Having It All (44 page)

Deep in conversation with Peter Glenning was someone who looked as though he had found his way into the wrong party. In his mid-thirties, tall and tanned, with shiny brown hair cut slightly too
long and arresting green eyes, was a man so head-turningly attractive that Liz almost forgot what she was going to say next.

And although she took in the handsewn tweed suit, trendily flecked with purple, and the crisp blue shirt and the Gucci loafers, it was his extraordinary physicality that struck her the most.

It wasn’t the puffed-up machismo of someone obsessed with working out, but the feeling that here was someone whose body, instead of being the usual tiresome encumbrance of the spirit, was
something grand and glorious.

Finally noticing her looking at him, he turned very slightly in her direction. And she realized at once what he reminded her of: a nobleman in an Italian painting, the brown shiny hair, cut just
below his ears was almost medieval, his skin the glowing almond of the Mediterranean, the patrician air of the young prince.

And then he smiled. And it was a smile so provocative and knowing that she realized she was wrong. What he reminded her of wasn’t a Medici or a Borgia but a fallen angel.

Go on, she could almost hear Mel say, cut the crap. You just fancy the guy.

And, as usual, Mel would be right.

As Ginny nudged her five minutes later to remind her it was time for her speech, Liz leaned down and whispered in her ear. ‘Who’s that?’ She indicated the two
men as subtly as she could.

‘Oh him!’ Ginny followed Liz’s glance. ‘But I’ve already told you. That’s Peter Glenning, Chief Exec of Glenningtree Enterprises.’

Liz kicked her. ‘Ginny, not him! You know who I mean!’

‘Oh
him.
’ Ginny’s mouth twitched suspiciously. ‘You mean the sexiest man you’ve ever seen outside of
Playgirl
? Why didn’t you
say?’

‘Well, who is he?’

‘I’ve absolutely no idea.’ Ginny grinned mischievously. ‘But I’m certainly going to find out.’

Although she knew she should be finding her notes Liz couldn’t help stealing one more glance to see if he was as attractive as she’d thought he was. He was. Reluctantly she pulled
herself together. It was time for her speech.

One of the lessons Liz had learned from Conrad was that if you had to make a speech at a party you should keep it as short as was humanly possible. She had once watched Metro’s Chairman
make a speech praising the wonder of Metro Television to a party of invited journalists which was so long and so boring that they all went off and slagged off both him and the company. She
wasn’t about to make the same mistake.

After only five minutes of pithy explanation of WomanPower and its services, and one surprisingly funny joke, Liz stepped down amid genuine applause. Her only appeal had been to ask every guest
to leave a contact name so that they could forget all about business and have a good lunch.

Looking round her Liz wondered if the brevity of her performance hadn’t been at least partly inspired to impress the man in the blue suit and to circulate in his direction as soon as she
possibly could.

But, if so, she was unlucky. As subtly as possible she glanced round the room only to find that he was no longer in it. To her astonishment Liz felt sick with disappointment.

She slipped discreetly to the door and under the guise of seeing how things were going glanced at the clipboard to see if he had, as requested, left his name on it. But there were only three
names down so far. The Recruitment Director for the Kent & Sussex Brick Company, Peter Glenning, and the Personnel Officer for the London Rubber Company, SE division.

‘Have some satay?’ Ginny had appeared at her elbow. ‘It’s hot and spicy.’

‘Thank you, Virginia, but I don’t want anything hot and spicy just at the moment.’

‘Oh no?’ Ginny handed her a stick, following her eyes to the place where the mysterious guest had been standing. ‘You could have fooled me!’

‘God, look at this mess!’ Liz was appalled at the state of the room. The one economy they’d decided on was not to hire waitresses for the launch but to make
do with paper plates and cups and just have a barman. It saved a hundred pounds, but it meant they had to do the clearing up themselves.

As she and Ginny fished about among the scooped-out vol-au-vent cases and removed Silk Cut butts from the dead drinks, Liz wondered if it had been a false economy.

‘Shit-a-brick!’ squeaked Dawn, the new secretary, who was helping them out, faithful to the last. ‘Look at that. What a terrible waste!’

Dawn held out a plate of gooseberry cheesecake. Only one slice remained and as Ginny and Liz studied it they saw why. Stuck in the centre was a ground-down cigar butt.

