Page 18 of Strap In
‘No.’ Jean had turned down Ciarán’s advances, repulsed by the thought of his stubbly cheek against her skin, and promptly forgot him.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Imogen says. ‘Jean can do much better. Besides, snoring is the only way Ciarán’s keeping a woman up all night.’
Jean joins in their laughter, half scandalised. Imogen’s moments of savagery are all the more enjoyable for their rarity.
‘Then who is he?’
‘Nobody you know,’ Jean says.
The waiter sets their plates down along with a fresh round of margaritas, and attention is diverted – at least for now. Jean digs into hers with relish, savouring the creaminess of the avocado, the freshness of her salmon. It’s one of those rare meals that’s both delicious and Grant-approved. Yet she doesn’t object when Imogen cuts off a generous square of Biscoff French toast and slides it onto her plate – ‘to keep your strength up.’
‘Good point.’ Naomi waves her fork, a piece of bacon speared on the end. ‘Do we know anybody with that kind of stamina?’
‘Hmm. High energy and strictly casual. Is he younger?’ Cora’s eyes glint. She’s never satisfied until she’s wrangled out every last detail. And Jean must offer up this truth to keep her from another less convenient detail.
‘Quite a bit.’
‘In his forties?’
‘Lower.’ Jean almost manages to keep the smugness from her voice, but not quite.
‘In histhirties?’ Cora’s voice is a scandalised whisper, but her expression is delighted.
‘Thirty-six.’
Naomi lifts her margarita, says: ‘Here’s to you, Mrs Robinson.’
They clink their glasses, toasting Jean. And she can’t help but savour this moment. She’s spent decades listening to the others brag about their various conquests, and had little enough worth sharing in return.
Chapter Nine
In the end Henshall has no choice but to sign the deal. Jean knew he would from the moment of that obscene outburst at the boardroom table, a final impotent raging against the inevitable. He arrives early, grey with defeat, making a crass joke about catching the last chopper out of Saigon. And it’s a relief to have Alexander escort him upstairs.
Jean herself waits in the lobby for Katherine Parker-Kato, who is precisely on time. And impeccably suited as always, despite the long-haul flight. It suits her – Katherine’s tailoring emphasises her willowy build to great effect as she strides towards the lift, and her make-up free skin is perfectly smooth.
Yet Jean can’t imagine the courage it must take, leaning into butch presentation in a professional environment. Katherine is supremely comfortable in her own skin – that boundless confidence is part of her charm, what makes her such an effective leader and persuasive negotiator. There’s no way to ask – not a client, and certainly not in her place of work – but Jean would dearly love to know whether Katherine is ever anxious about stepping out into the world without the safety net of conventional femininity.
Katherine notices her staring, eyes meeting Jean’s in the lift’s mirror. ‘See something you like?’
Heat infuses her cheeks with a rosy blush, and for the millionth time Jean curses her Irish colouring. ‘Your suit.’ Jean clears her throat. ‘Galliano, isn’t it?’
One corner of Katherine’s mouth lifts in a sardonic smile. ‘It is. Good eye.’
Then the doors open and the strange moment between them is broken. Katherine is all business as she enters the boardroom, and Jean pushes that foolish line of enquiry deep down in her imagination. It’s a relief to sink into the familiar monotony of clauses and signatures, gently nudging George across the finish line.
Afterwards, though substantially richer and free from the burdens of a mismanaged company, he exits with ill grace, not so much as a thank you for the firm or a handshake for Katherine, which is likely for the best. An ego so fragile couldn’t handle such a bruising grip, and Katherine isn’t the type to hold back for the sake of male pride. Though she is magnanimous in victory, thanking the team before Jean escorts her back downstairs.
As the lift descends, she catches Jean’s eye in the mirror once more. ‘I’d like the opportunity to work with you again.’
Jean smiles, sure-footed on familiar terrain. ‘The firm would be delighted to represent your interests.’
‘That’s not what I meant, Jean. There’s a place for you on my team, if you fancy switching sides.’ Katherine’s eyes twinkle with mischief, though her expression otherwise remains serious. ‘I’ll work you hard and the hours will be long, but I guarantee you it’ll never be dull.’
‘Why me?’
‘If you can talk that cantankerous old git into compliance, you can do anything.’
Jean allows herself a chuckle. ‘True.’
