Ingrams & Assoc 5: Personality Flaws Ch. 01

Rachael sighed. "Well, yes, quite. I... I don't know April. I don't think I'm quite ready to confront all of that yet. Maybe in a little while."

"Well, we have nothing but time, Rachael. It's why I'm here, we can take our time," April said, as reassuringly and calmly as she could.

Rachael gave April a glum smile and looked away and carried on with breakfast, not saying anything else for the rest of the meal, her body language signally very clearly that this topic was over for discussion, at least for now.

The rest of the day went fairly quickly. April checked out her new office, learning about her new duties. It was a standard administrative office - she got to meet the four VP's that reported to Rachael, and tried to get a feel for how things were run.

The day passed and right before she was due to leave for the day - internally debating whether she should just order an Uber to get herself back to the pub, or try working out the local public transport - she was surprised by one of the nameless men who ran around with clipboards.

"April Carlisle?" he intoned, reading from the clipboard that everyone seemed to have in England.

She looked up and nodded.

"Sign here please, miss," the man said, holding out the clipboard.

"What's this for?" she asked, taking the papers.

"You need to sign for the car. Can't let you have it without you signing, I'm afraid."

"Car?" asked April, puzzled. "I don't think..."

"Say's right there, miss," he said, tapping the paperwork. "One MG F, leased by Coladia, for Miss April Carlisle, for the use of."

"I have a car?" asked April weakly. This was a surprise.

"Yes miss. Can you sign? It's outside the front. I have the keys here. I just need a copy of your driver's license and we are all good to go. The company is picking up the insurance. You can drive a manual gearbox yes?"

April nodded, taken aback. She opened her bag, dragged out her driver's license and then went to the photocopier, and made a copy.

She signed the documents, handed it back to the man, and he handed her the keys.

"It takes normal petrol. Remember to drive on the left. Have fun miss." And then he was gone. She looked at the keys in her hand, and gathered up her bag to go in search of her new car.

It was parked almost directly out the front gate. Dark Blue, convertible, and definitely the MG shape she'd seen in pictures, though rarely in the US. She got in - laughing at herself for first going to the wrong door - and just looked around. It was a nice car. Small, but it felt like it was going to be fun.

It was a total surprise, but a really nice one. This mission was going to be fun, she decided. Doing her best to remember to 'drive on the left', repeating it to herself like a mantra, and only stalling the car three times before she got back into the swing of using a clutch, she set up her phone with google maps and drove slowly back to the pub. The car didn't handle as well as her Porsche did, back in DC, but the fact she had a convertible at all was nice, even though pulling back the roof was a manual operation.

She made a point of sending a text to Rachael, to say thank you for her thoughtfulness.

The next two days passed. April was slowly getting to grips with the job and learning about events that were coming up- and also trying to get some time to talk to Rachael. Rachael was a busy lady, that was obvious. For some one who was not actually totally in control of her own company any more, she sure had a lot of meetings and things to do. She had back to back meetings all day, so anytime April felt she was starting to get somewhere in terms of finding out what Rachael was actually feeling, another meeting was due.

Rachael definitely had a façade though. She kept almost everyone at arm's length. She indulged them, and gave enough of herself that they thought they were getting the real deal, but it was clear to April that Rachael was hurting, and shielding herself. She was professional, somewhat funny and dry in her observations, but she never volunteered what she was thinking without being asked directly, and even then, what she said was very carefully filtered. It was all very British, but it still didn't ring quite true. Rachael wasn't a phony, but she wasn't genuine either.

April had no doubt that this was probably Rachael's normal modus operandi - good business people never show too much, but she worried that Rachael was masking her own feelings so much. She felt that Rachael was shielding her feeling from herself as much as from the rest of the world.

April remained puzzled as to why she was there at all. So far, what she'd observed was something that any competent therapist could help her with. There were many ways to keep a therapist's visit quiet and private. Why had Rachael reached out to Ingrams and incurred the gigantic cost? Even though Dermott had intimated that Rachael suspected more was at root, nothing had been said to her directly - at least not yet.

