An Opportunity

This story was written for the 750 Word Project 2024. Below this line are exactly 750 words:

'It's an opportunity,' the recruiter said. 'To see inside the machine. To see how things really work. To learn from one of the country's most successful businessmen.'

'Sounds good,' Pete said.

'The downside,' the recruiter said, 'and, yes, there is a downside, Douglas Poole is a bastard. Believe me. A bastard of the first order. A bully. He treats his staff appallingly.'

The recruiter was not wrong.

'When I want something done, I want it done immediately,' Douglas Poole told Pete when he gave him his first and only briefing. 'I don't want it done later. I don't even want it done soon. And I certainly don't want it done when it suits you. I want it done now! Also... I can't abide jibber-jabber. When I'm in the room, I expect you to speak only when spoken to. Do I make myself clear?'

Pete nodded.

'I can't hear you,' Douglas Poole said, holding a hand up to his ear.

'When you want something done, you want it done now,' Pete said. 'Yes. I got that.'

'Yes, sir,' Douglas Poole told him in no uncertain terms.

That night, when Douglas Poole was on his way to the airport, and Pete finally felt that it was safe to head home, there was a woman walking, unsteadily, back and forth in front of Cramer House. The woman was sharply dressed but slightly dishevelled. 'Can I help you?' Pete asked.

'Hmm... MacIntosh,' the woman said with a touch of a slur.

'MacIntosh?'

'MacIntosh,' the woman said, and she mimed someone steering a car.

'Oh. Yes. MacIntosh,' Pete said. (Malcolm MacIntosh was Douglas Poole's driver.) 'I believe Mr MacIntosh is on his way to the airport. Can someone else help?'

'Oh.' The woman seemed disappointed. 'Perhaps it will have to be a taxi then.'

'Let me see what I can do.'

'You should come with me,' the woman said.

'Come with you?'

'Make sure that I get there.' And she laughed.

'Get where?' Pete asked.

'Home.'

'And where is home?'

'It's... umm.... ' The woman flapped her hands. And then she remembered. 'Knightsbridge,' she said.

Everything about the woman suggested to Pete that she was seriously monied. But... well... even monied people sometimes have one too many. 'Knightsbridge,' Pete told the cabbie. And then he joined the woman in the back of the cab.

'Why is MacIntosh going to the airport?' the woman asked.

'Taking someone to catch a flight?' Pete suggested.

The woman nodded.

When they reached the Knightsbridge address (a mansion among mansions), the woman suggested that Pete should come in. 'We can have a drink.'

Pete thanked her for her kind invitation. 'But I really should be getting home.'

'Just one little drink?' she said.

'My boss has given me homework to do,' Pete told her.

She laughed. 'Oh, well... perhaps another time then.'

It was about a week later that Pete next saw the woman. She was steadying herself against the reception desk as Pete returned to the office late one afternoon. The woman didn't seem to notice Pete.

'Is... umm... he in?' the woman asked the receptionist.

'No, ma'am,' the receptionist said. 'Would you like me to call Ms Farnham?'

'What about MacIntosh?'

The receptionist glanced towards an open door to one side of the reception desk. 'Yes, I think Mr MacIntosh is in,' the receptionist said.

The woman nodded. 'Could you please tell him I'd like to go home,' she said.

'By all means, ma'am. Perhaps if you would just like to take a seat for a moment.'

It was a few days later that Douglas Poole summoned Pete to his office on the sixth floor. The woman who Pete had escorted to Knightsbridge -- and seen in reception -- was sitting on the couch. 'My wife,' Douglas Poole said. 'She's not feeling well. And I'm due at a cocktail party. Over in Greenwich. I need you to get a cab and take Mrs Poole home. Knightsbridge.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Flu?' Pete asked as the cab headed to Knightsbridge.

'I'm fine,' Mrs Poole said, suddenly looking much brighter. 'Just bored with my bossy husband. He's such a bully. Don't you think so?' And she reached under her skirt and discreetly shimmied out of her knickers. 'Give me your hand,' she said. She took Pete's hand and placed it on her honeypot. 'What do you think? Do I have a temperature?'

Pete smiled. 'I'd say warm... but not dangerously so.'

Audrey Poole nodded. 'I'm sure we can do something about that,' she said.