‘Now who would do a thing like that to a perfectly good slice of cheesecake?’ asked Dawn sticking her finger in the ash-free part. She had been faithfully following the command of
OHB, Office Hold Back, and she was starving.

Ginny and Liz looked at each other, both remembering at the same time the spectacle of their most distinguished guest biting off the end of a Romeo y Julieta and spitting it on the floor.
‘Peter Glenning!’

Liz sat down and groped under the table for the only bottle of wine that had escaped the massed attention of 150 thirsty middle managers, and opened it.

‘I think it’s about time Mr Glenning learned that there’s no such thing as a free lunch.’

‘That’s right!’ Ginny took a large gulp of Sauvignon. ‘Show the bastards!’ She raised her glass and clinked it against Liz’s. ‘To WomanPower! Half a
woman is the best man for the job!’

‘Do you know, Ginny,’ Liz smiled back, ‘I think you’ve just invented our slogan.’

‘Right, Mr Glenning,’ Ginny announced combatively, fishing in her briefcase. ‘Where’s the mobile phone? He’s had time to digest his lunch by now.’ Consulting
her small address book she punched out the numbers and put the phone to her ear.

‘This is Virginia Walker from WomanPower. Could I speak to Mr Glenning please.’

They all three held their breath for what seemed like hours, until the surprisingly friendly voice of Peter Glenning’s secretary came back to the line.

‘I’m afraid Mr Glenning says he’s a bit tied up at the moment, but he would be happy to see you next Thursday at three o’clock, if that’s convenient.’

Liz grabbed the phone. ‘Yes,’ she said calmly, flinging the hand that wasn’t holding the phone above her head in a Rockyesque fist of victory, ‘that would be extremely
convenient!’

She was so excited that she even forgot to ask who his friend had been.

‘Have you seen the photo in the paper yet?’ Ginny’s face told Liz more than words could have that their experiments in the PR field had been less than
successful.

Warily Liz picked up the copy of the
East Sussex Clarion.

Across three columns was a photograph of the model they’d hired sitting behind a word processor. Liz marvelled at how she’d managed to bare enough cleavage to drown in, while at the
same time flashing two feet of thigh, and, the final touch, a glimpse of black fringed knicker. No wonder it had made the front page. The only resemblance she had to a secretary was in one of those
naughty phone-ins where you pay a fiver to be told by a heavy breather where Karen will file your invoices.

‘Oh my God, she looks like a hooker!’

‘I know’ – Ginny had started to giggle – ‘and not even a high-class one at that!’

‘Any calls since it appeared?’

‘Only from someone who wouldn’t leave his name asking for her phone number.’

‘God, I hope this isn’t going to put people off.’

‘Or on. We could always forget WomanPower and start an escort agency.’

‘We may have to.’ Liz tried to sound light-hearted for Ginny’s sake, but she knew things were going badly for them. She had hoped that the party would be the breakthrough they
needed, but to their horror out of the whole 150 only twelve or so had left a contact name and one of them worked for Peter Glenning.

She felt her stomach knot up with tension at the thought of the meeting with Glenning on Thursday. It was becoming more crucial by the moment. Especially after this fiasco, they desperately
needed to be taken seriously. What was it Ross Slater had said? You have to research your customers. Find out what they need before they even know themselves.

She grabbed her coat and headed for the door.

‘Where are you off to?’

‘To London. Companies House to be precise. I’m not an ex-journalist for nothing, you know. By the end of today I intend to know more about Glenningtree than Peter Glenning
does.’

‘Good hunting.’ Ginny picked up the phone and began to call one of the other names on the list. She looked up and grinned. ‘Liz?’

‘Mmm?’

‘Let’s hope he doesn’t get the
East Sussex Clarion
.’

‘Good afternoon. Mrs Ward, isn’t it?’

Peter Glenning smiled wolfishly, adding a third chin to the two that already wobbled every time he pulled on the inch-thick cigar that he kept clenched between his fleshy lips. ‘And this
is . . .?’

‘My partner Virginia Walker. We run the agency together.’

With surprising grace for such a fat man, Peter Glenning pulled out a chair for Ginny and retreated behind his enormous mahogany desk.

