today I would have really liked to get you a proper present and something for Molly.
Bella corrected her in her head: Millie.
– Is there an easy way of deleting all my emails in one go? her boss went on. I suppose I should leave a clean sweep.
– Shall I do it for you?
– No! It’s fine, if you can just remind me …
Bella knew the content of the messages that Julia didn’t want her to see well enough anyway. In particular the last and most lethal addition to the collection, sent exactly two weeks ago. This, Bella knew almost off by heart.
Dear Julia,
I don’t really think I expressed myself well at lunch. I felt tongue-tied and taken aback by your emotional response. What I was trying to say was that we must stop this. The chief reason you know already: I can’t go on doing this to my wife. But also I have felt that we seem to have reached a natural end: the initial lighthearted entanglement between us has latterly become more complex and less enjoyable. Obviously I still value you highly, and I hope we can go on having a good professional relationship and that we can put it behind us.
James
Bella felt sick every time she thought of this. The guy was a complete tosser. Initial lighthearted entanglement – what a pompous prat! And how clever of him to have suddenly discovered that he was married. It made her feel slightly better about Xan, who might be a junkie and a thief, but at least was emotionally honest.
The day Julia had got the message, Bella had watched her read it, stand up and go to the loo and come back holding herself frighteningly straight. She had not said one word about it.
Bella read the email that Julia had drafted:
Today is my last day at Atlantic Energy. The last five years have been some of the most stimulating of my life, but it is now time to move on to even greater challenges.
Above all what I will miss is the quality of the people: you are not only professional and talented but so many of you have become such good friends. I will miss every one of you. Please keep in touch –
Bella looked at it and thought: whatever. And then she forwarded it, as instructed, to all 17,000 employees worldwide.
– I don’t suppose, Bella asked, that you have any idea who is going to take over from you?
Julia shrugged.
– I don’t. But there’s no reason why you need to stay in the Press Office. I’ll put in a good word with HR and tell them to find you someone really fun to work with.
Since she’d joined Atlantic Energy four years ago, Bella had had three bosses. First was George Stevens in Chemicals, who was OK in a dull kind of way. Then Giles Conville, who was nicer but such a control freak he never gave her anything to do for fear that she might screw it up. And finally, Julia. It was the first time she’d had a woman boss, and on balance she didn’t like it. There was something confusing about the mateyness. Julia wanted to be liked, but wasn’t really all that likeable.
Bella called a taxi for her and helped carry everything down in the lift. There was a yellow plastic crate with PROPERTY OF ATLANTIC ENERGY written on its side, a black bin liner and a Joe Malone carrier bag. These seemed sad remnants of five years’ work.
To her surprise, and not altogether to her pleasure, Julia put her thin arms around Bella and gave her a hug.
– We must have a girls’ lunch as soon as I’m settled. I’ll call you. You’ve been a fantastic help to me, Bella. I’m going to miss you.
Bella had watched this woman lie and cheat. She had lied for her. She had never been thanked. But now, seeing her fighting to keep her dignity, she suddenly felt that maybe she would miss her after all.
– Russell is trying to find you, said Nathalie as Stella returned to her office after a weekly planning meeting.
He seemed to have been trying very hard indeed: there were two emails waiting for her, a voicemail and a Post-it note on her computer screen. This was the key skill of being in Human Resources, she thought: perseverance. She clicked on his first email.
Hi Stella
Can I beg a favour? Julia was due to give a keynote at the trainees’ induction workshop tomorrow. Obviously I’m mindful of the diversity agenda, and so I’m looking to find another woman to do it instead. I know it’s incredibly short notice, but it would be really helpful if you could step up to the plate just this once?
All best, Russell
She sighed and opened the next one.
Hi Stella
Don’t know if you’ve had a chance to consider my earlier email. I know it would mean a lot to the trainees to listen to such an inspirational figure as your good self.
I also wanted to ask if you could take the fast-track trainee assigned to Julia? You are already due to get Beate Schlegel, but if you could also take Rhys Williams? Rhys isn’t an economist, but on our competency tests he scores very highly on leadership potential. I’m sure he’ll be able to add value in the economics team with you as a mentor.
Russell
Why did Russell have to talk like this, Stella wondered? And why were senior women expected not only to do their jobs but be representatives of their sex as well as glorified school prefects?
