‘How was it? Mark.’
She folded the letter, put it back in her handbag and began typing.
‘Interesting, to say the least. How about dinner to discuss?’
There was an instant reply. ‘Dinner it is for the birthday girl. Eight?’
She looked at her watch and groaned. She’d been so wrapped in her own dramas that she’d forgotten to send out an important letter. It wouldn’t do to slip up on anything right now; the partnerships were due to be announced tomorrow. She called out to her secretary.
‘Gretchen? Have you done that letter of engagement for the Frost Group yet? It was supposed to go this morning.’
Gretchen put her head around the door, a puzzled expression on her face.
‘It’s already gone,’ she said. ‘Mark came to speak to me about that a couple of days ago. Said the letter was going out in his name.’
‘Really? When was this?’
‘Tuesday. Sorry, Emma, but he’s a partner. I didn’t query it.’
‘No, no, it’s fine,’ said Emma quickly. ‘I’d just forgotten he was going to do it, that’s all.’
When Gretchen had gone, she swivelled round to look out of the window. For some unaccountable reason, there was a sick feeling in her stomach. Was she being paranoid? Why had Mark sent the Frost letter out in his own name? OK. Maybe it was protocol because he was a partner but she had hustled hard for that piece of business.
She picked up the phone and dialled Mark’s extension but it went straight to message.
‘Emma. I thought you’d like to know,’ said Gretchen popping her head around the door and whispering. ‘It looks like partnerships are being announced today.’
‘Today!’ said Emma. ‘I thought it was going to be tomorrow, Friday.’
Gretchen came into the office and closed the door. She was the hub of the PA grapevine; a better gossip than she was secretary and Emma didn’t doubt that her sources were good.
‘Jason Rich has already been seen coming out of Daniel Davies’ office grinning like a Cheshire cat. Apparently a couple of other senior managers have just had meetings chalked in for after lunch.’
For the rest of the day Emma couldn’t settle as all afternoon senior managers had been going up to see the managing partner Daniel Davies. When Gretchen put the call through at 5 p.m. asking her to go and see Davies, Emma could hardly stand the suspense.
This is it, thought Emma feeling sick. She stood up and smoothed down her skirt.
She tried to calm herself, but had never felt so nervous about anything in her whole life. Three years at Stanford. Another two at Harvard; Emma had always known she was not as academically gifted as her father, a Fellow at Oxford, so she had to work damn hard to the exclusion of everything else. No social life. No boyfriends. The work never stopped once she got to Price Donahue with six years of ninety-hour weeks, eleven and a half months a year. But a partnership at 29! It would mean instant respect around the city and instant respect in corporate America, not to mention a high six-figure salary. In ten years’ time she could pick and choose board directorships at some of the biggest blue chip companies in the world. And best of all, it would have been all of her own making, not like the brash, young CEOs she met on the corporate circuit who only held the job because their daddies had held the position and their daddies before that. With a lurch, she realized that she was also thinking about Milford. Handed to me on a plate. Where was the victory, the glory in that?
She went to Daniel Davies’ office on the top floor and tried to read his face the minute she walked through the door. He was sitting behind his desk, furiously scribbling on a yellow legal pad with a silver fountain pen. He was 45 but his thick black hair was greying, making him look older. His gaze, when he looked up at Emma, gave nothing away.
‘Ah, Emma,’ he said, putting his pen down carefully.
‘Daniel,’ said Emma feeling her palms go clammy.
‘Have a seat and I’ll get straight to the point. You know we’ve been extremely pleased with you over the last twelve months. Client feedback has been excellent from many of your projects and we always like having a Harvard Baker Scholar on the team,’ he said, referring to the prestigious award given to the top 5 per cent of students from the business school.
A flock of butterflies took flight in Emma’s stomach.
‘Thank you,’ she said, trying to sound nonchalant.
‘But despite my enormous respect for your abilities, I’m afraid you are not going to be invited to join the partnership this year.’
It was as if she had been kicked. She felt a thickness in her throat.
‘I see,’ she said evenly, fighting back her emotions. Now was not the time to fall apart-a tearful scene would only confirm their decision.
‘I wonder if you could expand on that?’ she asked. ‘I know it was competitive this year, but some feedback might be useful.’