The Deep End

Now the weekly conversation was just another obligation, and Grace spent the entire call looking for those cues that it was coming to an end. She called from her desk these days, knowing that Edwina wouldn’t delay her if she knew Grace hadn’t eaten or was at the end of a thirteen-hour day. When she hung up, the guilt would be heavy in her gut and she’d commit herself to showing more enthusiasm the next time she talked to Edwina. But she would still be glad it was over.

‘The next time you come down, I’ll get you to bring me some of those caramel cakes I used to get,’ Edwina said, and Grace closed her eyes to suppress a moan. She knew what was coming next.

‘I can mail them to you,’ she replied, and pushed her shoulders into the back of her seat. ‘They’ll be there in a week.’

‘No, I don’t want you to waste your money on postage.’

‘It’s fine. I’ll pick them up the next time I get groceries.’

‘I didn’t think you went grocery shopping anymore. The last time we were up your fridge was bare.’

‘Mom, stop.’

Grace didn’t need the reminder. Her fridge was bare most of the time. Her diet consisted of whatever could be found on the worn takeout menus from the break room and her fruit intake came entirely from the waxy pickings that collected dust at the café in the lobby. Every so often she’d get ambitious enough to have a cooking day, but whatever she made would be forgotten until she discovered some frost-caked plastic container in her fridge freezer.

‘You’re not drinking too much, are you?’

‘Mom, stop talking like I’m an alcoholic.’ She’d never be allowed to forget the presence of that quart of raspberry vodka in a fridge without milk or bread. ‘I don’t have time to be a drunk.’

‘Life isn’t all work, Gracie. You should get yourself a slow cooker –’

‘And I’d have to get up an hour early to cook.’

‘I’m just worried about you, that’s all.’ Edwina sounded defeated, and Grace got to her feet, trying to banish the thought that she was a horrible daughter.

‘I know you are, but I’m fine.’

‘Fine is what you tell people when you feel like shit.’

‘Mom –’

‘You should at least try and meet someone. It makes a huge difference when you have a warm body waiting for you when you get home.’

‘I really don’t want to discuss warm bodies with you,’ Grace said, and thought about shutting her mother up with details of the warm body she’d enjoyed earlier that day. ‘When did you develop such an interest in my social life, anyway? When you lived here you used to growl at me about having too big a social life.’

‘There’s a difference between being twenty years old and partying every night, and being thirty and spending all hours of the day at your desk. Have you tried that online dating?’

‘All right, I’m hanging up now.’ She couldn’t help laughing at her mother. It was like she was reading for the part of meddling mother in a romantic comedy. Maybe that’s what you became as you got older: a stock character.

‘I’ll give you a call next week?’ Grace asked. ‘I’ll mail you the caramel cakes next week, and I don’t want to hear anything about the postage.’

She disconnected but stayed sitting at her desk, turning her can of diet soda back and forth, until the guilt passed. Then she headed towards the boardroom.

If it hadn’t been Friday, Grace would have left the boardroom mess until the morning and been on the road with drive-thru and sleep on the agenda. Because the hard work was over for now, and because she was alone on the thirteenth floor, she took a moment to herself.

The acquisition was successful. Breton-Craig was now a part of Taureau-Werner.

She slipped off her shoes and wriggled her toes into the expensive carpet, popped the top two buttons of her blouse, then sank back into the leather chair at the head of the conference table. All that was missing was a bottle of wine.

No doubt there were a few stragglers somewhere in the building trying to make a deadline, but aside from the cleaning crew and security she was alone. Especially on the thirteenth floor, the executive floor, where there was no one.

The view of the city skyline was ethereal, bringing to mind Zeus and his kin looking down on earth from Olympus. It was easy to imagine that the small world below could be so easily manipulated by a whim from above, that she could reach out and nudge a building out of the way to enhance her view.

She remained there overlooking creation for what seemed like hours, until something as common as the water cooler gurgling brought her back. It was a hateful intrusion, a reminder that she was no goddess and there was no real peace to be found in the Taureau-Werner building.

Grace didn’t dwell on it. She’d heard enough whining from the rest of the staff during the day; she didn’t want to hear it in her head when she had all this before her at the end of the day.

You’re tired. You’re cranky. You need sleep. Tomorrow, everything will look less grey.

She rose and stretched. Joints popped, and a yawn crawled up her throat. She went around the table and collected empty coffee cups and soiled napkins, wiped crumbs away and set all the chairs in perfect formation.

As she reached for the OFF button on the projector at the centre of the table, the room lit up. Reflected on the screen at the end of the table, the laptop had come out of sleep mode. The text on the screen informed her that a call was coming in from JAT: Jacques Alain Taureau.

For a moment, she was unsure whether to answer. There was no reason for him to be calling now. It had been Taureau who had adjourned the meeting.

Just the thought of Taureau made her nervous. She’d been telling the Breton-Craig man the truth: she never had any personal contact with him, and to her knowledge he never left his house in rural Quebec.

Though she wasn’t one for sharing gossip, Grace couldn’t help but absorb it when in earshot. There were so many stories out there. She’d heard from some that his face was like Frankenstein’s monster’s, while others said that he had had extensive plastic surgery to fix the damage.

He’d called in to the afternoon meeting with voice only. He was calling her now with full video.

After a moment, he disconnected and Grace exhaled.

It had just been a mistake, maybe a slip of a finger. Yet as she moved to the conference console the screen lit up with the words JAT INCOMING VIDEO CALL.

She quickly turned the lights back on, and then pressed the receiver button.

It took a moment to make out shape from shadow. A man was in near-darkness, sitting partially off-camera. All that was revealed to her was a broad arm and shoulder, an ear surrounded by dark hair that curled around a wide neck, the corner of a mouth, and one heavy-lidded dark eye.

Grace straightened and smiled. ‘Good evening, Mr Taureau.’

He said nothing, and a prickle ran across her neck. Taureau’s one-eyed gaze was so intense she didn’t feel the need to speak again. She knew that he heard her.

‘Miss Neely, isn’t it?’

Grace nodded. ‘Mr Caroway’s assistant. I’m afraid everyone’s gone home.’

‘Everyone but you.’

She couldn’t tell whether he was being sarcastic or was merely amused. Taureau rarely spoke, but when he did it was a startling experience. She’d seen video clips of him in his youth. He’d had a silky voice with that fluid French-Canadian accent. Now, with apparent damage to his vocal cords, his voice was like the kind of smoke found in an anonymous bar, equal parts seductive and menacing.

Tucking her hands behind her back, she offered him a bright smile. ‘I’m just finishing up.’

‘Don’t you have somewhere else to be?’

Without the benefit of his expression, Grace couldn’t tell whether he was being sarcastic. She didn’t care for the question. She’d already had her weekly reminder of the lack of social intercourse in her life. Still, she didn’t falter. ‘It’s been a month of long nights. I was just about to be on my way.’

He moved slightly, enough to reveal the scar beneath this eye. Of all the rumours she’d heard, this was a fact: he had been left with scars as a gruesome memorial of what had happened to him.