9. At the Edge of Yes and No

A month later, we were in London. The Eurostar train took us from Amsterdam to London in just four hours. Redfern Asset Management was in one of the City’s modern glass buildings. The girl in the lobby instructed us to go to the seventh floor. They occupied three floors, but the reception was on the seventh. Good for them. The office radiated opulence. Having lived on welfare, the sight of the expensive Persian rugs, the richly polished mahogany walls, and the extravagant chandelier hanging in the room’s centre felt alien and cold, rather than welcoming. You could smell it in the air: leather, the expensive perfume of the reception girl, and something faintly metallic — maybe the sharp tang of money.

“We have an appointment with Mr Watson. Sylvia van Geelen and Zuzanna Sówka,” I said.

“Have a seat. Mr Watson will be with you shortly.” We sat and watched the girl at the desk. She exuded seduction. She could go to any wild cocktail party in the dress she was wearing. One look at her and every visitor knew she was fucking her boss. She was not only attractive, but she was probably equally intelligent. She was part of the drawing his interior architect had designed for him. Like the rich forest green velvet drapes framing the tall windows pulled back to reveal the foggy skyline, she was just a fixture of the room.

She called her boss and informed him we had arrived. She pronounced our names wrong.

Donald J. came from the office behind her.

“Ladies, welcome to London. Good to see you both. Please come in. Howre, could you make us some coffee, please?”

“Yes, sir, right away.”

A leather sofa and two chairs sat in the corner, offering a great city view. We sat on the sofa, Onassis took the chair. Howre came in with the coffee. The way they looked at each other generated sexual energy, another confirmation that the boss fucked his personal assistant. She set the cups on the table with her butt turned to her boss. Once he said we were good, she vanished.

“Howre, an interesting name,” I said innocently.

“It’s an anagram of whore.” Sylvia whispered.

“Quite so,” said Billy Bunter. “My son Ciaran (he pronounced it as KEE run) is a good kid. But he is between a rock and a hard place right now. He has always been a bit of a mama’s boy, and I’m afraid she spoiled him so much he thinks he can just take whatever he wants. Last year, Glenfinnan Collegiate gave him the boot because of problems with a girl. We were fortunate enough that she dropped the charges against him. This year at Greyloch Academy, he has some friends who have a bad influence on him. He was expelled for his clumsy attempt to steal money from the school. He told me his mother refused to give them any more money to settle his gambling debts, and these guys forced him to pay them back.”

“His mom went to Germany, and poof, no more cash. He’s done with school; he says he is not learning anything. My Ciaran wants to work, or rather, make money. He wants to be free from his father’s control and spend his own cash. The problem is that he is only 16 years old, and in Scotland, he has to go to school until he is 18. He has found the solution to all his problems: a modern apprenticeship. He applied all by himself for an apprenticeship at an auto dealership in Dundee. They fix Mercedes Trucks out there, and he doesn’t want a lousy desk job like his dad, but he has sudden dreams of being a mechanic. Besides, after two years of apprenticeship, he would get a real diploma and have practical working skills.”