Page 14 of Behind Frenemy Lines

Kriya

I was alone in the office when Arthur came in, my first day back after my holiday in Malaysia.

“Morning,” he said.

I whipped around, my heart going into overdrive. It was the first time I’d seen Arthur since the night he’d hit on me in Hong Kong, more than a week ago.

I wasn’t feeling great. I’d struggled to get to sleep the night before.

I was too anxious about seeing Arthur again, after what had happened.

I’d thought about working from home, so I wouldn’t have to come in, but Swithin Watkins were strict about being in on your office days—any variation to your working pattern had to be approved in advance, by a partner.

And I would have just been putting off the inevitable, anyway.

Arthur seemed nervous, too. He picked up a ballpoint pen off my desk and started fiddling with it, glancing at the empty desk opposite mine. “Is Charles around?”

“He’s in a meeting. He should be back at eleven. Shall I tell him you’re looking for him?”

Maybe we were pretending nothing had happened. I was very happy to go along with that, if it meant reverting to the safely professional relationship we’d had before.

Arthur shook his head. “I was looking for you. Can we talk?”

There was a rushing in my ears. I said, as steadily as I could, “Sure.”

Arthur leaned against the bank of filing cabinets lining the wall. I had to stop myself from rolling backwards in my chair, so as to put more space between us.

Arthur said, with studied casualness, “How was your trip to Malaysia? Parents well?”

“Yeah.” Though it would have been more accurate to say they were as well as could be expected. There was always something going on with Amma and Appa. This time, when I’d presented my usual gift of a bundle of family-size Cadbury fruit and nut bars—Amma’s favourite—she had said:

“Oh, thank you, thank you, that’s very nice. We should give to Auntie Chew. She can keep in her fridge.”

“They’re for you,” I said. “I didn’t buy so you can give away to the neighbours. Keep them in our fridge.” You didn’t keep chocolate out of the fridge in Malaysia, unless you preferred licking it off the wrapper.

“Oh,” said Amma. “We don’t have a fridge right now.”

It turned out my parents’ fridge had broken down several months before. They’d been doing without by switching to tinned milk powder, going without butter, visiting the wet market twice a day, and—in extremis—having to resort to their long-suffering neighbour Auntie Chew’s refrigeration facilities.

“Why you all didn’t tell me?” I said. “I call you guys every week!”

Amma looked vague. “I forgot. You’re so busy, there’s no time to talk about every single thing.”

I knew and she knew and Appa knew the reason they hadn’t told me was because they didn’t want to admit they couldn’t afford to replace the machine themselves.

Appa received a pension as a retired government servant—it wasn’t that much money, but it should have been enough, especially as I covered their housing costs.

But Appa had never been able to hang on to money. The eldest in a large and improvident family, he was always being touched for loans that the relatives saw no need to repay. Appa could never bring himself to say no, or to ask for the money back.

I dragged him and Amma out to buy a replacement straight away. But the incident had been a salutary reminder that I didn’t have a safety net that would catch me if I lost my job. I was the safety net.

I had to stay on good terms with Arthur.

Not only could he fire me, he could make it difficult for me to land another job.

It wasn’t like I was an employment or data protection lawyer—every company needs one of those.

My legal specialism was niche. It was a small market, and Arthur was one of the most prominent people in it.

He could poison the well for me, if I pissed him off badly enough.

I stared up at Arthur, prepared for anything.

“I wanted to apologise,” said Arthur. “For what happened in Hong Kong. I crossed the line.”

I’d been so braced for the worst that it took a moment for the words to sink in. I didn’t say anything. Arthur hurried on:

“It was a mistake. I’d had a bit too much to drink. I thought you were giving off signals that you were interested…”

Every fibre of my being was saying, Really?! It must have been obvious from my expression, because Arthur broke off and said, “Anyway, I misread the situation.” He cleared his throat. “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“It was uncomfortable,” I said, though my heart was thumping so loud I thought Arthur must be able to hear it. “Our relationship has always been strictly professional. It never occurred to me that you might have anything else in mind. I’ve never seen you in any light but—I mean, you’re my boss.”

Arthur said, “I don’t see it that way.” He was clicking the ballpoint pen he’d nicked from me, compulsively. “You know I don’t care about status in that way. If we’re in the same team, we’re equals. I’ve always seen you as a friend. It’s not about me being the boss and you being my subordinate.”

I couldn’t help thinking about all the evening plans cancelled at Arthur’s behest, all the articles I’d written that he’d put his name to, all the work I’d done to prepare him for meetings and conferences so he could impress clients with his legal expertise.

