*********** Back to Debbie's point of view.

It was strange to get on the train back to London and an office that I'd last seen what felt like months ago. Well, it was a *lifetime* ago, in many ways, given that I'd subsequently lost and buried my long term partner, discovered rather a lot about my sexuality - and my capacity for forming friendships all of my own - plus, of course, gone some considerable way to relocating my life and my work to virtually the middle of nowhere. It had all been a bit of a whirl, I thought, relaxing into the journey with a glass of wine and contemplating the e-mails and texts that I'd accumulated while I'd been effectively incommunicado.

Most of which - and the brief conversation I'd had with Seffi while I was waiting for the train - suggested that the turmoil was anything but over. Only this time we should get some sort of final resolution - PCW had made their move a little sooner than we'd expected, but the actual substance was hardly surprising: They'd got cold feet, the corporates who'd never quite accepted the idea of working with people like us had allowed that anxiety to override the potential pecuniary gains and ... all it had taken was that concern to transmit itself to a potential client, giving said client concerns of their own and a feedback loop had been established which ... well, which led to them trying to pull the plug. Whether they *could* pull the plug entirely was currently a moot point, given the legal advice that we were getting, but it was clear that things were coming to a head.

Which, I felt, was probably a good thing, but also something that could wait. For the moment, I took a sip of the wine, sat back and watched the scenery passing by ... thinking of everything that had gone on while I'd been up North ....

*  **  ***  ****  *****  ****  ***  **  *

I dropped into the hospital to see Dave as soon as I got into London - it was pretty much over the road from Euston, after all - but he was completely out of it, having been doped up prior to the operation they'd scheduled for later in the afternoon. So I patted his hand for a while, as you do, then I took myself off to the office to go and rally the troops. Well, OK, to catch up with the news, or chat with people I thought of as friends ... or something. Maybe I was just being responsible, I thought, taking myself up the stairs into the office.

Which was pretty much as it always had been ... laid back, perhaps, or relaxed ... or maybe just a chaotic mess. Still, it was gratifying to see the crew hard at work, accept the warmth of their welcome, see what they'd achieved while I'd been away - Naz had pretty much completed the CastList rewrite, and had, of course, come up with his apparently revolutionary turbine blade design, Seff had built a pretty comprehensive database of potential clients - interestingly focusing on technology firms rather than the financial sector we'd previously concentrated on - and was busily working through them to identify appropriate contacts within the various organisations. Even the new woman - Niusha, who I'd never met - seemed to have contributed a new approach to using the consulting model more for community activism than actual profit generation but, hey, I thought, that was OK ... realising as I did so just how far I'd come since my own days on PCW's corporate treadmill.

Actually, to be honest, Niusha was a bit of a fly in the ointment. I mean, I was an adult, so, no, of *course* I didn't get upset about the fact that her stuff was all over my desk, that she greeted me, offered me a coffee, like I was some sort of guest, that she acted generally in a way that suggested that this was somehow *her* domain. I wasn't even all that miffed to see that she was both highly capable and also classically beautiful in a very Arabian way, found myself wondering just what had gone on between her and Dave, what its longer term significance might be to both of them, wondered whether I should have been a bit more open with Dave about my hopes for a future with him - not just in the work sense - but ... Well, I hadn't known the idiot would manage to get himself confined to hospital just as I got back to London, had my reasons for not wanting to talk about stuff like that one th phone, even more when Phil had still been alive. Even so, this was a woman I could feel myself getting anxious about, even as I knew that was really unfair to her, probably really unfair to Dave ... maybe pretty unfair to me. And also really unhelpful, given that we had a business to run.

So I hauled Seffi away from her investigations and got her to go over everything that had happened since I'd been away, all the e-mails, all the phone calls, all the speculations and gossip that she'd managed to dig up. Seff, of course, kept really detailed notes of *everything* so it took time, but it was all there. By the end of the working day, I was pretty sure I had a plan, and one with a half way reasonable chance of success, at least by my own estimation, so I packed everyone off home ... and made a few more calls of my own.