One of the best things about being Rachael's PA was complete access to Rachael's schedule, both public and private. She noticed there was nothing set for the next evening, so she made dinner reservations at a terrific Italian place in St. Albans - She'd discovered that the Brit's didn't use Yelp that much - she'd discovered they didn't use Craigslist either. Their replacements seemed to be OpenTable and GumTree.

When the day was done the next day, she walked into Rachael's office, where she was examining the genetic structure of a proposed drug on her computer, and announced, "Dinner. Tonight. I've made reservations, so get yourself together."

Rachael looked her, with a fathomless expression. April kept it light, but firm. "We leave in ten minutes. It's a great Italian place."

"April, I don't know..." she ventured, before April cut her off, ruthlessly.

"Nope. I know. The therapist says so. Get your shit together. We goin' OUT."

Rachael stared back, a bit taken aback.

"Look, Rachael, being here is great and all, but my time is expensive. You know that. I can't help you unless we get some quality time together, and you open up enough to actually tell me what is on your mind. Otherwise I may as well just go home and get a tan. We need to talk about Lee, about what happened, and how I can help."

It was a calculated risk, but she needed to push Rachael a little. At the very least, her reactions give April a good data point.

"I...yes, I suppose it's time. I've seen enough of you now that I trust you are the person I need to speak to."

Interesting. She'd been examining April the same as April had been reviewing her. She really would have made a good agent.

She casually mentioned that a little while later, over dinner, and Rachael's hand flew to her mouth, and then she said, hesitantly, "Do you really think so?"

"Oh yes, no question," replied April, a fork full of Cornish hen on its way to her mouth.

Rachael blushed, and then said quietly, "but...all the rest of it... the education? The, um...abilities. You know. In the bedroom..."

April chuckled. "It's a job Rachael. You use the best tools to solve the issue. We are trained to review the situation and respond to it with the best we can. We don't go stampeding to the bedroom on meeting someone, but on occasion, it's necessary. And if we are going to do it, we do it well. That's one of your motto's, isn't it?"

Rachael blushed an even deeper shade of red. "I wasn't really thinking of that kind of situation when I use that motto, April."

But then, after a moments consideration, she looked April right in the eye, and said brazenly, "But yes, I suppose you are right. I mean, I certainly never held back with Lee."

And there it was. The opportunity was being presented, the door opened a chink, and April jumped on it.

"Things were good, with Lee I mean? In the bedroom?"

"Oh yes. Well, for most of our marriage. They tapered off at the end. I thought it was just me, working too hard, and him having projects in the city. But till then...well...I lived by the adage 'wife in the living room, cook in the kitchen and...well, you know... in the bedroom. Nothing particularly was off limits. It's not like he hungered for something I couldn't or wouldn't give him. Oh, we weren't swinging from the chandeliers, or him getting off with me doing the pool boy or anything. Nothing like that. Just, if either of us wanted something, we could talk about it, and find a way to make it happen in way that was...safe, if you know what I mean."

"A non-threatening way?" suggested April.

"Yes, exactly. I don't mean safe as in boring, I mean safe as in no threat to our relationship."

"So, what happened?" asked April, directly, giving the floor to Rachael, but not before making sure that there was no one on either side of their booth. Doing this kind of thing in a public place was a risk, but the other side of that coin was that often the people doing the confessing relaxed a bit, because, well, it was public, right? How far would they go? Obviously not too far. It was public. And in lots of situations exactly the opposite would happen. They would reveal things they never would in private.

"I still don't really know. He just...stopped responding to me. It was really fast, over five or six weeks. He was working in the city and commuting, and being home with me on the weekends. He stopped talking about the project he was working on. I could feel him pulling away, and I was busy. I made a point of saying we needed a holiday, and then when I came home and told him, he just..."

Rachael was trembling; tears were close to the surface. April could quite see why she put on the façade.

"It's ok Rachael. No judgment here. I just need the facts."

"That's it though April. I don't have any facts. He just made his announcement, packed up and left. He didn't even look me in the eye. Why would he do that? I don't understand how he could? Did our life together not mean anything to him? How could he do that to me? Am I that horrible? Was I working that hard? Did I ignore him that much? And then... when I found out what he was doing. I mean, April, you are a woman, how would you feel to find your husband had hidden this side of himself over the years of your marriage? So effectively there was no hint. At all."

