Chapter 69: Chapter Sixty-Nine

I can hear them, but probably most others can’t, even if they’re listening. But Irene’s close to him. Too close. Well inside the boundaries of ‘personal space’.

He stands his ground, not backing away, grit in his words. “As I explained at the table, Irene, Elizabeth is not a secretary. She's an intern.”

“Oh, yes, a trainee. Even better.” She lays a hand on his chest. “I can't say I ever expected to find you dipping your nib in the office ink. And especially with a trainee.”

“A trainee? Yes, Elizabeth is still learning the business, but one day, she will be on my Board…” There’s mockery in his tone…  “… And I might remind you, Irene, that you lost interest in the construction worker’s son, until it dawned on you that the package came with the money. And by then, you’d already married what you considered the better bet.”

She grows shrill, waspish. “And you think your trainee has no interest in the money?”

“Sure she does...” Irene blinks, her lips parting. “… Only a fool wouldn't be interested in the money. And Elizabeth is no one's fool...” And now, he moves closer to her. Looks down on her. His voice gentles. “… But the point, my dear Irene…” He taps a fingertip to her nose… “… is that the money is not Elizabeth’s motivation.”

“Oh? And what else do you think it would be? Marrying a man old enough to be her father? “

My Master laughs, backing away a step or two. “And there, Irene, we have it. Sheer envy speaking. Yes, Elizabeth is younger than I am. And by quite a lot. But she's younger than you too, isn’t she.” His smile widens. “Tell me, how much have you spent on surgery so far?” Her expression freezes… “You should slow down a bit, you know. That smile of yours is even more fake than it ever was.”

She stiffens. Pinch-cheeked and flat-lipped, she spins and walks away.

My Master scans the floor, looking one way then the other, his eyes first passing over me, then swinging back to settle. He cocks his head.

Winking, I tilt my glass toward him.

His eyes crease and he makes as though to move toward me, then is interrupted by some guy in a suit tapping him on the arm. He throws me a look of apology, then plasters on an expression of polite interest as he ducks his head to listen.

Retreating as best I can into a neighbouring recess, I watch the mill and whirl of people, some obviously making small talk, some in vociferous argument. The band play on the stage. In fact, they’re not bad and after a few moments, I find myself humming along, swinging my glass in time with the music.

After a minute, it dawns that I’m not the only one in my lurking spot. A young woman stands to one side of me. Early twenties maybe, very blonde, very pretty, she’s watching me in a wasn’t-watching-really sort of way.

I nod her way. “Hi.”

“Hi. You’re, um… You’re Beth Haswell, aren’t you?”

“That’s right.”

“I saw you under the spotlight earlier. Belle of the ball. Why are you hiding back here?”

“Because I was under the spotlight. I’m pretty new to all this.” Then, scanning my memory for anything I might have missed, “I’m sorry, but should I know who you are?”

She manages to combine a laugh with a shrug. “Not really. It’s new to me too. But you might know my uncle. Konrad Schmidt.”

My brain roams, then grabs onto a snatch of info. “Schmidt? Editor-in-Chief at City News?”

“That’s him.”

“So… You’re part of the company? You’re a journalist?”

“I wish. Wannabe journalist, yes.” She grimaces. “Everyone assumes that because I’m family, my uncle’d push me up the ladder. Instead, he keeps me on the leash writing horoscopes and obituaries. Says I'm not doing more than that till I come up with a decent piece.”

She gulps at her wine, then, “Fact is, he doesn’t put women on anything more challenging than fashion interviews. I want to do real news. Politics. Crime. What’s taking the City forward. Things that make a difference to people. Not what the in hemline is for this season’s frocks.”

I absorb that over a sip of my wine. “So… how do you get a decent piece without your uncle ‘letting you off the leash’?”

“Excellent question.” She jabs a finger at me. “Very penetrating question. Maybe you should try for the job I want.”