I didn’t resent him for it—it was how the system worked.

But how could Arthur look me in the eye and say, with a straight face, that he didn’t see status when it came to me?

I couldn’t doubt Arthur meant what he was saying. I’d simply never realised how far his ability to deceive himself went.

“But I want to assure you, it won’t happen again,” said Arthur. “I would never have approached you if I’d known you were seeing someone.”

“I appreciate it, Arthur,” I said. It was a good thing I’d made up a fake boyfriend, after all.

Of course, what he’d done would have been inappropriate whether I was coupled up, or as forever alone as I actually was. But it wasn’t my job to teach Arthur unwelcome truths. My job was to keep my head down, not rock the boat, and survive. I’d learned that much from my childhood.

I was lucky Arthur was being conciliatory. If he hadn’t felt inclined to accept he was in the wrong—if he’d decided to take offence at how I’d behaved—he could have blown up my career. He could still do it, if he was so minded.

Just two weeks ago, I wouldn’t have said Arthur would do something like that. But now—after years of anticipating what Arthur was thinking, jumping in to meet his demands before he’d even expressed them—I could no longer predict what he might do.

Arthur said, “I don’t want this to affect our relationship. I wasn’t thinking straight in Hong Kong, but I was being honest when I said you’re important to me. I want to put this behind us, if you feel able to do that.”

There was nothing I wanted more.

“I’d like that,” I said. “And I appreciate the apology.”

Arthur looked relieved. “Good. Great.”

He couldn’t have been more relieved than I was. This was why I’d invested so many years—almost the whole of my adult life—in working for Arthur. At the end of the day, despite his idiosyncrasies, he was trying.

Everyone made mistakes. Surely what mattered was whether they were willing to acknowledge them and try to do better?

I thought he’d leave, now we’d cleared the air. But Arthur lingered, putting my pen down on Charles’s desk.

“So, this person you’re seeing,” he said. “When did it start? You haven’t mentioned a boyfriend, other than—” He caught himself before saying Tom’s name. “I mean, is it quite new?”

“Er, yes,” I said. “It’s new.”

“How’d you meet?”

I gave him an incredulous look. Arthur’s smile wavered.

“I’d rather not talk about that,” I said, repressing the impulse to apologise. He had forfeited the right to talk about our personal lives for at least the next twelve months or so.

Besides, the more we discussed my mythical boyfriend, the greater the likelihood that Arthur was going to figure out he was a figment of my imagination. I didn’t want him finding out I’d lied to him, when we’d just made things up.

“Right,” said Arthur. “Sorry.”

Awkwardness hung between us, so thick I could practically touch it. Arthur looked woeful, but he also didn’t look like he was going anywhere.

I could feel the expectation, hovering in the air, that I should say it was all right, downplay how he’d broken my trust, soothe his feelings.

I was used to managing Arthur’s feelings—it was a big part of managing him, which was a good 40 percent of my job—but for once, I didn’t feel like playing my role.

Before either of us could decide to break the silence, the door opened and Charles came in. He had his laptop tucked under one arm and a plate of cookies in his other hand.

“You like salted caramel, right?” he said, without precursor.

I blinked. “Yeah?”

Charles placed the plate of cookies on my desk. “Leftovers from the meeting. Do you want some? I’ve got to go back up to fourteenth floor later, I’ll return the plate then.”

“Oh,” I said. “Thanks.” Was this because I’d mentioned salted caramel in passing when we’d had drinks at the Cittie of Yorke?

I hadn’t spoken to Charles since getting back from Hong Kong, apart from exchanging perfunctory greetings when I got in. I still felt a little sore about getting stuck with the bill at the pub. But it was sweet of Charles to remember the salted caramel thing.

“These are the famous Swithin Watkins meeting room cookies, right?” I said. “They look great. Don’t you want them?”

“I’ve had one, thanks,” said Charles. “They’re pretty good, you should try them.”

He looked up and spotted Arthur, apparently for the first time. “Oh, hi. Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” He hesitated.

There was no way for Charles to get to his desk unless he squeezed past Arthur. But Arthur was leaning against the filing cabinets as though he’d been hit with a freezing ray, staring at the cookies on my desk.

“Would you like one?” I said, offering him the plate.

“No,” said Arthur, after a moment. He glanced at Charles, then back at me, his brow furrowing. “No, I’m fine. Thank you.”

Arthur straightened up. He said to Charles, “Let me get out of your way.”