Can You Keep a Secret?
Page 19
A limousine has purred up the street and stopped right in front of the glass doors.
What is it about some cars? They look so gleaming and burnished, as if they're made out of a completely different metal from normal cars.
As if by clockwork, the lift doors at the other end of the foyer open, and out strides Graham Hillingdon, the chief executive, plus the managing director and about six others, all looking immaculate in dark suits.
'That's enough!' Cyril is hissing at the poor cleaners in the foyer. 'Go! Leave it!'
The three of us stand, goggling like children, as the passenger door of the limousine opens. A moment later, out gets a man with blond hair in a navy blue overcoat. He's wearing dark glasses and is holding a very expensive-looking briefcase.
Wow. He looks like a million dollars.
Graham Hillingdon and the others are all outside by now, lined up on the steps. They shake his hand in turn, then usher him inside, where Cyril is waiting.
'Welcome to the Panther Corporation UK,' Cyril says fulsomely. 'I hope your journey was pleasant?'
'Not too bad, thanks,' says the man, in an American accent.
'As you can see, this is very much a normal working day …'
'Hey look,' murmurs Katie. 'Kenny's stuck outside the doors.'
Kenny Davey, one of the designers, is hovering uncertainly on the steps outside in his jeans and baseball boots, not knowing whether to come in or not. He puts a hand to the door, then retreats a little, then comes up to the door again and peers uncertainly inside.
'Come in, Kenny!' says Cyril, opening the door with a rather savage smile. 'One of our designers, Kenny Davey. You should have been here ten minutes ago, Kenny. Still, never mind!' He pushes a bewildered Kenny towards the lifts, then glances up and shoos us away in irritation.
'Come on,' says Katie, 'we'd better go.' And, trying not to giggle, the three of us hurry up the stairs.
The atmosphere in the marketing department is a bit like my bedroom used to be before we had parties in the sixth form. People are brushing their hair, spraying perfume, shuffling papers around and gossiping excitedly. As I walk past the office of Neil Gregg, who is in charge of media strategy, I see him carefully lining up his Marketing Effectiveness awards on his desk, while Fiona his assistant is polishing the framed photographs of him shaking hands with famous people.
I'm just hanging up my coat on the rack when the head of our department, Paul, pulls me aside.
'What the fuck happened at Glen Oil? I had a very strange email from Doug Hamilton this morning. You poured a drink over him?'
I stare at him in shock. Doug Hamilton told Paul? But he promised he wouldn't!
'It wasn't like that,' I say quickly. 'I was just trying to demonstrate the many fine qualities of Panther Prime and I … I kind of spilled it.' Paul raises his eyebrows, not in a friendly way.
'All right. It was a lot to ask of you.'
'It wasn't,' I say quickly. 'I mean, it would have been fine, if … what I mean is, if you give me another chance, I'll do better. I promise.'
'We'll see.' He looks at his watch. 'You'd better get on. Your desk is a fucking mess.'
'OK. Um, what time will my appraisal be?'
'Emma, in case you hadn't heard, Jack Harper's visiting us today,' says Paul, in his most sarcastic voice. 'But of course, if you think your appraisal's more important than the guy who founded the company—'
'I didn't mean … I just …'
'Go and tidy your desk,' says Paul in a bored voice. 'And if you spill fucking Panther Prime over Harper, you're fired.'
As I scuttle to my desk, Cyril comes into the room, looking hassled.
'Attention!' he says, clapping his hands. 'Attention everyone! This is an informal visit, nothing more. Mr Harper will come in, perhaps talk to one or two of you, observe what you do. So I want you all just to act normally, but obviously, at your highest standards … What are these papers?' he suddenly snaps, looking at a neat pile of proofs in the corner next to Fergus Grady's desk.
'That's the … um … artwork for the new Panther Gum campaign,' says Fergus, who is very shy and creative. 'I haven't quite got room on my desk.'
'Well, they can't stay here!' Cyril picks them up and shoves them at him. 'Get rid of them. Now, if he asks any of you a question, just be pleasant and natural. When he arrives, I want you all at work. Just doing typical tasks which you would naturally be doing in the course of a normal day.' He looks around distractedly. 'Some of you could be on the phone, some could be typing at your computers … a couple of you could be creatively brainstorming … Remember, this department is the hub of the company. The Panther Corporation is renowned for its marketing brilliance!'
He stops and we all stare dumbly at him.
'Get on!' He claps his hands again. 'Don't just stand there. You!' He points to me. 'Come on. Move!'
