Jessica did, however, confide in Claire a fear that if she was offered a place at the Slade, she might discover that Avril Perkins, who came second in art, was right when she remarked within Jessica’s hearing that she was just a big fish in a small pool, who was about to be cast into the ocean where she would undoubtedly sink without trace.
Claire told her to dismiss Avril for the little creep she was, but Jessica still spent her final term at St. Paul’s wondering if she might be right.
When the high mistress announced at prize-giving that Jessica Clifton had been awarded the Gainsborough Scholarship to the Slade School of Fine Art, Jessica seemed to be the only person in the hall who was surprised. In fact, she took as much pleasure in Claire being offered a place at University College to read English as she did in her own triumph. However, she wasn’t pleased to learn that Avril Perkins would be joining her at the Slade.
* * *
“The chairman would like a word with you, Mr. Clifton.”
Sebastian stopped signing letters and looked up to see the boss’s secretary standing in the doorway. “I thought he was in Copenhagen?”
“He came back on the first flight this morning,” said Angela, “and asked to see you the moment he walked into his office.”
“Sounds serious,” said Seb, raising an eyebrow, but receiving no response.
“All I can tell you, Mr. Clifton, is that he’s cleared his diary for the rest of the morning.”
“Perhaps he’s going to sack me,” said Seb, hoping to tempt Angela into an indiscretion.
“I don’t think so, because that usually only takes him a couple of minutes.”
“Not even a clue?” whispered Sebastian as they left his office and walked along the corridor together.
“All I’m willing to say,” said Angela, “is that you can’t have missed the fact that Mr. Bishara has traveled to Copenhagen six times in the last month. Perhaps you’re about to find out why,” she added before knocking on the chairman’s door.
“Has he taken over Lego or Carlsberg?” said Seb as Angela opened the door and stood aside to allow him to enter.
“Good morning, chairman,” said Seb. But he couldn’t work out from the sphinx-like expression on Hakim Bishara’s face if it was good news or bad.
“Good morning, Sebastian.” First clue, thought Seb. The chairman only ever called him Sebastian when he was about to discuss something serious. “Have a seat.” Second clue, this wasn’t going to be a short meeting.
“Sebastian, I wanted you to be the first to know that I got married on Saturday.”
Seb had considered half a dozen possible reasons the chairman would want to see him, but marriage wasn’t among them, and to say he was taken by surprise would have been an understatement. For a moment he couldn’t think of what to say. Hakim leaned back in his chair and enjoyed the unusual experience of a silent CEO.
“Do I know the lady in question?” Seb eventually managed.
“No, but you’ve seen her from a distance.”
Sebastian decided to join in the game. “In London?”
“Yes.”
“In the City?”
“Yes,” Hakim repeated, “but you’re heading down the wrong road.”
“Is she a banker?”
“No, a landscape architect.”
“So she must have worked on one of our projects,” suggested Seb.
“Yes and no.”
“Was she for or against us?”
“Neither,” said Hakim. “I would describe her as neutral, but not helpful.”
Another long silence followed before Sebastian said, “Oh my God, it’s the woman who gave evidence in your trial. Mrs. um, Mrs.…”
“Bergström.”
“But she was the Crown’s key witness, and she certainly didn’t help our cause. I remember everyone regretting that Mr. Carman had tracked her down.”
“Everyone except me,” said Hakim. “I spent endless nights in prison regretting that I hadn’t spoken to her when we sat next to each other on that flight back from Lagos. So a few days after I was released, I flew to Copenhagen.”
“I’ve never thought of you as the romantic type, Hakim, and I suspect most of our colleagues in the City would agree with me. May I ask what Mr. Bergström had to say about your proposed takeover bid?”
“I wouldn’t have boarded the plane if there’d been a Mr. Bergström. It only took Barry Hammond a couple of days to discover that Kristina’s husband died of a heart attack at the age of fifty-two.”
“Don’t tell me, he was a banker.”
“Head of the loans division at the Royal Bank of Copenhagen.”
“They nearly went under a couple of years ago.”
“On his watch, I’m afraid,” said Hakim quietly.
“So will Mrs. Bergström—”
“Mrs. Bishara.”
“Be moving to London?”
“Not immediately. She has two children who are still at school, and she doesn’t want their lives disrupted, so I had to make a deal.”
“Which you’re usually very good at.”
“Not when it’s personal. Something I’ve always warned you about. We plan to live in Copenhagen for the next couple of years, until Inge and Aksel are settled at university. After that, Kristina has agreed to come to England.”
“In the meantime, you’ll be living on an airplane.”
“Not a chance. Kristina has made it abundantly clear that she doesn’t need a second husband to die of a heart attack. Which is why I needed to see you, Sebastian. I want you to take over as chairman of the bank.”
This time Seb was stunned into a far longer silence, which Hakim again took advantage of.
“I intend to call a board meeting early next week so I can brief the directors on my decision. I shall propose that you replace me as chairman, while I become president of the bank. All you’ll need to decide is who will be your CEO.”
Seb didn’t need to spend much time thinking about that, but he waited to hear Hakim’s opinion.
