You Don't Have To Be Evil To Work Here, But It Helps (7 page)

Cassie shook her head. ‘I’ve only been here five minutes compared with the rest of you.’

‘True. No, I think the worst thing would be the feeling that somehow they’d won - you know, come in here and beaten us at something.’ Connie shrugged. ‘The hell with it. Got anything interesting on today?’

‘Hardly,’ Cassie replied, but as she said it she looked away. The movement caught Connie’s attention like a bramble snagging tights. ‘I’ve got a presentation to work up for the manganese people, and I suppose I’d better do a bit more on the Hollingshead and Farren thing.’ She paused, then went on: ‘Connie, did you ever do one of those?’

Connie’s brow furrowed a little. ‘Sale and purchase? Yes, actually, years ago. Before I joined JWW, even. Not since, though. Not exactly my favourite line of work, to be honest with you.’

‘Ah,’ Cassie said. ‘Well, I can relate to that.’

‘Acting for both sides—’

‘Yes.’

‘But there you go,’ Connie said briskly. ‘It’s legal and it’s profitable, so what the hell. No pun intended,’ she added quickly. ‘And if you overlook the sort-of-creepy-and-yuck side of it, then really it’s just pretty basic contract-drafting. Not exactly rocket science.’ She twitched her nose. ‘Actually, I did some rocket science once. Didn’t like it much, though. Lots of maths and Americans, and very short lunchtimes.’

‘Right,’ Cassie said. Miles away. She knew that look. She also knew, to nine decimal places, when not to interfere. ‘I’d better be getting on,’ Cassie continued, swallowing a gulp of her lukewarm tea. She stood up. ‘I take it you didn’t manage to find out anything. About Them, I mean.’

‘One thing,’ Connie said quietly. ‘He didn’t seem to know who Mortimers are.’

That reached her. ‘You’re kidding.’

‘Which implies,’ Connie said, ‘that whoever they are, they aren’t in the biz. In which case, what the hell are they doing buying up JWW?’

‘I don’t know what to make of that,’ Cassie replied.

‘You know what?’ Connie grinned. ‘Neither the hell do I.’

In her office, Cassie sat down, drew the green folder across the desk towards her, and opened it. She took out a stapled-together wodge of A4, about five-eighths of an inch thick.

This agreement—

But her eyes glanced off the words like gravel chipping off tank armour. What in God’s name had possessed her to phone him like that?

This agreement made the day of 2005 between (1) Hollingshead of 17 Mere View Drive, Mortlake, Surrey (hereinafter ‘the vendor’) and—

Cassie frowned, rummaged in the file for a page of handwritten notes and filled in the client’s missing first names. Which reminded her. What on earth could possibly have induced her to do such a stupid, ditzy—

(hereinafter ‘the vendor’) and (2) the Prince, governors, directors, supreme council and diabolical parliament of the Powers of Darkness (a statutory corporation; hereinafter ‘the purchasers’) witnesses as follows:

(1).

Although, she had to admit, it wasn’t the first time she’d done something like that. And that was the disturbing thing about it. The last time she’d done it, she’d been seventeen and madly in love with— She shuddered slightly. Not a pleasant memory, if you valued your self-esteem.

(1). By a letter of agreement dated the 19th March 2005, the vendor agreed to sell his soul (hereinafter ‘the soul’) to the purchasers in consideration of the sum of money, services and other matters detailed in the first schedule hereto (hereinafter ‘the purchase price’)

She frowned and went back a line. In pencil she inserted the word facilities between services and other matters.

And there was another thing. All right, she’d done a strange, uncharacteristic and bloody stupid thing. The question remained: why? Deliberately, as she corrected a typo in the fifth clause of the contract (if the stupid girl didn’t know how to spell ‘brimstone’, why didn’t she use the spellcheck?), she called up onto her mind’s screen an image of Colin Hollingshead. Yes, Cassie thought, well. Nothing special; absolutely nothing special. She played back as much as she could remember of what he’d said. Nothing special there, either. It was beyond question that she’d fallen for some real waste products in her time, but in each unhappy instance there’d been something that had baited the hook: nice eyes, a Brandoesque swagger, tight buns, a passable imitation of Robin Cook. Colin Hollingshead? Nothing. Nondescript, charmless, thick as a fantasy trilogy, pointy nose, devoid of any vestige of appeal whatsoever. Hand on non-fluttering heart, she wasn’t in love with him one teeny-tiny bit. So why the phone call? It was as though someone else had hijacked her hand and ear and made her do it. Weird.

