A very Corporate Affair Book 1 (The Corporate Series) (15 page)

                I set my iPhone to record, and invited her into the room. The interim manager told her that due to her misuse of company property, doing personal business in company time, and her refusal to assist my team with a task that fell within her job description, she would face a disciplinary hearing next week. He told her she could have a colleague or trade union representative with her, and asked her to concentrate on the tasks she was given to do. She promptly went back to her desk and started crying. The manager escaped to type his letter, leaving me to deal with her.

                "Listen, why don't you take a tea break, compose yourself?" I suggested.

                "You just want to get rid of me," she howled, spraying spittle and snot over her already rusty typewriter.

                 "No, I just want you to do the job that you're paid to do," I said coldly. "Marion, the law says that these contracts must be done. I don't make the law, I just administer it. Mr Porenski has fifty thousand employees, he can't do payroll by hand. He needs this done and correct before the end of the month, otherwise people won't be paid on time, and that's not fair on them."

                She stopped crying, and sniffed. "I don't know how to use a computer."

                "That's what we're here for. When we get this under control, I'll teach you how to switch it on and do the things you need to do. It's not as complicated as those ledgers. I need to get it under control first though."

                "Ok, I'll help."

                With Marion's assistance, we began to motor. In between finding files, she helped the interim guy find the entries for each person in the ledger, and he showed her how to pull up an employee file, and enter the pay amount. I managed to find a moment to text the address to Oscar, and brush down my dusty dress. I called Ivan to let him know we were getting on top, and everything was going smoothly. I also called Lewis, as I knew he'd be like a cat on a hot tin roof until I reassured him that everything was progressing as planned.

                We completed our 150 target by four, and even managed to squeeze in a few extras. By 4.30, I congratulated the team, and sent them home for the weekend. I went into the ladies and retouched my makeup before collecting my weekend bag from Roger, sending him home, and heading out into the fresh air to meet Oscar.

                He stepped out of a black range rover, and took my bag before opening the passenger door for me. "Hard day?"

                "Just a bit. I feel like I've been run over by a steamroller. I wanted to look my best to meet your friends, and instead I'm covered in dust."

                He brushed some dust off my shoulder before kissing me quickly. "That bad?"

                "Yup. Paper everywhere, a mad old bat who cried and sprayed me with snot, and about forty years worth of dust. I need a drink. How was your day?"

                "Well my office was nice and clean. Had a lunch with another bank chairman, and signed a couple of things, so not terribly taxing."

                 I didn't reply, preferring to watch Oscar drive. He drove confidently through the winding lanes, his soft hands caressing the leather steering wheel. He seemed to relax in front of my eyes.

                "Do you prefer Sussex to London?" I asked.

                "Oh yes. I love the countryside. I feel like a fish out of water in the city sometimes," he said without hesitation. "I grew up here, lived here until I went to university. Well, in the school holidays that is."

                 "I would never have pegged you as a country boy. You seem very urbane."

                 "Sometimes people aren't everything they seem at first glance. You should know that..." I was just about to get upset, when he went on, "what with being a lawyer."

                 "Hmm." I said, looking out of the window at the beautiful countryside.

                  About ten minutes later we pulled up at a pair of enormous, wrought iron gates. Oscar tapped a code into a keypad by the side of them, and slowly they swung open. He drove on, down a long, winding driveway, flanked by trees. It seemed to go on for ages. Eventually, the trees stopped, and the road widened to give me my first view of Conniscliffe Castle.

                 "It's beautiful," I gasped, as it loomed up above us, perched on top of a hill.

                 "Thank you. Glad you approve."

                 Oscar pulled up outside an ornate entrance. The huge, doors swung open, and a uniformed man appeared. He opened my door, and proceeded to take my weekend bag from the back seat. I hopped out of the car, and followed Oscar into the castle. The entrance hall alone took my breath away. It was completely panelled in intricately carved mahogany, with a majestic sweeping staircase dominating the centre. It was carpeted in thick, deep red, and every piece of furniture looked like it was a priceless antique.