What is it about some cars? They look so gleaming and burnished, as if they're made out of a completely different metal from normal cars.
As if by clockwork, the lift doors at the other end of the foyer open, and out strides Graham Hillingdon, the chief executive, plus the managing director and about six others, all looking immaculate in dark suits.
'That's enough!' Cyril is hissing at the poor cleaners in the foyer. 'Go! Leave it!'
The three of us stand, goggling like children, as the passenger door of the limousine opens. A moment later, out gets a man with blond hair in a navy blue overcoat. He's wearing dark glasses and is holding a very expensive-looking briefcase.
Wow. He looks like a million dollars.
Graham Hillingdon and the others are all outside by now, lined up on the steps. They shake his hand in turn, then usher him inside, where Cyril is waiting.
'Welcome to the Panther Corporation UK,' Cyril says fulsomely. 'I hope your journey was pleasant?'
'Not too bad, thanks,' says the man, in an American accent.
'As you can see, this is very much a normal working day …'
'Hey look,' murmurs Katie. 'Kenny's stuck outside the doors.'
Kenny Davey, one of the designers, is hovering uncertainly on the steps outside in his jeans and baseball boots, not knowing whether to come in or not. He puts a hand to the door, then retreats a little, then comes up to the door again and peers uncertainly inside.
'Come in, Kenny!' says Cyril, opening the door with a rather savage smile. 'One of our designers, Kenny Davey. You should have been here ten minutes ago, Kenny. Still, never mind!' He pushes a bewildered Kenny towards the lifts, then glances up and shoos us away in irritation.
'Come on,' says Katie, 'we'd better go.' And, trying not to giggle, the three of us hurry up the stairs.
The atmosphere in the marketing department is a bit like my bedroom used to be before we had parties in the sixth form. People are brushing their hair, spraying perfume, shuffling papers around and gossiping excitedly. As I walk past the office of Neil Gregg, who is in charge of media strategy, I see him carefully lining up his Marketing Effectiveness awards on his desk, while Fiona his assistant is polishing the framed photographs of him shaking hands with famous people.
I'm just hanging up my coat on the rack when the head of our department, Paul, pulls me aside.
'What the fuck happened at Glen Oil? I had a very strange email from Doug Hamilton this morning. You poured a drink over him?'
I stare at him in shock. Doug Hamilton told Paul? But he promised he wouldn't!
'It wasn't like that,' I say quickly. 'I was just trying to demonstrate the many fine qualities of Panther Prime and I … I kind of spilled it.' Paul raises his eyebrows, not in a friendly way.
'All right. It was a lot to ask of you.'
'It wasn't,' I say quickly. 'I mean, it would have been fine, if … what I mean is, if you give me another chance, I'll do better. I promise.'
'We'll see.' He looks at his watch. 'You'd better get on. Your desk is a fucking mess.'
'OK. Um, what time will my appraisal be?'
'Emma, in case you hadn't heard, Jack Harper's visiting us today,' says Paul, in his most sarcastic voice. 'But of course, if you think your appraisal's more important than the guy who founded the company—'
'I didn't mean … I just …'
'Go and tidy your desk,' says Paul in a bored voice. 'And if you spill fucking Panther Prime over Harper, you're fired.'
As I scuttle to my desk, Cyril comes into the room, looking hassled.
'Attention!' he says, clapping his hands. 'Attention everyone! This is an informal visit, nothing more. Mr Harper will come in, perhaps talk to one or two of you, observe what you do. So I want you all just to act normally, but obviously, at your highest standards … What are these papers?' he suddenly snaps, looking at a neat pile of proofs in the corner next to Fergus Grady's desk.
'That's the … um … artwork for the new Panther Gum campaign,' says Fergus, who is very shy and creative. 'I haven't quite got room on my desk.'
'Well, they can't stay here!' Cyril picks them up and shoves them at him. 'Get rid of them. Now, if he asks any of you a question, just be pleasant and natural. When he arrives, I want you all at work. Just doing typical tasks which you would naturally be doing in the course of a normal day.' He looks around distractedly. 'Some of you could be on the phone, some could be typing at your computers … a couple of you could be creatively brainstorming … Remember, this department is the hub of the company. The Panther Corporation is renowned for its marketing brilliance!'
He stops and we all stare dumbly at him.
'Get on!' He claps his hands again. 'Don't just stand there. You!' He points to me. 'Come on. Move!'