“I have zero ambitions to be a journalist. Trust me, I have my hands full already.” She droops, her face glum. “Catch-22? You have to get the piece in order to get the permission to get the piece?”

She clicks her tongue. “You got it.”

I waver…

But not for more than about a quarter of a second…

“Claudia, my husband was very specific that he wouldn’t give any interviews this evening. No reporters have anything other than a few polite platitudes from him. Would an exclusive interview with Richard Haswell help your position with your uncle?”

Her eyes widen. “You kidding?” She shakes her head.  “Why would you do that? I’m a stranger to you.”

“Let’s say that I get what it means to feel unappreciated by family. And to have your gender treated like an affliction. Besides, everyone deserves a leg up.”

I thumb across to where, I now see, my Master, although still mouthing Ah-ha? and Is that so? to the bore hogging his company, is watching me from across the floor. “Look at the leg up I got.”

“Oh…” I raise a finger. “I’ll ask him for you, but it's on the strict condition that you pass whatever you write by me and my husband first, before it goes to press.”

“Abso-flippin’-lutley.”

Catching his eye again, I chin-jerk toward Claudia, already pulling out her mobile, opening some recording app. Forehead furrowed, he makes some excuse, then strolls across. Head canting, “Elizabeth? What…?”

“Richard, have you met Miss Schmidt here? She was hoping to have a few words with you.”

Her hand thrusts forward. “Delighted to meet you, Mr Haswell.”

“And you…” He accepts the hand, then hesitates. “Schmidt, was it? Any relative of…?”

“He’s my uncle.”

“Ah…” Caution tip-toes through the word. “And what is it you would like to discuss, Miss Schmidt?”

She flounders, but I step in for her. “Claudia hopes to break into journalism, but her uncle is… unsympathetic. I suggested that if she could present him with a few words from you, it might encourage him to… modify… his attitude.”

“Ahhh…” My Master rubs at his neck. “I believe I understand. Konrad is notoriously resistant to female authority. He’s known for the resilience of his glass ceiling.”

“I can see you know my uncle well, Mr Haswell.”

Casual, charming, his lips curve. “I’d be happy to talk with you, Miss Schmidt. What would you like to discuss?”

Her mouth opens and closes, then, “This charity gala perhaps? The motivations for the event and others like it. Who benefits from the funds raised? And you and your corporation. How do you benefit?”

“Excellent questions. And very relevant. Why don’t we find a quieter spot so we can talk properly?” One palm cupping her elbow, the other gesturing forward, he guides her to a table toward the rear of the hall, but in clear view of the gathering.

I hover, not too close by, partly watching the main hall, but catching snatches of the conversation…

“… and by directing funds toward quality housing… By assisting the homeless off the street…”

“… Training is important. There’s an old saying about Teach a man to fish…”

Claudia’s thumbs dance over the screen.

A figure detaches itself from the throng. Strolling across, glass in hand, apparently casual, nonetheless, his lips are tight. Disapproval draws at his cheeks. “Claudia, Sweetie. I do hope you’re not making a nuisance of yourself. Mr Haswell is an important man. My apologies, Richard. Sometimes young people get ahead of themselves…”

My Master remains seated, flinging an arm over the back of his chair. “Not at all, Konrad. Miss Schmidt and I were having a fascinating discussion on the implications of charity as handouts versus managing the available funds as enablers for the recipients. Training and suchlike. It evolved into an impromptu interview…” Schmidt’s eyes widen, darting between his niece and my Master. “… She’s made several pertinent points with regards to Big Business which I’ll be addressing at my next board meeting.”

Claudia taps off her phone app, then stands, offering her hand. “Thank you very much for your time, Mr Haswell. I have so enjoyed it.”

“My pleasure, Miss Schmidt. And it’s Richard.” Schmidt shifts on his feet.

Her cheeks flush. “Well, thank you, Richard. And I’ll be sure to send you a copy of my story before it goes any further.”