Captured (2 page)

Jones’s expression was one of distain. “Really, there’s no need for this.” He stood up. “Now, like I said, I had Anne make reservations so we can go have a team lunch.”

Kirsty cursed herself for losing her temper. “I’ve already eaten.”

Back at her desk, Kirsty tried to ignore her colleagues as they shuffled past on their way out. She couldn’t face sitting around a table with them for an hour. She knew Richard would throw it in her face, accuse her of not being a team player, but it wasn’t like she was his employee of the month at the moment anyway.

Daniel was bustling out the door with the others. She wondered what he and Simon had wanted to talk about. It hadn’t exactly been a tearful reunion in the canteen earlier.  She clicked open the company IM software, but saw that Simon wasn’t back at his desk yet.

She looked at the clock. She’d give them a ten minute headstart to get to the restaurant and then leave for the day. Her encounter with Richard had left her exhausted: she wanted to go home and curl up on the sofa with a glass of wine. She remembered the photograph she had found earlier. Grace. Grace would know what to do. She picked up the phone and dialled Grace’s office number from memory.  Because both of them worked long hours, she hadn’t seen her best friend in a few weeks now, despite their best efforts to make time for one another.

Kirsty watched as Simon sat down opposite her. They had met outside Gatlantis, a recently opened restaurant in Marylebone. According to the Sunday Times review, the name was a combination of Gateau and Atlantis. The decor offered credence to this suggestion: the colourful walls depicted ancient buildings constructed from patisserie treats and mermaids with chocolate éclairs for tails. They scanned their menus in silence until Kirsty spoke.

“I saw you on my floor with Daniel Lane earlier. What’s the deal with you two?”

He frowned, not meeting her eyes. “Nothing. I told you: we went to school together.”

“So why were you so cagey with him earlier? And what was your meeting about? It’s not like it could have been work-related.”

“Jesus, Kirsty, who cares?” he looked up at her for the first time. “Why are you so keen to know?”

“I’m not! I’m just curious, I’ve never seen you act like that with anyone before, that’s all.”

Simon sighed, closing his menu. “Maybe we should have just stayed friends. This isn’t working out,” he muttered at last. Their eyes met briefly before his gaze returned to the front of the menu. He stood up. “I need to go back to the office. Stuff to catch up on.” He glanced at her again. “Sorry.”

Kirsty watched his retreating back, bewildered. Of the two of them, he had always been the one to push for their relationship. He had also never worked late on a Friday in all the time she’d known him. She looked up to see that the waitress had arrived. Apologising, she stood and walked outside. Simon had already disappeared. She tried to call Grace again before taking a cab home.

Kirsty waited at Angel Tube station, standing inside the doorway to avoid the howling wind that whistled past, twisting and mauling discarded newspapers outside on the damp pavement. She scanned the ticket gates, watching for Grace, hardly registering the dozens of people who milled through the barriers.

“Kirsty. Sorry!” Grace walked up behind her, taking her by surprise.

“That’s okay, I know you’ve been up to your eyes,” Kirsty moved to kiss her on the cheek. “Have you been at work?”

Grace nodded. “Since seven. Hole in the Wall?”

“Sounds good,” Kirsty smiled.

They had been friends since primary school, and they’d remained close, but had seen each other less frequently as Grace’s career engulfed her spare time. They had been inseparable as teenagers, with people often mistaking them for sisters. Now, the physical similarities were still remarkable: they shared the same slight frame, porcelain skin and delicate features. They were even practically the same height, although Kirsty was the taller of the two by less than an inch. They wouldn’t be mistaken for sisters now though: Grace had shorn her long wavy hair into a high-maintenance bob halfway through university, and had maintained the style ever since.

They braved the wind to walk the two streets to Kirsty’s favourite cafe. The windows were steamed up from the combined breath of the thirty or forty patrons crowded inside. It was a typical Saturday in Islington: young media professionals in checked shirts and thick-rimmed glasses jostled for table space with groups of power mothers accompanied by aerodynamic pushchairs. Luckily, two identically-coiffed young men in pastel cashmere vacated a table as they entered.