(7). The vendor covenants with the purchasers that he will not—

(a) in the ordinary course of business commit any mortal sin (as defined by the Mortal Sins Classification and Consolidation Regulations 1975) that would render him liable to eternal damnation irrespective of the terms of this agreement

(b) adhere to any faith sect religion or philosophy whose precepts do not acknowledge the existence of the purchasers

(c) notwithstanding the provisions of the Unfair Contract Terms Act 1968, seek by any act of repentance, absolution, contrition, or charitable good works to frustrate the terms of this contract by incurring divine forgiveness

And yet another bizarre thing. When they’d been talking, after Cassie had given him the folder to take away, and he’d happened to mention that he’d got pins and needles in his foot - deja vu, or whatever it was called: it was as though she’d heard him say exactly those words before. She could practically hear his voice in her head, except that it wasn’t his voice, and when she tried to listen, it faded away. That was definitely part of it; a feeling that she knew him from somewhere, except that it wasn’t him really, just someone identical to him in every respect.

(8). In the event that the Day of Judgement shall occur during the term of this contract, or such other event as may cause the heavens to be opened and the dead to be raised incorruptible, the vendor and the purchasers agree and declare that all issues hereunder arising shall be referred to arbitration in accordance with the provisions of Schedule 16 hereof, the arbitrator’s decision to have effect as though it was an express term of this agreement

Cassie read Clause 8 over again, but her eyes kept slipping off the words like court shoes on a polished floor. That was supposed to be another symptom, wasn’t it, not being able to concentrate at work? Stuff it, she thought, I can’t go on like this; can’t even proof-read a basic standard-form contract without my attention wandering. She stood up, pushed her hair back over her ears, sat down again. Concentrate, dammit.

She couldn’t.

‘Bugger,’ she said aloud, and went to see Connie.

But Connie wasn’t in her office, so Cassie traipsed up three flights of stairs, across two landings and along a very long corridor, to see if Benny Shumway was back from the Bank yet. She was just in time to see the little plywood door in the far wall of his office opening, and Benny clambering through, slamming the door shut and shooting back the seven sturdy bolts. He looked more than usually hassled, and she waited until he’d sat down, taken several deep breaths and wiped the blood off his hands with a swathe of paper towel before she said anything.

‘Did they give you a hard time?’ Cassie asked.

Benny shook his head. ‘No worse than usual,’ he replied, then closed his eyes for a moment. ‘It’s since we started using the goats instead of doves. Sometimes I wish we hadn’t switched over from Barclays. Anyhow,’ he went on, lighting up the trademark Shumway smile (how many times had he been married?

He’d told her, several times, but she couldn’t remember offhand), ‘how’s life in Mergers and Acquisitions?’

She shrugged. ‘Boring,’ she replied. ‘I don’t know, I just can’t seem to keep my mind on my work right now.’

The smile morphed into the equally characteristic Shumway grin. She scowled. ‘Don’t start,’ she said.

‘I wasn’t starting, promise. And besides, a man can dream.’

‘No, you can’t.’

‘All right.’ Benny held up his hands. ‘So it isn’t that, then. What is it? You aren’t fretting over these stupid assessments, are you?’

‘Maybe,’ she lied. ‘Had yours yet?’

He shook his head. ‘But Connie dropped in just before I left for the Bank.’ He raised his eyebrows and sighed. ‘Mind you, she always was the fearless kind. Fearless as two short planks, as my old boss at Robertson’s used to say. And she always gets away with it, too.’

Cassie smiled. ‘I think it helps that she’s too good at her job to sack.’

‘There’s that,’ Benny conceded. ‘But there’s more to it, I think. Really, she’s wasted in Mineral Rights. Should’ve gone in for Pest Control years ago.’ The grin broke out again. ‘She’d have looked pretty cute in chain mail.’

‘I’ll tell her you said that.’

‘Don’t even think about it,’ Benny replied quickly. ‘I have nothing but the deepest respect for Connie, bordering on abject terror.’

‘I’ll have to tell her you said that,’ Cassie replied, with a smile. ‘So, come on, what’ve you found out about Them? You’re always saying how nothing happens in this business without you knowing about it first.’

‘I know,’ Benny said ruefully. ‘For once, however, colour me clueless. Not for want of asking around; but the weird thing is, nobody seems to know anything. Which leads me to the conclusion—’

‘—That They aren’t in the business at all,’ Cassie interrupted.

‘Like Connie was saying. The creep not having heard of Mortimers, and so forth.’