She resolved to say no. This was one of the few things that Stella was excessively bad at; she frequently found herself doing things just because she could not bring herself to refuse. She realized it was ridiculous and also understood and despised the reason for it: she feared causing displeasure. Resolutely she replied:
Russell – Would love to help. Unfortunately have to leave office promptly that evening – it’s my daughter’s parents’ evening – so I’m afraid it’s not going to work out.
However, I’m happy to take on an extra trainee. As you correctly point out, there is never any shortage of work in economics.
Stella
As it happened, the parents’ evening had been the previous night. Stella and Charles had sat side by side in the wood-panelled assembly hall and heard from one teacher after another that their daughter – who only that morning had twice told her mother to fuck off – was a delight, industrious, cooperative, creative. Only Clemmie’s form teacher had said she was looking a bit thin and asked if everything was all right. Stella had assured her Clemmie was fine. At least fine at eating. And as for thin, Stella had been thinner than that at fourteen, and Charles had also been a wisp when she had first met him. Not that one would know that now. There had been a substantial thickening around the middle.
Her email started flashing. Russell again.
Hi, thanks for reverting so promptly. The agenda tomorrow is something of a moveable feast, so if you could give your speech to kick the session off in the morning? It would only take ten minutes. If you can make time for this it really will help us in our mission to deliver a world class, diverse workforce.
All best, Russell
Shit, damn, bugger, she thought, and emailed back.
OK, can do 10 mins at 9.40.
Bella was enjoying having no boss. No one seemed to want to tell her who she was going to work for, so she remained at her old desk in the Press Office fielding a few calls and not doing terribly much.
When the phone went she said: I’m afraid Julia Swanson has left the company. Can I put you through to Ben Thomas, her deputy?
She liked Ben and hoped they’d give the job to him.
– Are you going to go for it? she’d asked when he popped his head around her door.
– Don’t know. I talked to Russell about it this morning but he fobbed me off with something about a reorganization.
– Great, said Bella. They can reorganize the whole place and no one ever thinks of telling me anything.
– I tell you everything. At least, I would if I knew anything.
There was something sweet about Ben. He used to be a journalist himself and the scruffy boyish air hadn’t left him, though after years of expense account lunches he had grown somewhat stout. He also had crooked teeth and breathed noisily.
– Do you want a drink tonight? he asked suddenly.
In low moments Bella had sometimes wondered if she could bring herself to go out with Ben. It was nearly three years since she had had a boyfriend of any sort, and Ben was keen and kind and even quite funny. But she always decided that he was simply too ugly – she did not mind that much about looks but there was a threshold below which she would not fall.
– Sorry, Ben. I have to get back to my daughter.
He looked crestfallen.
– Another time?
– Yes, that’d be lovely.
A call came through from a journalist wanting to know why Atlantic Energy was raising petrol prices at the same time as declaring exceptional profits. Bella knew the answer to this herself, having heard Julia go through it often enough. But she put the call through to Ben and she was left on her own.
Stella had opened the email that had just arrived from the CEO.
Have you got a moment?
Stephen’s emails were never one word longer than strictly necessary, and the summons never gave any clue as to what he wanted to see her about. Stella briefly wondered whether it was ominous, but decided it wasn’t. When Stephen had bad news to impart he got his PA to ring and make an appointment. She emailed back:
Sure – on my way up now. Stella
The CEO’s office was two floors above her own, and occupied the corner of the tower with a view down towards the grey dome of St Paul’s. There was a large Persian carpet on the floor, and on the bookshelves, next to Sun Tsu’s The Art of War, was a leather-bound copy of Paradise Lost. Stephen Hinton wanted people to know that not only was he CEO of one of the biggest oil companies in the world, but he was also a man of culture. Perhaps he wouldn’t make quite such a big deal of it, Stella sometimes thought, if he wasn’t the son of an electrician from Hull. She had nothing against electricians from Hull. In fact she admired their graft. Stella, as the daughter of a distinguished professor of philosophy at Oxford University, had always felt relatively uncultured, and her way of dealing with it was to keep quiet.
Stephen always looked undersized in his huge office, and today he was waiting for her, pacing up and down like a small, hairy animal in a cage.
– Thanks for coming up, he said, reaching out a hand and touching her upper arm with it.
