The call didn’t come until late in the afternoon. Jane had been on tenterhooks since Alistair had delivered the news, and by the time Arthur Timms' private secretary called to invite her up to the seventeenth floor, the whole of Head Office knew what had happened.
‘You’ve no doubt heard the stories about Mr Jonson’s unexpected departure,’ Timms said, brushing a hand over his slicked-back grey hair.
Jane nodded. There was no use denying it.
‘I wish I knew where these damn rumours came from.’
She had a pretty good idea but said instead, ‘Is it true then?’
‘Yes. Yes, I’m afraid it is. Mr Jonson has been suffering from overwork ...’
Overwork? Him? Hah!
‘... and has been for some time. I take the blame, of course. I should have recognised the symptoms sooner. It’s early days yet, but we may have to consider premature retirement. In the meantime, it’s an important role and I need someone to step up to bat for him. As his deputy, Ms Child, you would seem to be the obvious candidate.’
There was something about the way he stressed the word seem that Jane found mildly discouraging.
Timms arched an eyebrow. ‘So my question to you is, are you up for it?’
Jane regarded him squarely and nodded. ‘I think so, yes.’
I have only been propping that oily idiot up since the day I started working for him.
‘Only, you are ...’
A woman?
‘... rather young.’
Hell’s bells, I’m thirty-four. Still, thanks for the compliment.
‘How long have you been with us now?’
‘The bank?’ Jane said. ‘Twelve years. The last seven here at head office.’
‘And you’ve been under Mr Jonson for what, the last year or so?’
I wouldn’t put it quite like that. In fact, I wouldn’t put it like that at all.
Jane nodded.
‘Well, if you think you can cope.’ Timms frowned. ‘Only on a temporary basis, of course, but as of now consider yourself acting Divisional Manager of International Business.’
Jane felt a flush of pride and had to grit her teeth to stop herself from smiling. Grinning probably wasn’t the best way to react to the illness of a colleague, even if it did mean promotion.
‘Does that mean I’ll be taking over his office?’ she asked.
‘Move up here? No, no, no. This only a temporary arrangement. He may be back with us in a week or two. We shall have to await word from the doctors.’
‘And ... if the news isn’t good?’
Timms massaged an eyebrow. ‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. In the meantime it’s close ranks and carry on. Yes?’
His tone told her the meeting was over. She nodded, thanked him, asked for her best wishes to be conveyed to Mr Jonson, and left the seventeenth floor with as much calm dignity as she could muster. Only once the lift doors closed did she allow herself a quiet ‘Yes!’ and a clenched fist of victory.
It was a short-lived victory. By the time she reached the ninth floor she realised she’d missed two things – or rather, Arthur Timms had. No pay rise had been mentioned, even a temporary one. Technically, she was taking on a lot more responsibility. And if Jonson had to be pensioned off due to overwork, what about Jane, who would now ostensibly be doing two jobs – his as well as her own?
Minor points, she conceded. Once she’d proved her worth – and she was certain she would – the sky was the limit. Perhaps one day she’d even replace Sir Arthur Timms. She could see the headlines now: the Financial Times proclaiming the bank’s first female CEO ...
The lift pinged and she crossed the floor to be greeted by expectant looks from her cubicle-mates. Struggling to keep her face deadpan, she walked in and took her seat.
‘Well?’ Alistair demanded. ‘What did Timid Timms have to say for himself?’
Jane turned to Barry with an imperious look. ‘Is he talking to me?’ she asked. ‘Why is he not on his knees, grovelling?’
‘Fuck me blind!’ Alistair said. ‘She’s only bloody gone and got it!’