                 I'd expected it to smell like a musty old castle, like the ones I'd visited on school trips as a child. The only smell was furniture polish, and perfume from the large arrangement of flowers on a scalloped mahogany side table.

                "The others are already here sir. They are in the drawing room with your mother."

                "Thank you Jones. Elle, what would you like to drink?"

                "I would love a glass of wine if that's ok." Oscar took my hand and led me down a wide corridor towards where I could hear voices.

                "Call my mother Lady Golding." Oscar whispered before we walked in. I smiled up at him gratefully. It would never have occurred to me to ask him how to address her. I plastered my professional smile on as we walked through the ornately carved door into the vast drawing room. There were about ten people sitting on the various sofas and damask covered chairs. They all looked up as we entered.

                "Hello everyone, glad you all made it ok." Oscar smiled at everyone, "I'd like to introduce my close friend, and lover, Elle Reynolds." He took me round the room, introducing me to all the hooray Henrys and Henriettas, before I came face to face with his mother.

                "Mother, this is Elle, Elle, this is my Mother."

                "I'm delighted to meet you Lady Golding," I said, shaking her proffered hand. She smiled graciously, but the smile didn't reach her eyes.

                "Such a pretty girl Oscar, I can see why you like her. Tell me Elle, is that your natural hair colour?"

What? Is this woman rude or nuts? What a thing to ask!

                "Oh yes, completely natural."

                "How fascinating. It looks dyed."

                "No, I'm fortunate that I don't need to colour it yet. No grey hairs." I looked pointedly at her dyed brown hair, with a touch of grey root peeking out at her hairline." She glared at me.

                "Oscar tells me that you have to work for a living. It's odd how he has a fascination for working class girls ever since rehab and that terrible addiction problem."
What addiction problem? What a bitch.

                "I'm a corporate lawyer, that's hardly considered working class Lady Golding." I almost spat out the 'lady' prefix. She was anything but.

                "Oh wow, that is so hard to get into!" an enthusiastic voice squealed. Bunty/Minty or whatever her name was, must have taken pity on me. "The training takes absolutely yonks, doesn't it Elle?"

                "Took me about six years."

                "Come and sit next to me and tell me all about it," she said, patting the seat next to her. "One of Harvey's friends did it. Said it was really tough to get into. Harvey's my brother by the way." She smiled a genuine smile, and I let out the breath I'd been holding. Oscar sat next to me, and firmly grasped my hand, despite the death stare his mother shot him. At that moment, I felt sorry for him. His mother was probably the coldest person I'd ever met, and I felt a lesser woman than I would have run from the room within the first two minutes. I flexed my steel backbone, and put my impassive face on, concentrating on the conversations going on around me. I heard Oscar call the girl next to me Minty.

                "So did you have to go to uni?" Asked Minty.

                "Yes, I went to Cambridge. Did you go to uni?"

                 "Edinburgh, did art history. Pretty pointless but made some nice friends."

                 "Do you work?"

                 "Oh no, I do some charity stuff sometimes, but that's all. How did you meet Osc?"

                 "I live in the apartment above his. I quite literally walked into him in the lift." I glanced over at Oscar, who smiled and squeezed my hand.

                 Minty clapped her hands together, "that's so romantic, and he turned out to be a handsome lord who lives in a castle! It's like a fairy tale"

                 "I only just found out about that part," I said loudly enough for his mother to hear. I had a brief reprieve when the butler arrived with glasses of wine for both Oscar and I. I sipped mine gratefully, and listened to one of the men tell everyone about some gossip regarding a minor royal.

                Oscar turned to me, "would you like the guided tour?"

                "That would be great." He took my glass, and placed it on a side table, before standing, and telling the others that he was going to show me around. His mother appeared to have swallowed something sour, given how pursed her lips were.

                 "Your mother didn't like me," I whispered as soon as we were out of the room.

