“Oh, yes.” I color slightly. “Well, it was nothing. I just noticed an anomaly in the way they were structuring their finances.”
“You obviously made a great impression on him.” Arnold raises his bushy eyebrows. “He wants you to work on all his deals from now. Excellent, Samantha! Very well done.”
“Er … thanks.” I glance at Ketterman, just to see if by any remote chance he might look impressed. But he’s still frowning impatiently.
“I also want you to deal with this.” Ketterman puts a file on my desk. “Marlowe and Co. are acquiring a retail park. I need a due diligence review in forty-eight hours.”
Oh, bloody hell. My heart sinks as I look at the heavy folder. It’ll take me hours to do this.
Ketterman’s always giving me extra bits of mundane work he can’t be bothered to do himself. In fact, all the partners do it. Even Arnold. Half the time they don’t even tell me, just dump the file on my desk with some illegible memo and expect me to get on with it.
And of course I do. In fact I always try to get it done just a bit faster than they were expecting.
“Any problems?”
“Of course not,” I say in a brisk, can-do, potential-partner voice. “See you at the meeting.”
As he stalks off I check my watch. Ten twenty-two. I have precisely eight minutes to make sure the draft documentation for the Fallons deal is all in order. Fallons is our client, a big multinational tourism company, and is acquiring the Smithleaf Hotel Group. I open the file and scan the pages swiftly, checking for errors, searching for gaps. I’ve learned to read a lot faster since I’ve been at Carter Spink.
In fact, I do everything faster. I walk faster, talk faster, eat faster … have sex faster …
Not that I’ve had much of that lately. But two years ago I dated a senior partner from Berry Forbes. His name was Jacob and he worked on huge international mergers, and he had even less time than I did. By the end, we’d honed our routine to about six minutes, which would have been quite handy if we were billing each other. (Obviously we weren’t.) He would make me come—and I would make him come. And then we’d check our e-mails.
Which is practically simultaneous orgasms. So no one can say that’s not good sex. I’ve read Cosmo; I know these things.
Anyway, then Jacob was made a huge offer and moved to Boston, so that was the end of it. I didn’t mind very much.
To be totally honest, I didn’t really fancy him.
“Samantha?” It’s my secretary, Maggie. She only started three weeks ago and I don’t know her very well yet. “You had a message while you were out. From Joanne?”
“Joanne from Clifford Chance?” I look up, my attention grabbed. “OK. Tell her I got the e-mail about clause four, and I’ll call her about it after lunch—”
“Not that Joanne,” Maggie interrupts. “Joanne your new cleaner. She wants to know where you keep your vacuum-cleaner bags.”
I look at her blankly. “My what?”
“Vacuum-cleaner bags,” repeats Maggie patiently. “She can’t find them.”
“Why does the vacuum cleaner need to go in a bag?” I say, puzzled. “Is she taking it somewhere?”
Maggie peers at me as though she thinks I must be joking. “The bags that go inside your vacuum cleaner,” she says carefully. “To collect the dust? Do you have any of those?”
“Oh!” I say quickly. “Oh, those bags. Er …”
I frown thoughtfully, as though the solution is on the tip of my tongue. The truth is, I can’t even visualize my vacuum cleaner. Where did I put it? I know it was delivered, because the porter signed for it.
“Maybe it’s a Dyson,” suggests Maggie. “They don’t take bags. Is it a cylinder or an upright?” She looks at me expectantly.
“I’ll sort it,” I say in a businesslike manner, and start gathering my papers together. “Thanks, Maggie.”
“She had another question.” Maggie consults her pad. “How do you switch on your oven?”
For a moment I continue gathering my papers. “Well. You turn the … er … knob,” I say at last, trying to sound nonchalant. “It’s pretty clear, really.…”
“She said it has some weird timer lock.” Maggie frowns. “Is it gas or electric?”
OK, I think I should terminate this conversation right now.
“Maggie, I really need to prepare for this meeting,” I say. “It’s in three minutes.”
“So what shall I tell your cleaner?” Maggie persists. “She’s waiting for me to call back.”