“So what’s up?” Grace asked, shrugging off her coat, taking care not to hit the person next to her. The tables were crammed together so tightly that it was possible to extend one’s arms and comfortably touch the two neighbouring tables. “You sounded pretty frustrated in your voicemail. Sorry I couldn’t meet you last night, I was in the office until two.”

“Well it was just work,” Kirsty replied, rolling her eyes. “You know how I’ve been telling you I can’t do anything right? Well now I’ve basically been demoted, though Richard won’t admit it. Then Simon broke up with me last night.” She had tried to call him several times since he hurried out of the restaurant, but his phone kept ringing out.

“What’s happened?”

“Ugh,” Kirsty groaned. “Richard’s being a stupid prick. And as for Simon...I really don’t know. One minute he’s suffocating me, then out of the blue he announces it’s off.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Not too bad,” Kirsty pulled her cup across the table by the saucer and emptied a pack of raw sugar on top on the frothy milk, watching it slowly subside and then break through the foam. “It’s strange – I’m most bothered about losing him as a friend.”

“Have you spoken to him since? Maybe he’s stressed out with work?”

“He’s not answering his phone. Work’s been pretty quiet for him recently. Sounds heartless, but the work thing’s worrying me more. I know you hate him, but...”

“I don’t hate him Kirsty, I just don’t think he’s right for you,” Grace interrupted, putting her cup down. “He’s a nice guy; I’m sure you’ll work things out. That or you can finally hook up with this new hottie on your team you keep talking about.”

Kirsty reddened. “I don’t keep talking about him,” she shot back.

“Oh
come
on,” Grace snorted, drawing a disgusted look from the impeccably-dressed older lady at the next table. “
He’s just so big and broad
,” she continued, mimicking her friend.

“I never said that,” Kirsty protested.

“Yes you did. Anyway, what’s going on at work? I thought you were getting on okay.”

“I was. Richard’s been nitpicking a lot recently though, about the team and the importance of being a team player. Now he’s given golden boy one of my accounts. And I’ll be assisting him! Is that even legal?”

“Employment law was never my strong suit, hon. I can ask around though if you’d like?”

Kirsty didn’t look up from stirring her drink. “Yeah, maybe.”

Grace reached over to the next table and scooped up the newspapers left behind by the couple who had just stood up to leave. They lapsed into comfortable silence.

“Have you thought about leaving?” Grace asked, finally.

“I hadn’t really thought of it until the meeting yesterday, and I still haven’t sat down and considered what I’d do. The job market’s in pretty bad shape at the moment.”

“Why don’t you get out and try something different?” Grace put down her cup and picked up her phone. “Sorry, I’m in the middle of a case. But you should get out of there and do something creative. Travel! You’ve always wanted to...”

It was true; Kirsty’s plan had been to work for two or three years after university until she had saved enough money, then to travel the world until her money ran out. As the months and years had passed, she had immersed herself in work and lost sight of her goal.

“I can’t afford to quit Grace!” Kirsty looked up from the magazine she was flicking through. “It’s good money. I’d have to start again if I did something else; I wouldn’t be able to afford the rent! Anyway, isn’t the pot calling the kettle black?”

Grace sighed and ordered another coffee from the flustered waitress who was hurrying past. “The hours are long, but I’m working towards something. You, on the other hand, have been banging your head against a brick wall. That’s all I’ve got from you for the past few months. You’re wasting your life Kirsty! There’s so much you can do; you don’t have to sit in a box for the rest of your life feeling undervalued. Go teach English in South America. Volunteer in Africa. Do something! Because it really doesn’t sound like you’re going to get very far in the bank.”

“You’re right about that,” Kirsty shrugged, conceding the point.  “Have you heard from Neil?”

Grace’s expression hardened. “Nothing. He’s still keeping out of my way. I don’t even know where he’s living.”

Neil Lennox was an enigma: although he looked the part, with his thick-rimmed glasses and short-sleeved white shirts, his thick, muscled arms and chiselled features hinted that he was very different to the typical IT geek. Grace had written him off as just another invisible member of the IT department until an inconsequential (so she thought) conversation in the lift one drizzly Monday morning.

When Neil asked her how her weekend had been, Grace grumbled about a parking ticket she had received outside the office the day before. Several hours later, she was wolfing a sandwich at her desk when a message popped up on her screen.

I hear the Department of Transport system security isn’t up to scratch.