                 "She doesn't like anyone, even thinks the Queen's a bit common, so don't take it personally. Now can you see why I wanted to call you 'a friend'?"

                 "Yes. The others seem nice though."

                 "They are. Don't worry about mother. She won't be around much this weekend. Now, this is the gallery, that's a Turner on the wall." I stood looking at it, Oscar behind me, clasping my shoulders as I gazed at the picture of a idyllic rural scene. We moved down the gallery, stopping at each painting as he explained the artist and the subject. We stopped in front of a Raphael, and Oscar rested his chin on my shoulder, his hands clasped around my waist, as he stood behind me, telling me the story of the painting. He seemed far more affectionate and tactile than I was used to, and I found myself really enjoying his company. I decided to ask him about the addiction his mother mentioned another time.

                 "Have you shown her your Faberge collection yet?" A loud voice boomed out. A tall, ruggedly handsome man came striding towards us. "It's his normal chat up line, you know, come look at my pretty eggs," the man teased, smirking at Oscar, who punched him playfully on the arm.

                 "No I haven't yet, and anyway, I don't need to chat her up, I've done that bit already. I was just showing her my paintings."

                 "Beware if he offers to show you his etchings," he carried on, before offering his hand, "Darius Cavendish. Delighted to meet you." I shook his outstretched hand firmly.

                 "Pleased to meet you Darius. How do you two know each other?"

                 "Best friends since prep school. Went to Eton and Oxford together too. Can't seem to shake the miserable old bugger off, no matter where I go." Darius grinned as Oscar punched him again. "I have to say, Elle, I have never seen a girl stand up to Osc's medusa of a mother before. Most girls wither in front of her. Well done for holding it together. Don't let her bother you."

                 "I don't intimidate easily, thankfully." I replied. Oscar slipped his arm around my shoulders.

                 "This is the one that stood up to Porenski and called him out on some dodgy tactics," he said proudly. "More than a match for mother."

                 "Of course, so this is her," said Darius, realisation dawning, "oh well, you will definitely be able to keep the old girl in her place. Oscar told me about that a couple of weeks ago. Has Porenski forgiven you yet?"

                 "Oh yes, he engaged my firm last week." I said.

                 "He wanted Elle on his side, that's why," said Oscar.

                 "Quite a coup for you. Bet your bosses are pleased. Anyway, I wanted to come and warn Oscar, your mother knows about Lucinda Rothschild and Theo splitting up." Darius looked serious.

Oscar groaned. "How did she find out?"

                 "Lady Rothschild I gather. Just thought forewarned was forearmed. She'll be particularly unpleasant to Elle this weekend."

                 "Who's Lucinda Rothschild?" I asked.

                 "My mother's idea of the perfect wife. Only problem is that she's pig ugly and hideously fat," said Oscar.

                 "But she has a title and a bank in the family," interjected Darius, "so the lazy eye and thunder thighs are just a little inconvenience, and apart from the fact that you would end up with ugly kids, did I mention that she has a moustache?"

                 I giggled, "poor girl doesn't sound like she has much going for her."

                "About a trillion quid probably helps," said Darius, "the clues in the surname."

                "If you were a bit short maybe, but I'm kind of assuming that Oscar's pretty comfortable." Oscar hugged me, and grinned at Darius.

                "She's priceless isn't she?" Oscar said, giving me a loud, wet kiss on the cheek. "Come see my pretty eggs, then we'll see if we can fit you out with a suit of armour for pre-dinner drinks with my ever toxic mother."

                 "Seat Elle between you and me Osc, that way we can both look after her," said Darius, sympathy in his eyes. He headed back to the drawing room, while Oscar steered me into what he described as the  'garden room'. It was lined with glass cases along the walls, and had enormous French windows at the far end.

                 He pulled me towards one of the cases. "Have you ever seen a Faberge egg?" I stared at the collection of elaborately decorated eggs. Their jewel like colours enhanced by the subtle but clever lighting inside the cabinets. Each one was probably worth a fortune, and I was looking at a collection of six.