“I assume you’ll want Victor Kaufman to take your place,” said Hakim. “After all, he’s one of your oldest friends, and owns twenty-five percent of the bank’s stock.”
“That doesn’t qualify him to be in charge of the day-to-day operations of a major financial institution. We’re running a bank, Hakim, not a local sports club.”
“Does that mean you have another candidate in mind?”
“John Ashley would be my first choice,” said Seb without hesitation.
“But he’s only been with the bank a couple of years. He’s hardly got his feet under the table.”
“But what a pedigree,” Seb reminded him. “Manchester Grammar School, the London School of Economics, and a scholarship to Harvard Business School. And let’s not forget how much we had to pay to tempt him away from Chase Manhattan. And how long will it be before one of our rivals offers him a golden hello? Sooner rather than later, would be my guess, especially if Victor ends up as CEO of Farthings. No. If you want me to be chairman, Hakim, appointing John Ashley to that position is the deal maker.”
* * *
“Congratulations,” said Jessica.
“What’s a chairman?” demanded Jake.
“Someone who’s in charge of everything and everybody, rather like a high mistress.”
“I’d never thought of it quite like that,” admitted Sebastian, as Samantha burst out laughing.
Jessica walked around the table and gave her father a hug. “Congratulations,” she repeated.
“Hakim seems far too young to retire,” said Samantha, as she sliced the top off Jake’s egg.
“I agree,” said Seb, “but he’s fallen in love.”
“I hadn’t realized that if you were the chairman of a bank and fell in love, you were expected to resign.”
“It’s not compulsory,” said Seb, laughing, “but banks generally prefer their chairman to reside in the same country, and the lady in question lives in Copenhagen.”
br />
“Why doesn’t she come and live in England?” asked Jessica.
“Kristina Bergström is a very successful landscape architect with an international reputation but she has two children by her first marriage and she doesn’t want to move them while they’re still at school.”
“But how will Hakim occupy his time, given he has the energy of ten men?”
“He plans to open a new branch of Farthings in Copenhagen, and Kristina’s company will be his first client. She’s already agreed that once the children leave school, she’ll set up a practice in London.”
“And when Hakim returns, will he resume the role of chairman?”
“No. He couldn’t have made his position clearer. On September first, Hakim will become president of Farthings Kaufman, before I take over as chairman in the new year, with John Ashley as my CEO.”
“Have you told Victor?” asked Samantha.
“No, I thought I’d wait until it’s official.”
“I’d like to be a fly on the wall for that meeting,” said Samantha. “Have you ever met Ms. Bergström?”
“No, I only saw her in the witness box when she gave evidence at Hakim’s trial. As he was in custody at the time, it must have been love at first sight.”
“Men often fall in love at first sight,” declared Jessica, who had remained silent until then. “Women rarely do.”
“I’m sure we are both grateful, Jessica, for your considerable insight on the subject of love,” said Seb, “as we were of your grasp of macroeconomics.”
“It’s not my opinion,” said Jessica, “but D. H. Lawrence’s. It’s a quote from Lady Chatterley’s Lover, which although it wasn’t one of the English set texts at St. Paul’s, Claire thought I ought to read anyway.”
Sebastian and Samantha glanced at each other.
“Perhaps this is as good a time as any,” said Jessica, “to tell you I’m planning to move out.”
“No, no, no,” said Jake.
While Seb might have agreed with his son, he didn’t interrupt his daughter.
“Claire and I have found a small flat just off Gower Street, only half a mile from the Slade.”
“Sounds ideal,” said Samantha. “When will you be leaving us?”
“In about a fortnight’s time. If that’s all right with you, Pops.”
“Of course it’s fine,” said Samantha.
“No, no, no,” repeated Jake, pointing his spoon at Jessica.
“Don’t point, Jake,” said his mother.
25
“TODAY’S LIFE DRAWING class has been canceled,” said Professor Howard. A groan went up around the room when the professor added, “Our model has once again failed to turn up.”
The twelve students were beginning to gather up their equipment, when a young man Jessica had never seen before rose from his seat, strolled into the middle of the room, stripped off, and sat down on the dais. A round of applause followed, as the first-year students returned to their easels and set about their work.
Paulo Reinaldo was the first man Jessica had ever seen naked, and she couldn’t take her eyes off him. He was like a Greek god, she thought. Well, a Brazilian god. She sketched a charcoal outline of his body with a few sweeping movements, an exercise that would take her fellow students considerably longer, and without the same results. Next, she concentrated on his head, which she began to capture in greater detail. Long curly dark hair that she wanted to run her hands through. Her eyes traveled down his body and she began to wish she was a sculptor. His torso rippled, and his legs looked as if they were built to run a marathon. She tried to concentrate as her tutor looked over her shoulder.
“You’ve caught him,” said Professor Howard. “Most impressive. But I need you to think about shadow and perspective, and never forget, less is more. Have you ever seen the drawings Bonnard did of his wife climbing out of a bath?”
“No.”
“You’ll find some excellent examples in the academy library. They are the proof, if proof is needed, that if you want to know just how great an artist is, you should study their preliminary drawings before you even consider their masterpieces. By the way, try not to make it quite so obvious how much you fancy him.”
