Contractual Obligations
Copyright© 2016 by Freddie Clegg
Chapter 9: A Phone Call And A Meeting
Allison had spent quite a while thinking about the call that she was about to make. In the end she decided there was no alternative but to plunge in and see what happened.
“Could I speak to Ms Calloway, please.”
“Just a moment. Who shall I say is calling?”
“My name is Allison Terry. Ms Calloway should be expecting my call.”
“Of course. Please hold.”
The voice at the other end of the telephone was softly spoken. Allison couldn’t help wondering if it came from one of Ms Calloway’s clients, pressed into service as her receptionist.
Ms Calloway’s voice on the other hand was brisk. “June Calloway, how can I help?”
Allison tried to imagine the person on the other end of the line. June didn’t sound like she was lounging on a couch in corset and boots while toying with a riding crop; she sounded more like one of the senior partners at her own firm.
“Good afternoon. I think you were expecting my call. A client of yours... “ Allison was reluctant to mention Lionel’s name, realising that he might well have used an alias. “He suggested you might be able to advise me on...”
“It’s not quite as simple as that,” June Calloway interrupted. “I am sure you will understand that if you are to take over certain aspects of his, shall we say, supervision then I will wish to be satisfied that this will be to his benefit. Our relationship may be a commercial one but I still worry about my clients, as I am sure you understand.”
Allison was far from sure that she did understand but had no chance to respond before June Calloway continued.
“I suggest that we meet. How are you for the South Bank? Do you know the restaurant at Tate Modern? How about 6 o’clock?”
Allison had expected a phone conversation more than an invitation to a dinner meeting but found herself bowled along by June’s breezy manner. “Err, yes. That’s fine. Should we book?” Allison tried to regain control of the conversation. “I think it gets quite busy.”
“Don’t worry I’ll see to that. I’ll see you there. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m with another client.” With that June Calloway rang off leaving Allison wondering if she had indeed been dressed as Allison had, at first, assumed.
Some hours later, Allison made her way over the Thames, across the Millennium Bridge, towards the bulk of the old Bankside Power Station looming in front of her. The late afternoon sun was slanting across its brick facade. She edged her way through the crowds emerging from the Turbine Hall and found the lift to the building’s sixth floor. A waiter greeted her at the door of the restaurant.
“I’m joining a Ms. Calloway.” Allison looked at her watch. It was ten to six. “I’m a little early.”
“This way, please,” the waiter responded and Allison followed him into the room and was shown into the dining room. The room was crowded but the waiter steered a course towards a small table beside the window looking out over the river. A smartly dressed woman in her mid-fourties was already sitting at the table. “Your guest, Ms Calloway,” the waiter announced with a deferential tone that Allison couldn’t be sure was simply a matter of his professional manner.
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