She was puzzled, but had just started helping out on an absorbing case, so quickly forgot about both the message and the ticket. The following day, she bumped into Neil in a cafe near the office. His mischievous smirk triggered her memory.

“Did you...” she started.

He cut her off with a wink. “I think you owe me a coffee.”

She smiled, intrigued. “I think I do.”

From that day on, they flirted mildly every time they saw each other, which was increasingly often. Two weeks after she received her parking ticket, he called her.

“Are you free for lunch today? I’d like to get your opinion on our information security policies. Most of our working groups are made up of partners in the firm, so I’m keen to hear different points of view.”

“Sure.” She was way behind in her preparations for a case, but his gruff, Scottish drawl had a strange hold over her. She couldn’t say no.

“Right. I’ll meet you in the lobby at 1.”

“Are you sure it’s safe to talk about the company’s information security outside of the building?” Grace asked, oblivious, as they walked along Moorgate.

Neil laughed. “Yeah you’re right. Let’s skip straight to lunch.”

“Oh. Okay,” she replied, the surprise evident in her voice.

Lunch had turned into coffee. Normally so conscientious, Grace had barely been able to tear herself away. They moved in together after six weeks, astonishing most of Grace’s friends and acquaintances, who had pictured her marrying an insipid but wealthy corporate lawyer and moving to the Home Counties. Kirsty was delighted.

“Honestly?” Grace continued, looking unsure. “I’ve been spending so much time in the office that I’ve had no time to think. The only time I saw him at work was when we first started going out. I think he went out of his way, even though I didn’t realise it at the time.” She smiled sadly, before shaking her head and smiling half-heartedly. “Anyway, even if I’d known his ultimatum was serious, I didn’t have a choice. Those are the hours I have to put in if I ever want to be made a partner. There are people in the office who don’t see their children; I couldn’t complain about not seeing enough of my boyfriend.”

“I don’t think I’m the only one who needs to get out,” Kirsty replied, eyebrows raised.

Grace shrugged. “That’s probably true. Although...it’s easier said than done.”

Buoyed by her conversation with Grace, Kirsty took the stairs down a level to the fourteenth floor early on Monday morning. The Human Resources department shared the floor with IT; the unmanned reception desk where the internal telephone sat was covered with computer components and old telephones. A door opened to her left, and Angela, one of the HR managers, popped her head out.

“Kirsty,” she smiled. “Do you want to come on through? Ignore the mess, we’ve had some staffing changes, and IT is currently out of storage space.”

Kirsty’s heart sank. She knew that this meant there had been more redundancies made within the firm. 

Angela led her into a meeting room identical to the ones on Kirsty’s floor. “So what is it you’d like to discuss?”

Kirsty looked around the bland room. Each of the walls was internal so the only source of light was the buzzing fluorescent strip above their heads. She suddenly felt very unsure of herself. Richard was out of the office for two weeks, an absence necessitated by the firm’s mandatory vacation policy. She hadn’t seen him since she left his office the previous week. 

The policy, dictated by their overlords in the New York headquarters, was designed to prevent – or at least limit – an employee’s ability to defraud the company, or to cover up errors. During a two week period each year, every employee had to stay out of the office with no access to firm email or software. Any anomalies would be identified by the person covering their duties, and reported.

“I’m concerned about my position within my department,” Kirsty explained. “The responsibilities have been changed around in such a way that I’ll have to report to a new employee who is at the same level as me.” She scrutinised Angela’s face to see her reaction.

Angela leaned forward in her seat, clearly engaged, but offered Kirsty no sign of approval or disapproval. “I see. Have you spoken to your line manager?”

“Yes, but he said I was imagining the problem. That he was only changing responsibilities around for the good of the client.”

“So it’s a reassignment of responsibility rather than a restructure of the team?” Angela asked, writing something on the yellow legal pad in front of her.

Kirsty started to nod but stopped abruptly. “Yes. Well, no. If I have to work beneath someone, then surely that counts as a restructure?”

Angela smiled condescendingly. “I’m afraid it’s entirely within Richard’s remit to reassign client coverage within his team. Perhaps Daniel has more experience with this type of client than you do? This company’s about giving the clients what they want, not pandering to the egos of our staff.” She drummed her acrylic nails on the notepad.