Benny nodded. ‘And that just doesn’t make sense. For one thing, it’s not allowed. Outsiders can’t go around buying into the business, there’s rules about that sort of thing, understandably. I think there’s even a British Standard or something.’

Cassie picked up a paper clip and started to unbend it. ‘One of these days,’ she said, ‘you’re going to have to tell me exactly what did happen, when all the old partners left, and—’

‘They didn’t leave,’ Benny said, with a deep chuckle. ‘Let’s see. Theo Van Spee was killed, ditto Ricky Wurmtoter; last we heard of Judy di CasteP Bianco, she was permanently marooned on the Isle of Avalon; and Humph Wells got turned into a photocopier.’

Cassie couldn’t help shuddering a little at that. ‘Not the big old one in the computer room?’ she said. ‘The one that always chews up spreadsheets.’

Benny laughed. ‘Nah. Humph broke down about three months before you joined, and he was an old model, we couldn’t get the parts. He’s up in the roof space somewhere, along with the broken chairs and the old VAT receipts.’

‘Yetch.’

‘Don’t worry, he asked for it. Long story, I’ll tell you about it some time. No, it’s a rough old game we’re in, and from time to time bad stuff happens. You know that.’

‘Of course. But losing so many partners one after another—’

‘You’re starting to sound like Lady Bracknell.’

‘I’ve heard people talking about some bloke called Carpenter,’ Cassie said. ‘Apparently it was all his fault.’

‘Up to a point,’ Benny replied. ‘Paul Carpenter and Sophie Pettingell. Last heard of happily married and fabulously rich somewhere in New Zealand.’ He paused. ‘You didn’t come here because you’re fascinated by industrial history. What’s the matter?’

‘And wasn’t there another partner, Kurt something, who came to a bad end?’

‘Don’t change the subject.’

‘All right.’ She frowned. ‘God knows why I’m telling you, of all people. You’ll just do your lewd grin and make unregenerate sexist remarks.’

Benny rubbed his hands together. ‘You bet. Go on.’

So Cassie told him; about Colin Hollingshead, and the phone call, and even pins and needles. To her complete surprise, however, Benny didn’t leer, grin, snigger or say things. He hardly moved at all, except that while she was explaining about the deja-vu thing he frowned deeply and put his hand in front of his mouth.

‘Is that it?’ he said.

‘Yes, I think so. You’re pretty quiet.’

He nodded. ‘A bit weird, if you ask me.’

‘Coming from you—’ She glanced across at the plywood door, with its seven massive bolts. ‘Now I’m really starting to worry.’

‘Don’t,’ he said quickly. ‘Honestly, I don’t think it’s something horrible, anything like that. Actually, it sort of reminds me of something, but buggered if I can remember what.’

‘You’re a great help.’

‘Proverbially,’ Benny said graciously, ‘but not on this occasion. Not yet, anyhow, but I promise I’ll give it some thought.’ Suddenly, his face lit up in a huge, no-holds-barred smile that took Cassie completely by surprise. ‘We’ll figure it out, don’t you worry. Meanwhile,’ he went on - the smile vanished as suddenly as it had appeared - ‘I’d better get on with some work. Fortunately, I can think and do mental long division at the same time.’

Cassie headed back to her office. As she was passing the closed file store, she very nearly collided with the palefaced girl whose name nobody seemed able to remember. She apologised. The palefaced girl looked at her intensely for a moment, as if reading small print reflected in Cassie’s eyes.

‘That’s all right,’ said the pale girl. ‘It wasn’t your fault, though you weren’t looking where you were going. But I came round the corner too fast, and I should’ve kept to my side of the corridor. I could easily have trodden on your foot if you hadn’t swerved at the last moment.’

‘Ah,’ Cassie said.

‘So really, it’s me who owes you an apology.’

‘Oh well,’ Cassie said. ‘That’s all right.’

‘Thank you,’ the palefaced girl said gravely. ‘In return, please accept this gift as a token of my appreciation for your forbearance.’

She held out her hand; the fingers were clamped tight around something, and the knuckles were white.

‘Gift?’ Cassie repeated.

‘Present,’ the thin-faced girl explained. ‘Go on, please take it. It’s all right, it won’t bite or anything.’

Cassie looked at the outstretched hand and made no move. ‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said cautiously. ‘What is it?’

‘Take it and you can see for yourself.’

‘Would you mind awfully telling me what it is first?’

The thin-faced girl’s eyebrows cuddled together, then parted. ‘Oh, it’s nothing really. Just a small glass bead.’