Page 19 of Strap In

Jean’s not alone in spending her days in a state of suspense.

A week from now, Andreas Leonides and his entourage will be among them.

When she arrives on Monday, the office carries an unmistakable scent of fresh paint, so thick Jean can taste it – applied just in time for the odour to fade.

But not quickly enough for Jean – it lingers in her sinuses until her head throbs.

There’s no time to retreat from her monitors, never mind sleep it off.

Jean chugs ibuprofen and paracetamol, sending Helen to every shop in a half-mile radius to stock up her personal desk pharmacy.

Even Peter locks in, turning a blind eye towards the hungrier junior associates pulling all-nighters with ‘gym bags’ containing fresh outfits, travel toothbrushes and endless caffeine supplies.

It’s a trick Jean well remembers, though it had been easier in her youth, with only she and Marianne likely to use the women’s bathroom.

Hugo leaves at the same time Jean does, or pretends to – as her car passes by, she spots him doubling back to the office.

It’s as if he’s hoping the regular sight of his face will imprint itself on Jean’s mind.

Rebecca corners Jean as she steps into the lift with Helen, launching into a spiel of self-promotion before there’s time for a single sip of coffee.

Jean doesn’t even have to say anything; she simply skewers Rebecca with a look, puncturing that manic momentum until the girl’s words trickle away to nothing.

Then there’s modesty to a fault; ironically, the most capable candidate has the least to say for herself.

Though fully deserving, the junior associate Jean chooses to assist her on the deal doesn’t even try to put herself forward.

But when she does speak up in her quiet Edinburgh burr, every word is worth listening to.

Rhona’s competence, her ability to set ego aside and focus on the bigger picture, are exactly what’s needed.

Jean dispatches Helen to buy two meal deals from the cafeteria – a prawn mayonnaise sandwich and a mediterranean vegetable wrap – and bring them back with Rhona.

A knock on the door. ‘You wanted to see me, Ms Howard?’

Rhona’s Mary Janes, pinafore ensemble, and headband remind Jean of her old school uniform.

And Rhona carries herself like an errant schoolgirl summoned by the headmistress, one hand clutching the opposite elbow.

It’s not difficult to imagine how Edward steamrollered her into handing everything over.

Jean flashes her a smile. ‘Rhona. Sit down. I seem to recall you having done environmental studies as part of your undergraduate degree – you knew renewable energy would appeal to Andreas Leonides. Didn’t you?’

Rhona’s face lights up as she outlines how renewables can detoxify not only the environment, but the Hephaestia brand.

Leonides is taking heavy hits in both the court of law and public opinion, facing a Group Litigation Order over multiple oil spills and fierce backlash from Greenpeace to Gaia’s Children – though Rhona is smart enough to avoid giving away her personal opinion on the matter, sticking only to strategy and solutions.

In this brief flash of confidence, Jean glimpses the lawyer Rhona will become. She gestures to the sandwiches perched on the corner of her desk. ‘Let’s talk about your involvement with the Leonides portfolio over lunch. Pass me the wrap, would you?’

Rhona does as she is bid, expression freezing as she takes in the remaining sandwich.

‘You like prawn mayonnaise, right? It’s a classic.’

Rhona nods, jaw set as if she’s facing the gallows. ‘Seafood’s my favourite.’

Jean’s gaze roams heavenward. If there is a God up there, she will need all the strength he can spare to reshape this one. ‘If you plan on lying to me – which I don’t recommend – at least make it convincing.’

‘I’m not—’

‘Rhona, put down the sandwich. You’re vegan for Christ’s sake.’

Obedient, she drops the packet.

‘By the time I’m done, you won’t hesitate to speak your mind. You have good instincts and valuable insights – but they’re no use to you or the firm if you’re too afraid to share them.’

Rhona blinks, uncertain. ‘Thank you, Ms Howard.’

‘I want you on my team for Hephaestia. You’ll accompany me to meetings, take notes, present your findings – whatever else I require.

’ As she speaks Rhona nods, eager. ‘You’ll see firsthand how Mr Dennings and I operate, learn about the inner workings of this firm, and gain invaluable experience with an international client.

Play your cards right and this will be a big step towards promotion. ’

That familiar hunger gleams in Rhona’s eyes – all the confirmation Jean needs that it’s the right decision. Decent tailoring and a precision haircut will make a new woman of Rhona, but those are discoveries she’ll make for herself. For now, it’s enough that she leaves Jean’s office walking taller.