* * *
During the next week, Jessica didn’t come across Paulo again. He was never to be found in the library and didn’t seem to attend lectures. After Professor Howard’s remarks, she made no attempt to find out more about him from her fellow students. But whenever his name came up, she stopped talking and started listening.
“He’s the son of a Brazilian industrialist,” said a student from the year above her. “His father wanted him to come to London and brush up on his English, among other things.”
“I think he only intends to hang around for a couple of years, then go back to Rio and open a nightclub,” offered another, while a third said, somewhat testily, “He only comes to figurative drawing to scout out his next victim.”
“You seem well informed,” said Avril Perkins.
“I ought to be, I slept with him half a dozen times before he dumped me,” the girl said casually. “That’s how he spends most of his time, except the evenings.”
“What does he do in the evenings?” asked Jessica, unable to remain silent any longer.
“Makes a close study of English nightclubs, rather than English watercolors. He claims that’s the real reason he’s over here. But he did tell me he plans to have slept with every female student at the Slade by the end of his first year.”
They all laughed except Jessica, who was rather hoping to be his next victim.
* * *
When Jessica turned up for life drawing the following Thursday, two other girls were already seated on either side of Paulo. One of them was Avril Perkins. Jessica sat opposite him on the other side of the semicircle of students, trying to concentrate on the model, a middle-aged woman who looked bored and cold, unlike Avril.
Her eyes eventually returned to Paulo, to find he only needed one hand for drawing, while the other rested on Avril’s thigh.
When Professor Howard suggested a midmorning break, Jessica waited for Avril to leave before she strolled around the circle of drawings, pretending to study her fellow students’ efforts. Paulo’s wasn’t bad, it was dreadful. She wondered how he could ever have been offered a place at the Slade.
“Not bad,” said Jessica as she continued to look at his drawing.
“I agree,” said Paulo. “It’s awful, and you know it, because you’re so much better than any of us.”
Was he flirting, or did he really believe what he’d just said? Jessica didn’t care.
“Would you like to come out for a drink tonight?” he asked.
“Yes please,” she said, immediately regretting the “please.”
“I’ll pick you up around ten and we can go clubbing.”
Jessica didn’t mention that by that time she was normally in bed with a book, not out clubbing.
She rushed home straight after her final class, and spent over an hour deciding what she would wear for her “losing her virginity date,” constantly seeking Claire’s opinion. She ended up with a short pink leather skirt, Claire’s, a leopard-print top, hers, black patterned stockings, and gold high heels.
“I look like a tart!” Jessica exclaimed when she looked in the mirror.
“Believe me,” said Claire, “if you’re hoping to finally get laid, that’s the perfect outfit.”
Jessica gave in to Claire’s superior knowledge on the subject.
* * *
When Paulo turned up at the flat thirty minutes late (evidently that was also fashionable), two things happened that Jessica hadn’t been prepared for. Could anyone be that good-looking and own a Ferrari?
“Tell him I’m available tomorrow night,” Claire whispered as they left the flat.
The third surprise was just how charming and sophisticated Paulo was. He didn’t immediately jump on her, as her fellow students had claimed he would. In fact, he coul
dn’t have been more solicitous. He even opened the car door for her, and on their way into the West End, chatted about the impact she was making at the Slade. She was already regretting her choice of clothes, and kept trying to pull down her skirt.
When he parked his Ferrari outside Annabel’s, a doorman took the keys and drove the car away. They descended the stairs to a dimly lit nightclub, where it quickly became clear that Paulo was a regular, as the maître d’ stepped forward and greeted him by name, before guiding them to a discreet corner table.
Once they had selected two courses from the largest menu Jessica had ever seen—it was almost a book—Paulo seemed keen to find out all about her. Although she didn’t raise the subject herself, he seemed well aware who her grandparents were, and said he always saved the latest William Warwick for the long flight back to Rio.
The moment he’d finished his meal, Paulo lit a cigarette and offered her one. She declined but took an occasional puff of his. It didn’t taste like any cigarette she’d ever smoked before. After coffee, he led her onto the crowded dance floor where dimly lit became black. She quickly realized that, unlike drawing, dancing was a skill Paulo had mastered, and she also noticed that several other women were no longer paying much attention to their partners. However, it wasn’t until Chaka Khan was replaced by Lionel Richie’s Hello, that Paulo’s hands strayed below her waist. She made no attempt to resist.
Their first kiss was a little clumsy, but after the second, all she wanted to do was go home with him, even though she had already accepted that she probably wouldn’t still be on the menu the following evening. They didn’t leave Annabel’s until just after one a.m., and once they were back in the car, Jessica was impressed by Paulo’s ability to steer a Ferrari with one hand, while the other moved up her stockinged thigh. The car never moved out of first gear.
It continued to be a night of surprises. His Mayfair apartment was stylish and elegant, filled with pictures and antiques she would have liked to spend more time admiring, had he not taken her by the hand and led her straight to the bedroom, where she was greeted by the largest bed she’d ever seen. The black silk cover was already folded back.