Page 1 of One Summer Weekend
Chapter One
I marched out into the metallic heat of the car park, summoned the scattered shreds of my professional detachment and branded a promise into my brain.
Never. Ever. Again.
I should have known it would be a wasted journey. My client comfort zone was male, middle-aged and middle-class. Only the first of these applied to the Chief Executive of Leo Components,major employer in the shrunken Lancashire mill town of Grimshaw: Jack Smith – industrial magnate and, if the local tabloids were to be believed, ‘babe magnet of the North West’ in his spare time.
Oh yes, I’d done my pre-meeting research – and not just in theFinancial Timesarchives. I’d found only limited information on Leo Components, privately owned and rumoured to be heading for a StockMarket flotation. But there’d been plenty about ‘Jack the Lad’ – and I’d only looked at the last few months’ media coverage.
At thirty-six years old he was hardly middle-aged; and Adam Chesterfield, the mutual contact who’d recommended my services, had described him as a self-made man from humble beginnings. I could have predicted, then, that this first meeting would be more challengingthan most. I just hadn’t anticipated the scale of the challenge, nor the nature of it.
No, I reflected as I unlocked my car, this … creature was not in the usual mould at all. The managing directors I’d coached so far were father, even grandfather, figures; weathered captains of industry, with an appreciation of how executive coaching would help them succeed in the modern business world.Men I could take out of their little compartments, dust down a bit and put back with the sense of a job well done.
And at least they gave me therightkind of undivided attention, whereas he … But it was all academic; I would not be coaching him. There was more chance of me running naked through the streets of Grimshaw.
Which was probably what he’d been imagining as soon as I’d walkedinto his office.
Now for the long drive south; at least I would beat the Friday afternoon rush. I wrenched off my jacket, hurled it onto the back seat along with my beautiful new Aspinal laptop bag, and settled myself behind the wheel. Instead of starting the engine, however, I glared across the car park at the drab 1960s-style building I’d just left and, against my better judgement, relivedthe past hour.
I had to admit, those tabloid photos of Jack Smith hadn’t done him justice. In the flesh, his build was leaner, his face younger, his eyes more … predatory. His handshake was business-like and brief, but the impression of his interested surprise lingered.
‘So you’re Alicia Marlowe, from Coaches for Growth.’ Voice like black velvet over gravel, with an understated northernaccent that other women would probably find very attractive.
He went on, ‘From what Adam said, I thought you’d be a lot older.’ A pause, while his gaze travelled up and down. ‘I might have to ask you to show me your credentials.’ And then I had his smile to contend with, wide and wicked, inviting me to respond in the same suggestive vein.
I gave him a look of stone. ‘If you need proofof my professional qualifications, I’m sure that can be arranged.’ A deliberate glance at my watch. ‘We have a lot to discuss. Let’s get this meeting under way.’
Still grinning, he gestured to a pair of vast black leather armchairs. I swept past him in my navy suit, tailored white shirt and sensible heels. I’d never had to think of them as protective armour – until now.
We sat at oppositesides of a low table whose gleaming glass top was engraved with a rampant lion: the Leo Components logo and a symbol of outdated sexism, very much like its Chief Executive. But I counted to ten, accepted the offer of coffee, took my laptop from my bag and located the file named ‘Jack Smith – On-boarding Meeting’. To avoid any small talk, I busied myself with typing a few extra headings forsome much-needed structure. I was aware of him fidgeting with his phone; making arrangements for tonight’s conquest, no doubt.
As soon as his PA – more mature and homely than I’d expected – brought the coffee, I fixed my blandest smile in place and opened the dialogue. ‘I’m here at Adam’s request. What do you think he had in mind when he recommended you for coaching?’
He had the senseto pocket his phone before I was tempted to confiscate it. ‘Haven’t a clue. He’s a devious old bugger – as you’ll know, from the happy times you spent coaching him.’
A golden opportunity to introduce one of the ground rules. ‘I’m afraid I don’t disclose personal information about my clients, past or present, least of all to other clients. Or should I say prospective ones.’
His gazeslipped to the collar of my high-necked shirt. ‘Now you mention it, I can’t imagine you disclosing anything to anyone.’
My smile faded. He was being just ambiguous enough to discourage accusations of inappropriate behaviour. Why was I wasting my time here? Doing Adam a favour simply wasn’t worth it.
As if reading my mind, he raised his eyes to my face. Not a glimmer of apology, morethe defiant bravado of a naughty schoolboy. He said, ‘Look, round here an executive coach is a bus with air-conditioning or a toilet, both if you’re lucky. But Adam thinks I need one, and he reckons you’re one of the best.’
‘Which takes us back to my original question.’ I managed to retrieve my smile. ‘What do you think he had in mind when he suggested you might benefit from coaching?’
He took a gulp of coffee, then ran the back of his hand across his forehead. Long fingers, no wedding ring – naturally. ‘Oh, I suppose the obvious answer is that the company’s just taken over a larger competitor, Sphinx Industries. It’ll be a lot of graft bringing Sphinx into line, but of course I’m up for it.’
‘I see.’ I typedDomineering management style, arrogant belief in own abilities. Normally I kept my notes neutral and observation-based, but Jack Smith deserved the special accolade of an instant diagnosis. ‘What’s the not-so-obvious answer?’
‘Does there have to be one?’
‘Are you certain there’s not?’
He shifted in his seat; restless energy, or a rare moment of self-awareness? ‘I’ve never run a business of that size before. And I can’t afford to make a mistake.’
Ah, now we were getting somewhere.Uses aggression to mask his fear of failure. ‘And how do you feel about being coached?’
‘Don’t know what to expect. All I can say is – I’m not used to being told what to do. Except by my mother, who still treats me like a five-year-old.’