April showers are torrential, yet Ava’s waiting for her outside the restaurant, cheeks pink in the chill night air.

Her face lights up as she catches sight of Jean amidst the sea of tourists and commuters.

Yet Ava exercises restraint, not attempting so much as a hug or chaste kiss in greeting.

Though she’s gallant as ever, holding the restaurant door open for Jean and pulling her chair back.

Inside they each shed a layer, Ava shrugging off her mac to reveal a bold burgundy suit and crisp white shirt unbuttoned far enough to cause a glitch in Jean’s mind.

Ava’s curls, artfully tousled, have the look of a Regency rake – and her smirk when she catches Jean looking only adds to the impression.

But Ava’s smugness proves short-lived as Jean drapes the pea coat over the back of her chair.

Her green wrap dress shows Jean’s bust and legs to their best advantage while providing generous cover of her middle – the perfect choice for a dinner…

meeting. Its silken material glows subtle as a priceless emerald in the restaurant’s warm light, and Ava is entranced.

She hinges her jaw while Jean sits down, stammering out a compliment.

The restaurant’s an excellent choice, a tastefully decorated bistro promising a taste of Paris. A waitress brings the pre-theatre menus and a carafe of red wine, which she pours into their glasses before retreating.

Ava holds her wineglass aloft. ‘To knowledge exchange.’ If the half-smile she wears is anything to go by, Bernard’s workshop is the last thing on Ava’s mind. ‘Long may it continue.’

‘To knowledge exchange,’ Jean echoes, clinking their glasses together, though she won’t speculate about its duration. ‘How are things with you? How’s the CJC going?’

Ava’s smile grows sheepish. ‘Fine, but I don’t expect you to keep asking – you’ve already done so much.’

‘I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t interested. I’ve known people who set up charities, but never one that…

’ Never one that wasn’t ultimately about ego or whitewashing corporate greed.

The more time she spends with Ava, the further Jean travels from caution.

‘Never one with so much potential to achieve material, tangible good. Besides, it makes a nice change from mergers and acquisitions.’

‘Alright then.’ Ava toys with a dog-eared corner of the menu. ‘But only if you promise to stop me when I bore you.’

Jean gives a most unladylike snort. ‘False displays of modesty are what bore me. You’re taking a risk to do something courageous and unconventional – own it.’

‘It’s not false. Or modesty.’

‘Then what?’

‘I’m not used to talking about it, is all.

My colleagues agree in principle that it’s needed.

But we’re under-resourced and understaffed, which means they feel like I’m jumping ship when I leave.

And my family…’ Ava swirls the wine in her glass, peering into its depths.

And Jean imagines what ACWRC could achieve with even half DDH’s quarterly earnings.

‘Racism in the criminal justice system, it’s a difficult subject for them. It’s how we lost my uncle, Ephraim.’

Oh. It explains so much about Ava’s sense of purpose.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Jean says, meaning it. She remembers firsthand hating how people would either pry for details she couldn’t bear to give, or wallpaper over her sorrow with cheerful prattle, and instead leaves space for Ava to elaborate or shift subject.

‘So, you see why I can’t talk about the CJC with them?’

Jean doesn’t know whether to feel disappointed or relieved by the lack of disclosure. But she’s certain of being able to provide a sounding board for Ava’s ideas.

‘Then tell me. You need to get used to talking about this. Work out your core message and how to shape it into a narrative.’ Jean sips her wine – a full-bodied Rioja that washes the tension from her shoulders – and presses her advantage.

‘You might as well do this with an interested third party who understands the mechanics of what you’re trying to achieve. Besides, I’m genuinely curious.’

A teasing edge sharpens Ava’s smile. ‘That’s not very… sex acquaintance-like behaviour.’

‘Then maybe we don’t have to be sex acquaintances.’ Jean puts her glass down and presses both hands against her knees, concealing their tremor. ‘We could be two people out for a meal together, enjoying each other’s company. Just for tonight.’

Ava’s brow furrows. And Jean doesn’t rush her, recognising that need to deliberate before speaking, though with every passing second she feels more foolish.

There are plenty of people in Ava’s life, many more closely matched to her in age and background than Jean.

But then, if Ava wanted, she could be sitting here right now with any one of them.

‘Like… friends?’ Ava speaks gingerly, as if testing the word out. And it doesn’t spook Jean. If anything, it warms her more than the wine.

‘Friends,’ Jean confirms. ‘For tonight.’