In this brief flash of confidence, Jean glimpses the lawyer Rhona will become. She gestures to the sandwiches perched on the corner of her desk. ‘Let’s talk about your involvement with the Leonides portfolio over lunch. Pass me the wrap, would you?’
Rhona does as she is bid, expression freezing as she takes in the remaining sandwich.
‘You like prawn mayonnaise, right? It’s a classic.’
Rhona nods, jaw set as if she’s facing the gallows. ‘Seafood’s my favourite.’
Jean’s gaze roams heavenward. If there is a God up there, she will need all the strength he can spare to reshape this one. ‘If you plan on lying to me – which I don’t recommend – at least make it convincing.’
‘I’m not—’
‘Rhona, put down the sandwich. You’re vegan for Christ’s sake.’
Obedient, she drops the packet.
‘By the time I’m done, you won’t hesitate to speak your mind. You have good instincts and valuable insights – but they’re no use to you or the firm if you’re too afraid to share them.’
Rhona blinks, uncertain. ‘Thank you, Ms Howard.’
‘I want you on my team for Hephaestia. You’ll accompany me to meetings, take notes, present your findings – whatever else I require.’ As she speaks Rhona nods, eager. ‘You’ll see firsthand how Mr Dennings and I operate, learn about the inner workings of this firm, and gain invaluable experience with an international client. Play your cards right and this will be a big step towards promotion.’
That familiar hunger gleams in Rhona’s eyes – all the confirmation Jean needs that it’s the right decision. Decent tailoring and a precision haircut will make a new woman of Rhona, but those are discoveries she’ll make for herself. For now, it’s enough that she leaves Jean’s office walking taller.
April showers are torrential, yet Ava’s waiting for her outside the restaurant, cheeks pink in the chill night air. Her face lights up as she catches sight of Jean amidst the sea of tourists and commuters. Yet Ava exercises restraint, not attempting so much as a hug or chaste kiss in greeting. Though she’s gallant as ever, holding the restaurant door open for Jean and pulling her chair back.
Inside they each shed a layer, Ava shrugging off her mac to reveal a bold burgundy suit and crisp white shirt unbuttoned far enough to cause a glitch in Jean’s mind. Ava’s curls, artfully tousled, have the look of a Regency rake – and her smirk when she catches Jean looking only adds to the impression.
But Ava’s smugness proves short-lived as Jean drapes the pea coat over the back of her chair. Her green wrap dress shows Jean’s bust and legs to their best advantage while providing generous cover of her middle – the perfect choice for a dinner… meeting. Its silken material glows subtle as a priceless emerald in the restaurant’s warm light, and Ava is entranced. She hinges her jaw while Jean sits down, stammering out a compliment.
The restaurant’s an excellent choice, a tastefully decorated bistro promising a taste of Paris. A waitress brings the pre-theatre menus and a carafe of red wine, which she pours into their glasses before retreating.
Ava holds her wineglass aloft. ‘To knowledge exchange.’ If the half-smile she wears is anything to go by, Bernard’s workshop is the last thing on Ava’s mind. ‘Long may it continue.’
‘To knowledge exchange,’ Jean echoes, clinking their glasses together, though she won’t speculate about its duration. ‘How are things with you? How’s the CJC going?’
Ava’s smile grows sheepish. ‘Fine, but I don’t expect you to keep asking – you’ve already done so much.’
‘I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t interested. I’ve known people who set up charities, but never one that…’ Never one that wasn’t ultimately about ego or whitewashing corporate greed. The more time she spends with Ava, the further Jean travels from caution. ‘Never one with so much potential to achieve material, tangible good. Besides, it makes a nice change from mergers and acquisitions.’
‘Alright then.’ Ava toys with a dog-eared corner of the menu. ‘But only if you promise to stop me when I bore you.’
Jean gives a most unladylike snort. ‘False displays of modesty are what bore me. You’re taking a risk to do something courageous and unconventional – own it.’
‘It’s not false. Or modesty.’
‘Then what?’
‘I’m not used to talking about it, is all. My colleagues agree in principle that it’s needed. But we’re under-resourced and understaffed, which means they feel like I’m jumping ship when I leave. And my family…’ Ava swirls the wine in her glass, peering into its depths. And Jean imagines what ACWRC could achieve with even half DDH’s quarterly earnings. ‘Racism in the criminal justice system, it’s a difficult subject for them. It’s how we lost my uncle, Ephraim.’
Oh. It explains so much about Ava’s sense of purpose. ‘I’m so sorry,’ Jean says, meaning it. She remembers firsthand hating how people would either pry for details she couldn’t bear to give, or wallpaper over her sorrow with cheerful prattle, and instead leaves space for Ava to elaborate or shift subject.
‘So, you see why I can’t talk about the CJC with them?’
Jean doesn’t know whether to feel disappointed or relieved by the lack of disclosure. But she’s certain of being able to provide a sounding board for Ava’s ideas.
‘Then tell me. You need to get used to talking about this. Work out your core message and how to shape it into a narrative.’ Jean sips her wine – a full-bodied Rioja that washes the tension from her shoulders – and presses her advantage. ‘You might as well do this with an interested third party who understands the mechanics of what you’re trying to achieve. Besides, I’m genuinely curious.’
A teasing edge sharpens Ava’s smile. ‘That’s not very… sex acquaintance-like behaviour.’