She didn’t like being touched by people at work, but her smile didn’t falter.
– I’ve got a people issue that I’d like your take on, he went on. Now that Julia Swanson has quit, I’ve got to decide what to do about Press Relations. We need a hard hitter there. Did you see that crap in the Daily Mail this morning saying that we should be paying a windfall energy tax?
Stephen spat the words out scornfully and Stella, who had not seen the article, nodded knowledgeably.
– We need someone who will knock some sense into these stupid hacks. So I was thinking about giving the department to James Staunton. It makes sense to bring media under the umbrella of External Relations. James is highly capable but I worry about his leadership style. Question: is he a great listener? You and he go back a long way and so I wondered what your take was –?
Stella and James had joined AE as trainees at the same time, and he had always measured his progress against hers. In the early years he had done better, but more recently, especially since Stephen had become CEO and made her head of Economics, Strategy and Planning, Stella had overtaken him. Although she didn’t set store by such things, she wasn’t anxious to see his empire expand. Neither did she think it fair: he had had an affair with Julia, which he had ended. Julia was made to walk the plank; and for him to benefit from her departure did not seem right.
– It’s complicated, said Stella slowly.
– I know, he said. But I rely on you, Stella. You’re one of the few people in this organization that I can trust to tell me the truth.
– Well, she ventured. Obviously James is very – competent. I mean, he was great in seeing off the Monopolies Commission on petrol prices. I know he would in theory be capable of handling media. However – I think there are issues around depth versus breadth. He already has a huge department – and so adding Press might mean stretching him rather too thin –
– Say no more, Stella, Stephen interrupted. As ever you are right on the money. James is the man for the job. Thank you.
And then he said: Where are you on the sustainability presentation for this month’s board?
Stella said she would let him see a draft soon, and walked back to her desk feeling annoyed. For all his claims to be a great listener, Stephen never heard a word you said.
The day was passing inordinately slowly and Bella was revising her opinion about it being nice not having a boss. The clock said 4.32 – she was tempted to leave now and pick up Millie early, but she didn’t dare. Idly she clicked on the Gap website and saw in the sale some navy hoodies with white stars on them that she knew Millie would love. Bella wondered if they were worth it at £8.99. Maybe if she waited they’d be reduced some more.
– I can see someone’s busy.
She turned around to see Jackie Lewis, the CEO’s PA, approaching and smiling in a way that pretended to be friendly but wasn’t particularly.
It was annoying to be caught out like this. Relations between her and Jackie were not straightforward. Jackie considered herself superior to Bella, but Bella felt better educated and brighter and didn’t really want to join Jackie and the other assistants at lunch to discuss their latest diets. Jackie took Bella’s standoffishness as a sign that Bella thought herself above administrative work and so always liked to point out all the little ways in which Bella was falling short.
– What do you think of the reorganization? Jackie asked.
– What reorganization?
– Hasn’t anyone said anything to you?
A look of mock surprise crossed Jackie’s face.
– I’ve just done a memo from Stephen to the whole company about changes affecting the Press Office, she went on. I thought everyone here knew –
Bella’s email flashed. She clicked off the Gap fleeces and opened the new message.
Following the departure of Julia Swanson to a new challenge, Press Relations will be integrated with the existing External Relations department going forward and will be overseen by James Staunton in addition to his existing responsibilities. All other positions will remain unchanged. This move is aligned with our strategy of streamlining our support operations to provide critical added value at the point of delivery.
Fantastic, Bella thought. Find out by email that your job has gone only no one bothered to tell you.
– So what happens to me?
Jackie shrugged.
– Don’t worry, she said, I’m sure it will all work out for the best. You could go back to Chemicals – the pace is a bit slower there, and that might suit you better with your family responsibilities. Would you like me to put in a word?
– No. It’s fine. Really.
The clock said ten to five. As a small act of protest at having now lost not only her boss but also her job and having to suffer the patronage of Jackie, she decided to go home nine minutes early. Just as she was getting her coat, the phone went.
– Hi, Bella, how are you?
It was Julia, suddenly sounding different. How odd, Bella thought, that the very minute someone stops being your boss everything changes. Stripped of office, Julia sounded smaller and quieter and almost apologetic in asking her to forward some email addresses.