‘Would you mind if I took my jacket off? It’s so stuffy in here.’ Glenning removed the jacket of his grey-flannel suit revealing the label Huntsman, Savile Row. Since it
didn’t seem particularly stuffy to Liz she decided he was either trying to create an atmosphere of unpleasant chumminess or show off his status symbol label. Underneath he had red braces and
damp patches under each arm. There was a sudden smell of sweat in the room. Peter Glenning was clearly the kind of man who thought using Lifebuoy was camp.

‘So, ladies, what can I do for you?’

For a moment Liz had to fight a feeling of faintness brought on by sweat, cigar smoke, and the knowledge that so much, so ridiculously much was riding on this meeting.

‘I hope, Mr Glenning, that we can do something for
you
.’ She prayed her smile held all the confidence she didn’t feel. ‘I’ve been doing a little research
into Glenningtree and I’ve come across a number of ways –’

‘Please,’ Glenning interrupted her mid-flow with another of his wolfish smiles, ‘call me Peter.’ He leaned forward in his chair and beamed his attention on her. ‘As
you were saying?’

For a moment, as she was intended to, Liz lost her track. What the hell
had
she been saying? Daisy had been waking up twice a night for weeks now, and as a result if she lost
concentration for a single second she forgot what she was about to say next.

After a fractional pause, Ginny nudged her. ‘About the research you’d been doing into Glenningtree.’

‘Oh. Yes. And it seems to me there are a number of areas in which WomanPower could contribute.’

‘Do enlighten me.’

Was she imagining it or was there a hint of veiled sarcasm in his tone?

‘Your insurance division, for one. I’ve noticed you employ largely women and that you have a very high turnover of staff. I asked around, very discreetly, about this and discovered
that local mothers find it hard to work the pattern you need. So I took the liberty of drawing up an alternative flexible plan which would mean you’d keep your staff much longer and that
they’d work well for you because they’d be grateful.’

‘Did you indeed?’ The sarcasm was more open this time.

Liz decided to ignore it. ‘I also noticed that although you employ ninety per cent women, you have no women at all in management grades and I wondered why that might be.’ Liz made
sure there was not the slightest hint of aggressiveness or criticism in her voice. ‘I wondered whether perhaps you hadn’t been able to get the right calibre of women, and thought that
maybe next time you’re considering a promotion I could send over some CVs. We have some extraordinarily well-qualified women on our books. Accountants, management consultants, all types of
office staff –’

‘Mrs Ward,’ Peter Glenning interrupted, and Liz noticed that his voice had moved subtly from sarcasm to rudeness, ‘there are no women on my management team because it has been
my experience that women are unreliable. They get married. They have children. The children get tummy ache and what was previously a hard-headed professional feels she has to run home to hold the
basin.’

Oh God, thought Liz, not the same old arguments. Why couldn’t employers ever see the advantages of working mothers instead of harping on about their drawbacks. They were obvious
enough.

‘With the greatest of respect, Mr Glenning, working mothers do
not
rush home every five minutes.’ Liz fervently hoped that Peter Glenning never bumped into Conrad to verify
this fact. ‘And if they do take the odd half-hour off for an emergency they more than make up for it.’ She kept her voice calm and friendly even though she wanted to slap his fat face
until his chins wobbled. ‘In fact, the reverse is true. Working mothers are an excellent investment. No long lunches, no gossiping on the phone, no drinks after work, no office romances to
take their mind off making money for you. They just keep their head down and get on with the job.’

Glenning said nothing, but she could see from his expression that he wasn’t convinced. ‘So you think I should let WomanPower find me some top-notch women to put on my management
team?’

Liz nodded. Maybe she was getting somewhere after all.

Peter Glenning reached down under his desk for something. ‘And will they look like this, Mrs Ward?’

Oh Jesus, he was holding a copy of the
East Sussex Clarion.

He glanced down at the girl’s pouting provocativeness and then back at Liz again. ‘I’m afraid I’ve always believed, Mrs Ward, that a woman’s place is in the
bedroom, not the board-room. And now if you’ll excuse me, I’m afraid I’ve got someone waiting outside to see me.’

‘What was that about working mothers not drinking after work?’ Ginny poured them out the last glass in the bottle and put her arm round Liz. ‘What a bastard!
You should have seen the way he looked at you when he said that stuff about a woman’s place being in the bedroom! He was loving every moment of it. I thought he was going to have an orgasm
all over the
East Sussex Clarion
.’