now, and as we walk up the pale stone steps, each with a granite panther jumping across it, I start feeling a bit nervous. Paul will want a full report on how the meeting went with Glen Oil.
What shall I say?
Well, obviously I'll be completely frank and honest. Without actually telling him the truth—
'Hey, look.' Katie's voice interrupts me and I follow her gaze. Through the glass front of the building I can see a commotion in the foyer. This isn't normal. What's going on?
God, has there been a fire, or something?
As Katie and I push our way through the heavy revolving glass doors, we look at each other in bewilderment. The whole place is in turmoil. People are scurrying about, someone's polishing the brass banister, someone else is polishing the fake plants, and Cyril, the senior office manager, is shooing people into lifts.
'Could you please go to your offices! We don't want you hanging around the reception area. You should all be at your desks by now.' He sounds completely stressed out. 'There's nothing to see down here! Please go to your desks.'
'What's happening?' I say to Dave the security guard, who's lounging against the wall with a cup of tea as usual. He takes a sip, swills it around his mouth and gives us a grin.
'Jack Harper's visiting.
'
What?
' We both gawp at him.
'Today?'
'Are you
serious
?'
In the world of the Panther Corporation, this is like saying the Pope's visiting. Or Father Christmas. Jack Harper is the joint founder of the Panther Corporation. He
invented
Panther Cola. I know this because I've typed out blurbs about him approximately a million times. 'It was 1987 when young, dynamic business partners Jack Harper and Pete Laidler bought up the ailing Zoot soft-drinks company, repackaged Zootacola as Panther Cola, invented the slogan "Don't Pause", and thus made marketing history.'
No wonder Cyril's in a tizz.
'In about five minutes.' Dave consults his watch. 'Give or take.'
'But … but how come?' says Katie. 'I mean, just out of the blue like this.'
Dave's eyes twinkle. He's obviously been telling people the news all morning and is thoroughly enjoying himself.
'He wants to have a look round the UK operation, apparently.'
'I thought he wasn't active in the business any more,' says Jane from Accounts, who's come up behind us in her coat and is listening, agog. 'I thought ever since Pete Laidler died he was all grief-stricken and reclusive. On his ranch, or whatever it is.'
'That was three years ago,' points out Katie. 'Maybe he's feeling better.'
'Maybe he wants to sell us off, more like,' says Jane darkly.
'Why would he do that?'
'You never know.'
'My theory,' says Dave, and we all bend our heads to listen, 'is he wants to see if the plants are shiny enough.' He nods his head towards Cyril, and we all giggle.
'Be careful,' Cyril is snapping. 'Don't damage the stems.' He glances up. 'What are you all still doing there?'
'Just going!' says Katie, and we head towards the stairs, which I always use because it means I don't have to bother with the gym. Plus luckily Marketing is on the first floor. We've just reached the landing when Jane squeaks 'Look! Oh my God! It's him!'
A limousine has purred up the street and stopped right in front of the glass doors.
What is it about some cars? They look so gleaming and burnished, as if they're made out of a completely different metal from normal cars.
As if by clockwork, the lift doors at the other end of the foyer open, and out strides Graham Hillingdon, the chief executive, plus the managing director and about six others, all looking immaculate in dark suits.
'That's enough!' Cyril is hissing at the poor cleaners in the foyer. 'Go! Leave it!'
The three of us stand, goggling like children, as the passenger door of the limousine opens. A moment later, out gets a man with blond hair in a navy blue overcoat. He's wearing dark glasses and is holding a very expensive-looking briefcase.
Wow. He looks like a million dollars.
Graham
What shall I say?
Well, obviously I'll be completely frank and honest. Without actually telling him the truth—
'Hey, look.' Katie's voice interrupts me and I follow her gaze. Through the glass front of the building I can see a commotion in the foyer. This isn't normal. What's going on?
God, has there been a fire, or something?
As Katie and I push our way through the heavy revolving glass doors, we look at each other in bewilderment. The whole place is in turmoil. People are scurrying about, someone's polishing the brass banister, someone else is polishing the fake plants, and Cyril, the senior office manager, is shooing people into lifts.
'Could you please go to your offices! We don't want you hanging around the reception area. You should all be at your desks by now.' He sounds completely stressed out. 'There's nothing to see down here! Please go to your desks.'
'What's happening?' I say to Dave the security guard, who's lounging against the wall with a cup of tea as usual. He takes a sip, swills it around his mouth and gives us a grin.
'Jack Harper's visiting.
'
What?
' We both gawp at him.
'Today?'
'Are you
serious
?'
In the world of the Panther Corporation, this is like saying the Pope's visiting. Or Father Christmas. Jack Harper is the joint founder of the Panther Corporation. He
invented
Panther Cola. I know this because I've typed out blurbs about him approximately a million times. 'It was 1987 when young, dynamic business partners Jack Harper and Pete Laidler bought up the ailing Zoot soft-drinks company, repackaged Zootacola as Panther Cola, invented the slogan "Don't Pause", and thus made marketing history.'
No wonder Cyril's in a tizz.
'In about five minutes.' Dave consults his watch. 'Give or take.'
'But … but how come?' says Katie. 'I mean, just out of the blue like this.'
Dave's eyes twinkle. He's obviously been telling people the news all morning and is thoroughly enjoying himself.
'He wants to have a look round the UK operation, apparently.'
'I thought he wasn't active in the business any more,' says Jane from Accounts, who's come up behind us in her coat and is listening, agog. 'I thought ever since Pete Laidler died he was all grief-stricken and reclusive. On his ranch, or whatever it is.'
'That was three years ago,' points out Katie. 'Maybe he's feeling better.'
'Maybe he wants to sell us off, more like,' says Jane darkly.
'Why would he do that?'
'You never know.'
'My theory,' says Dave, and we all bend our heads to listen, 'is he wants to see if the plants are shiny enough.' He nods his head towards Cyril, and we all giggle.
'Be careful,' Cyril is snapping. 'Don't damage the stems.' He glances up. 'What are you all still doing there?'
'Just going!' says Katie, and we head towards the stairs, which I always use because it means I don't have to bother with the gym. Plus luckily Marketing is on the first floor. We've just reached the landing when Jane squeaks 'Look! Oh my God! It's him!'
A limousine has purred up the street and stopped right in front of the glass doors.
What is it about some cars? They look so gleaming and burnished, as if they're made out of a completely different metal from normal cars.
As if by clockwork, the lift doors at the other end of the foyer open, and out strides Graham Hillingdon, the chief executive, plus the managing director and about six others, all looking immaculate in dark suits.
'That's enough!' Cyril is hissing at the poor cleaners in the foyer. 'Go! Leave it!'
The three of us stand, goggling like children, as the passenger door of the limousine opens. A moment later, out gets a man with blond hair in a navy blue overcoat. He's wearing dark glasses and is holding a very expensive-looking briefcase.
Wow. He looks like a million dollars.
Graham
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