Pause. Need to put the correct words in the right order. "I'd ignore the knocking on the door. And then I'd return to my invited guests. I'd do everything I can to make them feel welcome, to ensure it is the most fantastic party they've ever been to. And the knocking would just become some distant, irrelevant noise. Eventually, I won't even notice it is there. Just like that damn fly you talk about."
"Fantastic. I'm certain your actions are the right ones to take. Let me just play devil's advocate for one moment, though, if you don't mind? Let me put another question to you: how do you think he'll react to you ignoring him?"
I blow out hot air. "I can't try to control how other people react," I say. "You told me that."
"You're right. I did. And you can't. But I'm not asking you to. I'm just asking you to tell me what his likely reaction will be. You're ignoring him. He is stood on your doorstep. You are humiliating him. Aren't you just going to make him angry?"
I nod. I'm smiling. "But like you said: I can't control that. Let him get angry. Let him tear his shirt off and turn green for all I care. If I don't open the door then he has nowhere for that anger to go. He'll get bored of the situation. He'll get bored of the anger. He'll get bored of me."
Silence. Fingers tapping. They're mine.
"Fantastic," he says. "Tell me, what is the most important aspect of your world?"
"My mind," I say. No hesitation. The words slip off my tongue. He's asked the question countless times before.
"Exactly. Your mind is a precious commodity. So how should you treat your mind, this precious commodity?"
"Like I treat my house."
"Precisely. You control who enters. You tell any uninvited guests to leave. If they do not listen, then you just ignore them. They will eventually get bored, and nobody likes boredom. They will leave. They will no longer even want to come to your party. He will no longer want to come to your party. If you remember that golden rule, then everything will be absolutely fine."
I nod. Smile.
"Splendid. Absolutely splendid," he says. "I think that is enough for today, don't you? Now. Slowly, and in your own time, please open your eyes again..."
*******
I lean forward in my swivel chair and focus my eyes on the young girl sat the other side of the mahogany table. The girl brushes her hand through her long auburn hair and tries - in vain - to focus on somebody - anybody - so long as that somebody is not me. The crimson flush highlights the sprinkling of brown freckles on her cheeks. I briefly scan the rest of the table: five men in designer shirts rolled up at the sleeves; five women in prim, white blouses. Nice round number. All ten are twenty years younger than me, twenty years keener than me. Yet it is me they all turn to, anticipating the next words that come out of my mouth.
"Janine," I say, "the last thing I want to do is to put you under any unnecessary pressure, my love; but shall we cut to the chase? This is your moment in the spotlight. All eyes are on you. Make the most of it..."
A couple of the (braver) guys snigger. One has suddenly developed an irritating tickle in his throat. Pressing her hands against the edge of the table, Janine tentatively rises to her feet. Her chair rolls backwards. Glancing over her shoulder she decides - wisely - not to chase after the chair. Upper lip rising, she displays a row of acceptably straight teeth. The tips of her fingers never leave the edge of the table. Rotating her head, her eyes work the table. Janine reaches me. I deflect her gaze.
We're on the 11th floor of this pristine, modern office building, and the wall to ceiling glass window provides a picturesque view of the Thames. I look around: there are three jugs filled with water in the middle of the table; everybody has written their name in black felt tip on a white placard, even though, as far as I can tell, they all already know each other; green plants, which look like they are watered daily, overflow from impressively expensive vases in all four corners of the room. The air conditioning is working overtime. The Beast from the East is a distant memory. It has been the warmest May in a hundred years, and June doesn't appear to be letting the side down, either.
"We have five teams in five different locations who all, essentially, do the same job," Janine begins. I raise my hand. Clearly, Janine is aware that I have raised my hand but she chooses to ignore it. Everybody else in the boardroom swivels their chairs and chooses not to ignore my raised hand. Janine releases a tired sigh. "Yes?"
"Last thing I want to do is to interrupt you when you are in full flow, Janine," I say, examining my fingernails. "Would you agree that the key word in what you've just said there is 'essentially'?"
"Sorry?"
"No need to be sorry, Janine. I'm not sure you've actually done anything wrong. I just want clarification, that is all. You say that the five locations are essentially doing the same job. 'Essentially' allows considerable flexibility. Are you saying that essentially they all do the same job, but in reality, they do different jobs?"
Janine wrinkles her forehead. "No, I am not saying that. What I am essentially saying - sorry, what I am saying - is that they all do the same jobs, only with some inevitable, trivial differences. Does that clarify my use of the word?"
"It does. And thank you for the clarification."
Janine maintains equal eye contact with the rest of the