And then, after she had asked how Molly was and failed to listen to the answer, Julia asked:
– So what’s the gossip? Who’s taking on the poisoned chalice of my job?
Bella considered saying that she didn’t know, but what was the point?
– It’s James, she said.
There was a pause on the other end.
– Really? Is he moving sideways into my job?
There was a note of hope in her voice.
– Um. I think he might be taking on your job in addition to his own, Bella said tentatively.
– You’re not going to work for him, are you? Julia said quickly.
– I don’t think so. He hasn’t asked me. I imagine that he’ll keep his current assistant. So I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing. Which makes a change.
Stella stood before thirty-five management trainees in the refurbished cinema in the basement of the building. They looked impossibly young and serious and had their notebooks out ready to take notes.
Last night she had taken her laptop to bed with her and had meant to plan what she was going to say, but Charles, who had got back slightly drunk from the private screening of a documentary about Afghanistan, seemed to think they might have sex. Stella performed a swift mental calculation. Which would be quicker: to submit at once, in which case she could get back to the presentation within five minutes, or to say no, and have him vaguely clawing at her for the next fifteen minutes? She had hitched up her nightdress and rolled towards him.
Afterwards she hadn’t returned to the presentation as planned, because Charles had insisted that she turned out the light as he was tired and had a production meeting the next day.
The fact that Stella had meetings all day, every day, didn’t seem to count. But she was tired too, and couldn’t be bothered to argue. She would wing it in the morning.
Stephen was just finishing his welcome address. He was brilliant at this sort of thing. What he was saying was nonsense, of course, but the way he said it made one inclined to believe him.
– Diverse people, common goals – that sums up Atlantic Energy. All over the world we look for people who share our ambition to be competitive, successful and a force for good. The way we work is guided by our values – integrity, creativity, dignity, partnership, transparency and sustainability. This is the organization you are joining and we are proud to have you on board. I wanted to say two more things. Welcome. And congratulations. You have joined the most dynamic oil company in the world.
He finished, collected his papers and swooped out, raising an eyebrow at Stella.
Russell stood up and said: Thank you, Stephen, for that. Truly inspirational, as ever. It now gives me great pleasure to introduce you to our next speaker, Stella Bradberry. Stella joined us as a management trainee, in – hope I’m not betraying any trade secrets – 1986. At this moment in time I think it’s fair to say that Stella is the most senior woman in the company. Not only does she head up Economics, Strategy and Planning, she has driven the diversity initiative, and she has been one of the key players supporting our work/life balance programme. That’s it. You don’t want to hear me droning on. Stella, over to you.
Stella got up.
– Thanks, Russell. Do you mind if I disagree with almost every word you’ve just said?
There was some embarrassed laughter.
– Alas, the only thing I agree with is that I joined in 1986, but I’m not wild about being reminded of that. I feel old enough already. As for me being the most successful woman in the company, I really don’t like this idea at all. I don’t measure myself against other women, though I don’t really think I measure myself against other men either. I just try to do my job well. I don’t always manage it … but that’s the general idea. I think I’m meant to tell you that this is a great place to work. But I’m not going to. I think I’m meant to say that this company values diversity. But that’s all bullshit.
The trainees shifted uncomfortably and Russell gave a pained smile.
– The fact that, as Russell has so kindly pointed out, I have been here for a long time – says something about how much I like it. Twenty-two years ago I was the only woman on this course. Now there are twelve of you. But that in itself means nothing. I’m not passionate about diversity but about hiring really good people and creating an environment in which they can do what they’re great at. Look, I don’t want to give you a lecture. I want to say that I hope you thrive here. And you will thrive if you work hard and use your brains, and every time there is something you don’t know, you find the answer by asking someone. So let’s start as we mean to go on. Over to you. Ask me whatever you like – anything at all – and I’ll do my best to answer…
The trainees said nothing, and Stella looked around the room, smiling expectantly. She hated these moments. The speech had not been quite right: it was too brusque and too strident. She really should have given it some proper thought last night.
Russell broke the silence.
– Well, Stella, thank you, that was incredibly – stimulating. Um. Short but sweet. Let me put a question that I’m sure will be top of mind for everyone. How do you yourself manage to juggle your work and home life, keeping so many balls in the air?
– With difficulty. I’ve got no ball sense whatsoever.
There was a polite murmur of laughter.