Chapter 1: Work & Enterprise

Sylvia Atterbury, Minister for Work and Enterprise in the UK’s New Order Government looked down at her diary for the day. It promised to be a quiet one for the start of the New Year; one early meeting, then a ministerial visit to inaugurate a programme for supporting entrepreneurial women with new business ideas and finally a briefing session with her PR advisors in the afternoon. The turmoil and flurry of new legislation that had followed the election of New Order had given way, six months later, to the steady process of making sure the business of Government was carried out. Sylvia was not much of a political zealot but she was, she thought, good at administration. Her practical approach had earned her a reputation as having a safe pair of hands in the Party, even if she wasn’t as enthusiastic in pursuing some of the more extreme ideas that the membership put forward. She mightn’t cut as glamorous a figure as some members of the government (she had been criticised for a rather frumpy outfit that she had worn to attend the opening of London Women’s Designer Week the month before) or be as quick with a TV sound bite as some but she had some powerful allies in the City and amongst the growing body of women industrialists. Her implementation of policies for positive discrimination in favour of women in the workplace was seen as effective, if unexciting, and she liked to think the Prime Minister valued that.

There was a knock at the door.

“Enter,” Sylvia called allowing the bearer of her morning coffee to come in. Sir Henry Warren, carried the tray carefully. He had no wish to start this day off badly with slops in the saucer of the Minister’s coffee. As the department’s Permanent Private Secretary before New Order came to power he had been one of the most influential Civil Servants in Whitehall and he had been knighted for “services to public administration” only a year ago. Now, though, as a result of his own department’s positive discrimination policies – New Order’s so-called “Womanisation” programme - he found himself sidelined from any serious responsibilities. As policies were introduced to ensure women occupied any position where decision making was needed, he had been grateful to cling on to any role in order to stay employed long enough to claim his pension. That was still a worrying ten years off though and he was wondering if he would make it, so even the menial post he found himself in now was better than none. Fetching the Minister’s coffee, doing her filing and seeing to whatever minor errands needed to be carried out as well as looking after his own successor was at least a job of some sort. Some of his one-time colleagues in Whitehall didn’t even have that.

Sylvia barely acknowledged his presence as he carried the tray of coffee across the room. He was about to put it down on her desk when Julia Fain, the woman who had been promoted to replace him, appeared at the door. Julia wasn’t sure about Henry. She had started off in the department working for him before he concept of a woman reporting to a man became absurd. He’d always been fair and hadn’t shown any resentment about the changes in the department but, and it was a big but, he still didn’t have a sponsor. Julia felt that really was a problem for a man employed in the heart of Government.

Henry looked down at his tray, worried in case Julia noticed an inadvertent look of appreciation. He had hired her. He told himself it was because of her qualifications and talents and he still thought of Julia as one of his better recruitment decisions – back in the days men were allowed to make decisions of that sort. The trouble was, he often found his fantasies turning towards thoughts of her short dark hair, coquettish face, slim hips, and rounded breasts and buttocks in quieter moments in the office. Any expression of such thoughts could be seen as a clear breech of the Government’s respect agenda but they couldn’t actually stop you thinking them, Henry knew.

Julia, not noticing Henry’s infatuated glance, turned towards Sylvia. “Minister; your nine o’clock,” she said. “Ms Courten.”

A tall, slim, woman swept into the room. Her dramatic appearance contrasted with the cosy, faintly academic comfort of the Minister’s office. She extended a hand as Sylvia rose to greet her. “Raven Courten, Minister” she said. “Pleased to meet you.”

Sylvia found herself impressed by the woman’s presence, but it was hard to imagine who wouldn’t be. She must have been five feet eleven tall but the four inch dagger-like heels of her knee length boots lifted her to well over six feet, even without the knot of long black hair hair that was piled on the back of her head. A black silk shirt, narrow black leather skirt and wide black patent belt appeared to have been chosen to fit with her name. Precisely applied make-up highlighted chiselled cheekbones, sharply sculpted eyebrows, and thin lips. A black eye patch covered one eye; the other, fringed by lashes that were long and heavily mascaraed, seemed to take in the room with a single sweep.

Henry Warren made a short noise that sounded very much like a pig’s squeak and backed out of the room. Julia Fain watched him go, wondering at his reaction. Still, she thought any man would be intimidated by the appearance of Raven Courten. Poor old Henry had obviously been startled. She sometimes felt a bit sorry for how the changes in Government must seem to someone of his age. And, she could see how he might have found the sight of someone like Raven Courten a shock. Julia turned her attention back to Raven Courten and the Minister.

“Ms Courten, come in. Do sit down. How can I help?”

As Sylvia’s visitor sat, crossing her black clad legs, Julia Fain dropped a folder on the desk. “Ms Courten wants to discuss some of the problems her trade association is facing.”

“I see,” Sylvia said. “Well, we’re always happy to look at how Government policy can be used to stimulate trade, if that’s what is needed. Which business area are we talking about?”

Julia Fain looked uncomfortable. The Minister obviously hadn’t read her briefing paper. This was going to come as a bit of a shock.

Raven Courten smiled coolly. “The sex industry, Minister. I represent one of the professional bodies for sex workers across the UK.”

Sylvia was taken aback for a moment but soon recovered. She leant forward with a look that had been developed over years of experience in political office to convey passionate interest without the least chance that she was about to do anything about it. “I’m sorry, I thought our policies had been quite progressive in this area. The whole industry has been de-criminalised and largely de-regulated, at least for women.”

Julia was startled by the withering look that her visitor gave the Minister. ‘You obviously do not realise it, Minister’ Raven Courten began, ‘but Government policies have virtually destroyed this industry. It has stolen our jobs over the last year. Removing the male population from the economically active part of the nation has effectively removed our market. Preventing their use of internet devices removed the marketing channels that most of our members depend on. Encouraging those with men in their care to restrict their sexual activity wherever possible has further impacted us. Some of us have continued to be able to trade but really at nothing like an economically viable level. We don’t see anything coming along to compensate for the fact that for many of us a lucrative market sector – by which I mean men – is no longer able to take advantage of our services. It’s a combination of things, of course. I’m not accusing the Government of setting out to do this but that has been the effect. The curfew restrictions didn’t help and the fact that so few men now have any access to financial resources makes it very difficult for us. And in my own area, the members I represent, of course, the state has effectively nationalised things.”