Page 95 of Pride and Privilege

That about summed it up.He was not himself. Didn’t have time to be, wasn’t allowed to be, had to pretend to be friends with the Domnall Whites and Hendrich Lissis of the world.

“A change of heart?” he said, eyes still closed, knowing he sounded a little drunk. Unhinged, a crack in his voice. His mind. “Or I’m sick. Or both. I’m sorry, though.” He opened his eyes, dragged his knuckles down his jaw hard enough to hurt. “I should have held it together better back there.”

Aubrey paused before speaking. “I’m not your line manager anymore. But if I was… I’d tell you to take two weeks off.”

Roscoe almost laughed. “Two weeks? I can’t take two hours.”

“Is it burnout? Stress? Speak to George. Speak to someone. A doctor?”

“I have. And Poppy… Poppy knows. She’s helping. She’s the only thing that is.”

A whipcrack of emotion closed his throat, and he sank back against the car’s headrest again, watching the passing streets through unfocused eyes.

“I’m glad you have her, but…don’t put it all on her.”

“I’m not. I’ll… I’m going back to the doctor.”

“Good. And offload some work to me—officially or not, I’ll second your lead on this tax thing. Or shift some PM stuff to me. Whatever you need.”

Roscoe nodded in thanks, though it wouldn’t really help. Might move the walls back an inch. But it wouldn’t make them go.

“It will pass,” Aubrey said after a moment, something in his voice that said he was talking from experience. “However bad it gets, it will pass.”

Roscoe thanked him, close to tears but forcing them back. The other man knew and merely nodded, and they finished the drive in silence.

FORTY-FIVE

Poppy was busy, asusual, but she kept one eye on the clock, half her mind across town, wondering how Roscoe was doing. A last-minute introduction with one of BlacktonGold’s unicorn clients was the last thing he needed right now. And he had a video call scheduled soon with a big US tech firm punting for investment. Would he be back in time? She could probably put it through to his phone instead, have him take it in the car on the way back. They could email their presentation—

Her mobile phone lit up with a notification where it lay on her desk by her keyboard. She grabbed it, thinking it might be him, but it was only a new email to her personal account. She put the phone down, then grabbed it again as the sender’s name in the email preview snagged her attention.

Harshini Singh.

As in, Harshini Singh of the private equity firm Poppy had sent her CV to the other week. She had applied to courses, yes, on that long afternoon at Roscoe’s flat, fired up with determination and hope, fired up by Roscoe’s words, his voice in her headtelling her she had every reason to feel confident. She had worked on her CV, had applied to courses—the long, slow route to get to where she needed to go. But she had also gathered all her courage and sent off her CV and, more importantly, the supporting portfolio of work she had created—had flung them, wincing in terror, at the list of companies she had put together.

The list was Roscoe’s idea—not directly. She hadn’t told him. But a while ago—after that meeting with Elliott Carter-Hall—he had asked her to put together a list of firms with strong ethical options—ones with a focus on environmental or socially responsible funds. In compiling the list, Poppy had come to realise that some of those small activist firms had more diverse staff, with more diverse backgrounds. (She had looked them all up). If there was anywhere that might give her CV a chance, it was one of those. And also… Roscoe’s voice had been in her mind again, from that afternoon he had first found her working on her CV, the day she had shown him her work for the first time.Pick a speciality investment area,he’d said.It’s easier to get noticed. But pick one you love. Pick something green. Something that won’t dirty your soul.He’d said it with a laugh. She suspected now that it was bitter hindsight.

In the end, she had been too embarrassed to tell Roscoe about the applications. Because it would most likely come to nothing. It definitely would come to nothing. No one ever got anywhere with speculative applications. Not in such a competitive industry. But here was an email from Harshini Singh…

She opened it, heart pounding.

We would like to arrange an initial telephone interview…

Poppy wasn’t given to squealing, but she almost squealed then. An interview? She had an interview! She leapt to her feet, remembered Roscoe wasn’t around, and headed to Adjoa’s office instead, phone in hand.

Fortunately, Liz wasn’t there, but she found Adjoa at her desk. “I owe you big time for checking over my CV the other week. Look at this!” She thrust her phone at Adjoa and the woman’s face started to beam as she read the email.

“Nice work, Poppy.”

Poppy glanced around. “Don’t tell Liz, OK? It’s only a first-round interview. Chances are, I won’t get anywhere. And I’ll be back in here soon when Roscoe gets his permanent EA.”

Adjoa rolled her eyes. “Of course I’m not going to tell. But…” She winked. “You can buy me a drink at your leaving party.”

Poppy laughed. “Of course I will. But don’t count on it happening.”

She took her phone back, grinning again as she read the email for the fifth time, butterflies starting to kick in. “Can you help me practise? If we get lunch this week, can you fire a load of interview questions at me?”

“Why don’t you ask your boss? If there’s anyone who can help you prepare for this, it’s Roscoe Blackton.”

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