‘You’re working late.’
Liz looked up, startled. She was standing at her assistant’s desk by the clutter of office equipment – fax, binding machine, shredder – waiting for a document to come off the printer.
‘Late? Not especially,’ she said. It was eleven p.m. and frankly she was amazed to see William. All the lights on this floor were off and there was little sign of life, except for the low buzz of a vacuum cleaner. Most days her brother left the office by six thirty, and at drinks, launches, or networking events he stayed less than an hour. Benefit dinners and parties were even worse; if you wanted to find him, he would be standing by the door holding Paula’s coat, waiting for his wife to finish socializing so he could go home. Which is why Liz was on full alert now: if he was in the office so late, there must be a very good reason for it.
William perched on the desk and began drumming his fingers on the edge nervously.
‘I’ve been upstairs with marketing since eight this morning,’ he said. ‘There’s a lot of due diligence questions to sort out.’
He nodded to where she was shuffling papers in the binding machine. ‘Shouldn’t you get your assistant to do all that?’
Liz hated having been caught off guard, but hid her annoyance by pushing hard down on the lever. ‘I’m saving you money,’ she said.
William folded his arms in front of him and looked at his sister intently.
‘Liz, I have to know if you are happy with all this.’
‘All what?’ she asked flatly, putting down her document.
‘Selling Asgill’s. Spinning off Skin Plus. I know you expressed doubts in the board meeting and I know how important Skin Plus is to you, but it’s a good offer from Canopus. You have a sharp, clever brain, Liz: you must know this is the right thing to do.’
Sharp, clever brain indeed, she thought. How she could run circles around him. How she was going to.
‘Yes, I’m upset, William, I won’t deny it, but not for the reasons you think. I’m not upset for greed or hurt pride.’
‘I don’t think that,’ frowned William. ‘So why are you upset?’
She paused, tried to look as solemn as possible.
‘I just don’t think Dad would have wanted us to sell out,’ she said quietly.
A half-smile curled up on his face. ‘Come on, Liz, you of all people wouldn’t make decisions based on sentimentality. Anyway, we’re not closing down by any means – we’re simply offloading the weakest parts of the business and starting again, debt-free, with a brand that has much more potential.’
She had to turn her face away from him, pretending to fiddle with her documents, so he would not see the anger in her eyes.
‘It’s too late to talk about all this,’ she said.
‘Well, you’re right about that,’ he said, misunderstanding her. ‘Paula will be in bed by the time I get home and she’s off to Bermuda tomorrow, so I’m hardly going to see her in the next week.’
Liz had no idea what Paula could be doing in Bermuda but, whatever it was, the thought riled her. Yet more squandering of money, no doubt. William stood up, stretching.
‘Well, I’m glad we’ve talked, Liz,’ he said, touching her arm. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Goodbye,’ she said softly as she watched him disappear down the dark corridor.
And I mean that in every way possible, she added to herself.
She picked up the document she had been holding minutes earlier and smiled. She had quite enjoyed the illicit thrill of almost being caught. Walking back to her desk, she flipped it open and began to read by the thin cone of light from her desk lamp. Is there enough here? she wondered, thumbing through the pages. Yes, there’s plenty.
She slipped the file into a brown envelope and addressed it - with a label from the printer, naturally; she couldn’t have her handwriting on it – to Hugh Montague, an analyst at Petersen’s. Rav had been delighted when Liz had shown so much interest in his friends at the financial institution. After Rav’s gossipy breakdown of their relative strengths and weaknesses, she had chosen Hugh Montague instantly. He was perfect – just moved over from London and keen to make his mark. Rav had even hinted that Hugh might be involved with some slightly shady offshore deals. Oh yes, he sounded perfect, thought Liz, picking up her coat and heading for the blue postbox on the corner of Fifth. I think Hugh Montague and I are going to be very good friends indeed.