April gave Rachael an empathetic expression, and reached out her hand to cover Rachael's.

"I don't know what I'd feel, Rachael. I know I would want answers, though."

"Well that's it, April. I want answers. That's why I hired Ingrams. I want you to find out why he did what he did. Because... I don't think it's right. Something is wrong. I just cannot believe that he suddenly switched his desires to be some slag's bitch."

The last was whispered emphatically. There was no debating the passion in Rachael's voice. She emphasized the word 'slag', and April, having never heard Rachael even come close to swearing, understood a few things more clearly. Rachael's revulsion at Lee's current situation. And the fact that she'd not let go inside at all.

"The thing is, I'm just so confused. He hid this from me. Something so big in his personality - he hid it so completely. It just wasn't there. And now, he's left me to fulfill some kind of desire I never saw a hint of. He was a Major in the guards, for god's sake. You don't get to be a Major in the guards by secretly fantasizing about being some dirty whore's bitch. You just don't. And if he came back now, I have no idea what I'd do. Part of me wants him desperately, but part of me is repulsed by what he seems to want in his life. It was never part of our lives - NEVER. I mean, I know you say 'for better or worse' in your vows, but still... I don't know what I feel."

For April, this was a watershed moment. It was clear that Rachael was still very much in love with the man she married. She was confused by who this man was now, and didn't understand how she could have missed the signs. She assumed there had to have been signs. There had to have been. And she missed them.

One of the critical questions that is asked in therapy, when someone has been mistreated is, "if they came back, what would you do?" because that starts the process of resolving what the wronged person actually wants. You can't move forward without knowing what you want, and while that's often hard to get to - most of the time, the answer is some variation of "I want it to go back to what it was", which is almost never viable - it at least kick starts the process.

That's really what a therapist is there for. To initiate the process of coping with the situation as truly exists. Many patients live in a form of denial, where they perceive the situation as far simpler than it might be. Therapy allows some degree of exploration of feelings, and figuring out why events may have happened, so the patient can understand what occurred and avoid -at least try to, anyway - similar situations in the future. Therapy is mostly about developing coping mechanisms with the patient, and getting them to look forward.

The healthiest thing a patient can do, in April's experience, was to be planning what their vacation was going to be a year in advance. That indicated a settlement of life and desire, which is the ultimate aim of any therapy.

Rachael still hadn't come to grips with what had happened, that much was clear. She had no understanding of why, and without the why, she wasn't going to progress much. At least though, she was asking the right questions.

"And, honestly, April, if he did need all this..." she spread her hands, expressively, "...stuff..., why couldn't he come to me and ask me for it? I mean, it's not what we did, but we were partners. We told each other everything. Well, I thought we did. Obviously wrong about that," she ended, bitterly.

There were real tears in her eyes now.

"Why April? You are the expert. Tell me why. Why didn't he talk to me? Why didn't he give me any clues? Where did all this come from?" she beseeched April.

April took a deep breath. Rachael was coming unglued.

"Rachael, I don't know. I wish I had the answers for you. Everyone is different. What drives Lee, what he needed out of life, what he felt was important, that's unique to him. Once our basic needs are satisfied, the remaining needs are always specific and unique. The thing you have to remember and understand is that you didn't fail him. There may have been something he needed, that for some reason he couldn't discuss with you, but that's him - not you. You cannot know what is in someone else's mind if they don't tell you or at least expose those thoughts in some manner. If he gave no hint, then he gave no hint. You cannot beat yourself up because you aren't telepathic."

Rachael stared back at April, eyes full of tears that were almost shed but not quite. She was at least listening, April noted. That part was good.

"Something crucial went wrong, obviously. But you doubting yourself like this benefits no one, least of all you. I understand why you wanted us now. You want me to look into this? See what was in his mind, yes?"

Rachael nodded, mournfully.

