the summary pages. She’d learned very quickly it was important to have at least a vague idea what was in your in tray.
She’d arrived early, fighting her way through the Autumn rain. Doug was coming down that evening, and she wanted to be back in good time for him. She’d bought two fillet steaks from the butcher in Leadenhall Market and spent half an hour on the Internet finding out how to cook them. They’d cost thirty pounds, which in Oxford had been a week’s food budget.
The building was almost empty, but when she went into Blanchard’s office to drop off her reports his jacket was already draped over the back of his chair. She could smell his scent in the air, mingled with the ever-present cigar smoke. A folder lay on his desk, red leather with gold writing stamped in the cover.Leather bands tied it shut, and the knots had been covered in something that looked like dried blood. Sealing wax?
Ellie read the gold lettering upside down.
L AZARUS
.
‘What are you doing?’
Blanchard’s voice, behind her and sharp. Ellie spun around and tried not to look guilty. His hard jaw softened into a wolfish smile. ‘You’re dripping all over my carpet.’
He advanced into the room until he was almost touching her. He reached out and pushed a damp lock of hair back behind her ear.
‘You look like a drowned mouse.’
‘I didn’t have an umbrella.’ The rain hadn’t looked so bad from the thirty-eighth floor, but it had wormed its way through her clothes almost as soon as she stepped out the door. ‘I couldn’t find a bus.’
‘Have you heard of such a thing as a taxi?’ Blanchard sounded appalled. Ellie shrank: it had never occurred to her.
Darting around, her eyes fixed on a blemish on Blanchard’s bone-white shirt cuff. She tried not to stare, but Blanchard’s eagle gaze missed nothing.
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’ Embarrassed. ‘There’s a spot of blood on your cuff.’ No response. ‘I wondered if you knew.’
‘A shaving cut.’ He didn’t look. ‘Listen, Ellie. Appearances matter in our profession. The apparel proclaims the man. I know it will take you time to learn the intricacies of this work. I expect it. But please do not let down this company by your presentation.’ A cold smile. ‘I think we pay you enough that you can afford an umbrella. Maybe even a taxi.’
Despite the damp clothes clinging to her skin, Ellie felt prickles of heat all over her body. ‘I didn’t think I’d be meeting clients today.’
‘You never know what the day will bring.’ Blanchard ran his eyes down her, stripping off her sodden clothes with his gaze until she felt entirely naked. ‘There is a shop just off King William Street, a gentlemen’s outfitters but they also cater for women. Take your credit card and buy something dry to change into, everything you need. I will see your statement. If you spend less than a thousand pounds, I shall be very disappointed with you.’
Ellie nodded mutely.
‘And be back within the hour. We have a meeting to attend. The files are on your desk.’
Ellie read the files standing in front of a mirror, while a stooped old man with a tape measure around his neck hemmed and pinned until he was satisfied. The shop next door sold leather goods: on a reckless impulse, she went in and bought a new pair of shoes and a new handbag. Let Blanchard complain about
that
if he wanted.
The Rosenberg Automation Company occupied a dilapidated factory somewhere east of Woolwich, near the river. Ellie arrived looking like a thousand pounds. Part of her felt sick when she thought how much she’d spent on this single outfit; part of her was giddy with the extravagance. And the clothes were immaculate. Every time the skirt’s silk lining brushed against her legs, or the jacket’s smooth seam hugged her shoulder, confidence surged through her.
From skimming the file, she knew that the company had been founded in the 1930s by a Russian émigré Jew. It manufactured control systems for
She’d arrived early, fighting her way through the Autumn rain. Doug was coming down that evening, and she wanted to be back in good time for him. She’d bought two fillet steaks from the butcher in Leadenhall Market and spent half an hour on the Internet finding out how to cook them. They’d cost thirty pounds, which in Oxford had been a week’s food budget.
The building was almost empty, but when she went into Blanchard’s office to drop off her reports his jacket was already draped over the back of his chair. She could smell his scent in the air, mingled with the ever-present cigar smoke. A folder lay on his desk, red leather with gold writing stamped in the cover.Leather bands tied it shut, and the knots had been covered in something that looked like dried blood. Sealing wax?
Ellie read the gold lettering upside down.
L AZARUS
.
‘What are you doing?’
Blanchard’s voice, behind her and sharp. Ellie spun around and tried not to look guilty. His hard jaw softened into a wolfish smile. ‘You’re dripping all over my carpet.’
He advanced into the room until he was almost touching her. He reached out and pushed a damp lock of hair back behind her ear.
‘You look like a drowned mouse.’
‘I didn’t have an umbrella.’ The rain hadn’t looked so bad from the thirty-eighth floor, but it had wormed its way through her clothes almost as soon as she stepped out the door. ‘I couldn’t find a bus.’
‘Have you heard of such a thing as a taxi?’ Blanchard sounded appalled. Ellie shrank: it had never occurred to her.
Darting around, her eyes fixed on a blemish on Blanchard’s bone-white shirt cuff. She tried not to stare, but Blanchard’s eagle gaze missed nothing.
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’ Embarrassed. ‘There’s a spot of blood on your cuff.’ No response. ‘I wondered if you knew.’
‘A shaving cut.’ He didn’t look. ‘Listen, Ellie. Appearances matter in our profession. The apparel proclaims the man. I know it will take you time to learn the intricacies of this work. I expect it. But please do not let down this company by your presentation.’ A cold smile. ‘I think we pay you enough that you can afford an umbrella. Maybe even a taxi.’
Despite the damp clothes clinging to her skin, Ellie felt prickles of heat all over her body. ‘I didn’t think I’d be meeting clients today.’
‘You never know what the day will bring.’ Blanchard ran his eyes down her, stripping off her sodden clothes with his gaze until she felt entirely naked. ‘There is a shop just off King William Street, a gentlemen’s outfitters but they also cater for women. Take your credit card and buy something dry to change into, everything you need. I will see your statement. If you spend less than a thousand pounds, I shall be very disappointed with you.’
Ellie nodded mutely.
‘And be back within the hour. We have a meeting to attend. The files are on your desk.’
Ellie read the files standing in front of a mirror, while a stooped old man with a tape measure around his neck hemmed and pinned until he was satisfied. The shop next door sold leather goods: on a reckless impulse, she went in and bought a new pair of shoes and a new handbag. Let Blanchard complain about
that
if he wanted.
The Rosenberg Automation Company occupied a dilapidated factory somewhere east of Woolwich, near the river. Ellie arrived looking like a thousand pounds. Part of her felt sick when she thought how much she’d spent on this single outfit; part of her was giddy with the extravagance. And the clothes were immaculate. Every time the skirt’s silk lining brushed against her legs, or the jacket’s smooth seam hugged her shoulder, confidence surged through her.
From skimming the file, she knew that the company had been founded in the 1930s by a Russian émigré Jew. It manufactured control systems for
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