Concealment Read Online Free PDF

In truth, that woman was a stranger to me.
    Black Max Mara trouser suit? No—too mournful, or even aggressive. Navy Armani? No—far too expensive to wear while explaining to staff why we couldn’t afford a raise. Red Luisa Spagnoli skirt suit? God no—why did I even
possess
a red suit? I quickly transferred it to the bag for the charity shop—I knew the perils of keeping stuff you don’t use. Not a suit at all, then. My eyes lighted on a Nicole Farhi silk jersey wrap dress in a floral print, and I selected a carefully coordinated cardigan. Yes—spot on—I came across as a touch vulnerable, verging on mumsy, but empathetic. Empathetic was perfect for giving bad news. I sprayed myself liberally with Eau De Lancôme, just in case, and painted on a happy face.
    I’ll be straight with you. Number one priority in a downturn is to maintain the partners’ profit shares. And if revenues are static, the easiest fix is to hold down payroll costs. To justify our stinginess, we waffled on about “market forces in the current economic climate”. But everyone we employed was way too smart to be duped—they knew they were footing the bill for our Porsches and Mercedes—so the pretence was futile.
    I guess I could have handled the one-to-one meetings differently and avoided the bullshit, but I had a hundred and twelve to see—everyone in the group, apart from the partners. To finish the exercise in one day as stipulated gave me a bare couple of minutes with each person, and it was quickest to parrot from the approved crib sheet.
    The Pearson Malone offices (built by JJ) were ill-designed for the delivery of bad news, being constructed almost entirely of glass. Erected in the hubris preceding the worst financial collapse in living memory, this magnificent edifice was supposed to symbolise the transparency of our innovative approach to professional services. And though, in this age of diversity, there was no metaphorical glass ceiling, we had real ones here. All the ventilation ducting and other pipes were plainly visible from below, while glass floors surrounded the individual meeting rooms. To break the monotony of this sea of reflectivity, and give a reassuring solidity, islands of stone or carpet had been inserted at random in the design. The walls only added to the bizarre ambience—mirrored partitions alternated with glass screens and windows, juxtaposing interior reflections with framed glimpses of the London skyline.
    Rumour had it Jupp and Bailey got hammered together and Jupp promised him a creation to set Pearson Malone apart from all other major accounting firms in the City.
    He had indisputably delivered that, and the building had garnered awards and accolades along the way for the architects who’d taken on the challenging brief. None of these people cared that the offices were a pig to work in, with no blinds to pull down to allow solitude or privacy. Perception is reality, as we all know, particularly when viewed through a hall of mirrors.
    At the tail end of a recession, there wasn’t much fat left to trim on the payroll. Already, our programme of redundancies had laid waste to many who were basically competent. Now we were forced to restrict promotions, pay rises and bonuses for people who performed well.
    At least the six who’d received their subgrade promotions would be reasonably satisfied, until next year when denied their main grade promotions. Still, I thought gloomily, Smithies would probably have fired me by then. And one person would be ecstatic—that self-satisfied little bitch Isabelle Edwards.
    But first I had to face Lisa.
    Smithies had tried to “make it up to her” for pulling her promotion by giving her a five percent pay rise and a twenty thousand pound bonus—in reality, this was a clumsy mechanism for letting her know how little he cared whether or not she stayed.
    Not surprisingly, Lisa was unmoved by the gesture.
    ‘Only Pearson bloody Malone would have the brass neck to buy off a