"Ok, I can do that. I don't know that I'll be able to give you a definitive or satisfying answer, and it may well be that your situation is irreparable. We may well be in a situation where we have to start preparing for the future, alone for the time being."

Using "we" instead of "you" in sentences like that made the person going through the issue not feel so alone. They knew that you would be with them, through the thick and the thin. This was all 'Analysis 101' for a good therapist, but it was an interesting point of view for April, who - while highly trained - had never actually had this kind of direct conversation before.

She needed to give Rachael something to move towards; some degree of resolution of at least her own feelings, if not the situation in total. For her part, she suspected that Lee had hid his feelings all those years because of what Rachael - and his career - needed him to be. But saying that right now wasn't going to help Rachael's situation. If anything, it would make it worse.

Rachael nodded at April, a little more under control. She picked up a napkin and dabbed at her eyes.

"Damn. Didn't do the waterproof mascara today. Do I look alright? I'll bet I look like a raccoon, don't I?"

The weak attempt at humor meant that Rachael's moment of lack of control had ended. April nodded at her, grinning broadly.

"Best looking raccoon I ever saw!" she pronounced, firmly. "Seriously, how do you do it Rachael? You look outstanding. You look at least ten years younger than your age? What's your secret?"

"Clean living and a fish diet," muttered Rachael, quietly.

"Sorry?" asked April.

"Private joke. Never mind," said Rachael. "Actually, I walk a lot - I have a machine at home for when it's raining. I try to keep out of the sun and use sunblock when I am out. I skip a meal every so often. And I've been blessed with great genes. And great jeans."

She slapped the jeans she was wearing that day, which fitted her perfectly. Not in a 'sprayed on' kind of way, just that they form fitted and emphasized her slim shape.

"Well, give me a sample of your blood sometime. I need your genome analyzed."

"We can actually do that you know. At the labs. I've been considering it as a possible new revenue line. 23andme has proved there is a market for that kind of thing."

23andme was the website based in the San Francisco area that would break down your genome, from a DNA sample you provide, and give you details on what you were genetically susceptible to and your lineage.

"Interesting..." replied April, noncommittally.

April's next question had to be raised delicately. She took a sip of the wine, and said "Rachael, I need to ask you something. It's personal, but it...well, it matters."

Rachael, also taking the opportunity for a sip, nodded.

"Do you have anyone to talk to about all this? A friend? A confident? Have you spoke to anyone, to any degree about this since Lee left?"

Rachael snorted. "You are kidding, right? Who am I going to talk to? My mother? My father? I can't talk to his parents, since they are both gone. I highly doubt his brother is going to want to hear about his current activities. I have a few school chums, but while we talk, we don't talk about this kind of thing. Most of that conversation is about new handbags or lunch at Harvey Nicks. We don't tend to go into much detail about bedroom activities, or if we suspect our spouses are shagging the help. Although, to be fair, I'm fairly sure some of my school friends aren't above that kind of behavior themselves. Nothing like killing a friendship when you launch into a 'aren't all cheaters scumbags' to a bunch of people round the table who are all cheaters themselves, no?"

Rachael gave a moment's consideration, then carried on. "Obviously I have to talk the lawyer - and that was embarrassing enough. He's an old family friend. God only knows what he thought, but I can at least trust he won't tell anybody. And then there's the private investigator I got to look into this mess. He assures me that professional etiquette means he can't say a word. There were some questions from the board, obviously, once Lee sold his shares. Particularly those who were forced out. They came to me asking why Lee would do this to them. We know them all, obviously. I was at a loss to explain to them why Lee would team up with these vultures.

"I mean, what can you really say in that situation? I wasn't about to hand out personal details of that sort. While it seems really shallow, I have a standing here. I run a company and I'm responsible for the livelihoods of over four hundred people. If I fail tomorrow, they all fail. I can't be seen to have had a husband who now gets his kicks by getting whipped. I know all about 'to each his own', but people talk, you know. Even those most outwardly progressive and tolerant of people snicker behind your back. And trust me, April, they don't think more highly of you when you can't keep you husband satisfied, which you know is how some of them would look at it even if they wouldn't say it out loud."