different areas during your years in financial journalism.” She looks up. “What attracts you to derivatives in particular?”
What? What’s she talking about? Oh yes. Derivatives. They’re futures, aren’t they? And they have something to do with the price of a security. Or a commodity. Something like that.
“Well,” I begin confidently — and am interrupted as Amy comes in with a cup of coffee.
“Thanks,” I say, and look up, hoping we’ve moved onto something else. But she’s still waiting for an answer. “I think the excitement of futures is the. . um, their speculative nature, combined with the ability to control risk with hedge positions,” I hear myself saying.
Wow. How on earth did I come out with that?
“They’re an extremely challenging area,” I add quickly, “and I think. .” What do I think? Should I throw in a quick reference to butterflies or expiry dates or something? Or Barings Bank? Probably better not. “I think I’d be well suited to that particular field,” I finish at last.
“I see,” says Jill Foxton, and leans back in her chair. “The reason I ask is, there’s a position we have in banking, which I think might also suit you. I don’t know what you would feel about that.”
A position in banking? Has she actually found me a job? I don’t believe it!
“Well, that would be fine by me,” I say, trying not to sound too joyful. “I mean, I’d miss the futures — but then, banking’s good, too, isn’t it?”
Jill laughs. I think she thinks I’m joking or something.
“The client is a triple-A-rated foreign bank, looking for a new recruit in the London arm of their debt financing division.”
“Right,” I say intelligently.
“I don’t know whether you’re familiar with the principles of European back-to-back arbitrage?”
“Absolutely,” I say confidently. “I wrote an article on that very subject last year.”
Which isn’t quite true, but I can always read a book about it, can’t I?
“Obviously I’m not trying to rush you into any decision,” she says, “but if you do want a change of career, I’d say this would be perfect for you. There’d be an interview, but I can’t see any problems there.” She smiles at me. “And we’ll be able to negotiate you a very attractive package.”
“Really?” Suddenly, I can’t quite breathe. She’s going to negotiate an attractive package. For me!
“Oh yes,” says Jill. “Well, you must realize you’re a bit of a one-off.” She gives me a confidential smile. “You know, when your CV came through yesterday, I actually whooped! I mean, the coincidence!”
“Absolutely,” I say, beaming at her. God, this is fantastic. This is a bloody dream come true. I’m going to be a banker! And not just any old banker — a triple-A-rated banker!
“So,” says Jill casually. “Shall we go and meet your new employer?”
“What?” I say in astonishment, and a little smile spreads over her face.
“I didn’t want to tell you until I’d met you — but the recruitment director of Bank of Helsinki is over here for a meeting with our managing director. I just know he’s going to love you. We can have the whole thing wrapped up by this afternoon!”
“Excellent!” I say, and get to my feet. Ha-ha-ha! I’m going to be a banker!
It’s only as we’re halfway down the corridor that her words begin to impinge on my mind. Bank of Helsinki.
Bank of Helsinki. That doesn’t mean. . Surely she doesn’t think. .
“I can’t wait to hear the two of you talking away in Finnish,” says Jill pleasantly, as we begin to climb a flight of stairs. “It’s not a language I know at all.”
Oh my God. Oh my God. No.
“But then, my languages have always been hopeless,” she adds comfortably. “I’m not talented in that department, not like you!”
I flash her a little smile and keep walking, without missing a step. But I can hardly breathe. Shit. What am I going to do? What the fuck am I going to do?
We turn a corner and begin to walk calmly down another corridor. And I’m doing pretty well. As long as we just keep walking, I’m OK.
“Was Finnish a hard language to learn?” asks Jill.
“Not that hard,” I hear myself saying in a scratchy voice. “My. . my father’s half Finnish.”
“Yes, I thought it must be something like that,” says Jill. “I mean, it’s not the sort of thing you learn at school, is it?” And she gives a jolly little laugh.
It’s all right for her, I think desperately. She’s not the one being led to her death. Oh God, this is terrible. People keep passing us and glancing at me and smiling, as if to say “So that’s the Finnish-speaker!”
Why did I put I was fluent in Finnish? Why?
“All right?” says Jill. “Not nervous?”
“Oh no!” I say at once, and force a grin onto my face. “Of course I’m not nervous!”
Maybe I’ll be able to busk it, I think suddenly. I mean, the guy won’t conduct the whole bloody interview in Finnish, will he? He’ll just say “Hasallo,” or whatever it is, and I’ll say “Hasallo” back, and then before he can say anything else, I’ll quickly say, “You know, my technical Finnish is a bit rusty these days. Would you mind if we spoke in English?” And he’ll say. .
“Nearly there,” says Jill, and smiles at me.
“Good,” I say brightly, and clasp my sweaty hand more tightly round my briefcase handle. Oh God. Please save me from this. Please. .
“Here we are!” she says, and stops at a door marked “Conference Room.” She knocks twice, then pushes it open. There’s a roomful of people sitting round a table, and they all turn to look at me.
“Jan Virtanen,” she says. “I’d like you to meet Rebecca Bloomwood.”
A bearded man rises from his chair, give me a huge smile, and extends his hand.
“Neiti Bloomwood,” he says cheerfully. “Nautin erittain paljon tapaamisestamme. Onko oiken, etta teilla on jonkinlainen yhteys Suomeen?”
I stare speechlessly at him. My face is glowing, as though I’m consumed with happiness. Everyone in the room is waiting for me to answer, I’ve got to say something.
“I. . erm. . erm. . Hasallo!” I lift my hand in a friendly little wave and smile around the room.
But nobody smiles back.
“Erm. . I’ve just got to. .” I start backing away. “Just got to. .”
I turn. And I run.
Eleven
I ARRIVE BACK DOWN in the foyer, panting slightly. Which is not surprising, since I’ve just run about a half marathon along endless corridors, trying to get out of this place. I descend the final flight of stairs (couldn’t risk waiting for the elevators in case the Finnish brigade suddenly turned up), then pause to catch my breath. I straighten my skirt, transfer my briefcase from one sweaty hand to the other, and begin to walk calmly across the foyer toward the door, as though I’ve come out of an utterly ordinary, utterly unspectacular meeting. I don’t look right and I don’t look left. I don’t think about the fact that I’ve just completely shredded any chances I had of becoming a top City banker. All I can think about is getting to that glass door and getting outside before anyone can. .
“Rebecca!” comes a voice behind my voice, and I freeze. Shit. They’ve got me.
“Hasallo!” I gulp, turning round. “Hasall. . Oh. Hell. . Hello.”
It’s Luke Brandon.
It’s Luke Brandon, standing right in front of me, looking down at me with that amused smile he always seems to have.
“This isn’t the sort of place I would have expected to find you,” he says. “You’re not after a City job, are you?”