*  **  ***  ****  *****  ****  ***  **  *

Next morning I was in early - I'd phoned the hospital and Dave was OK but 'not receiving visitors' before about noon - and made everyone a coffee, put some random music on - more bloody Grateful Dead, I realised - and settled down to work. I needed to talk to Gareth about the legal situation, I knew, and had stuff for the team to do for the day. For me, I was going to go fishing - I was, after all, the person hereabouts with the most direct experience of PCW and I thought my relationships with some of them were good enough, still, that it might be possible to come up with some useful information. Preferably, information that they didn't realise was useful ...

So when the three of them staggered in, I set Naz to reviewing the FreiBank data - Dave had explained the problem but he hadn't actually written it up - and told him to get the process of patenting or registering his blade design as soon as possible. Partly this was because I knew it would make him happy, but mainly because I knew it would *really* piss off that bastard Karol, my would be rapist. Seff, I asked to dig up everything and anything she could about Carla's operation in the States, not least who would be likely to attend the next weeks meeting on their behalf. Carla herself was apparently no longer at death's door but we'd not heard anything directly from her so I felt it was wise to take precautions. Then, as an afterthought, asked her to see if she could come up with some estimates for the likely market for wind turbines across the EU in the foreseeable future - I felt sure that some consultancy somewhere must have published some sort of report on the issue and being able to point to additional income streams might be useful - and even to work with Niusha on whether her *socially useful* concept might actually be used to generate an income.

And so the morning passed.

*  **  ***  ****  *****  ****  ***  **  *

I nipped out to see Dave over lunchtime, surprised to find him sitting up in bed but looking really pissed off, just having been told that he'd be in said bed for a few days at least. Actually, I think we'd both presumed that they'd do some sort of keyhole surgery, get him in and out before he managed to catch anything in the hospital but, no, it was a big scar that he showed me - or at least a big dressing - and he'd have to stay. I kept the conversation light, as far as I could, given that I could see he was still pretty zonked on the pain killers that were dripping into his arm and, anyway, there's not a lot of privacy on a ward. So we didn't go into anything personal - I think his reaction when he saw me coming into the room was reassurance enough about the way he thought about me ... and my reaction to seeing him at least alive ... and the sight of his muscled torso and a wisp of pubic hair as he displayed the damage ... similarly so about my deeper feelings for him. Although we couldn't really pursue that to its logical extent, I thought, at least until the stitches came out. So we just chatted for a while, me carefully avoiding anything much to do with work, and might have carried on like that for the afternoon. Except that my mobile rang and I found myself back in work mode, kissing him goodbye and heading out the building ... en route to an assignation with a former colleague who, I hoped, had a tale to tell.

*  **  ***  ****  *****  ****  ***  **  *

In fact, walking into the city sushi place we'd arranged as a venue was like walking back in time, at least for me. Lots of men in suits, a few decorative PAs, even one or two uber-bitch female executives, all shouting at each other, the harassed and put upon waiting staff and ... in one corner, my one time boss. Who, I thought did not look all that brilliant, even the gloomy lighting failing to hide the exhaustion on his face, the pallor of his skin. Mind you, when he saw me I don't think he was too much more impressed, giving a slight start when he realised that I was actually wearing jeans and a light linen jacket, had let my hair grow a bit, hadn't done the make up, that sort of thing. Of course, I thought, there would have been Memos if I'd pitched up to PCW dressed like this ...

I sat down at his corner table, anyway, let him order for both of us, wondering anew what this was all about. Not that he seemed in too much hurry to tell me, even attempting small talk until it became utterly apparent that we had absolutely nothing other than work to talk about. And I didn't really want to go there first, if you see what I mean, as he had actually invited me, now I wanted to know why ... and not reveal my own need for information before he did. So I concentrated on my mineral water and, eventually, raw fish, waited for him to make the move.

Which he did after a particularly uncomfortably long pause in the conversation, asking me how my new job was going. I shrugged, slightly evasively, said something about it being fun, working with nice people, developing interesting ideas ... wondered whether as senior an executive could really be so far out of the loop on this one? 

Well, no.

"Thing is, Deborah," he said, dead pan, "the way I heard it, your new enterprise might be in some trouble, in terms of future finances" I returned his appraising look evenly, said nothing, "and I was wondering if you were looking around for anything else, yet?"

I kept my gaze steady, said something about there being a few unresolved issues with one of our capital funders but nothing that we couldn't resolve. He shook his head and I could see him wondering just what sort of game I was playing. Well, OK ... so he obviously knew quite a lot about the situation, had probably seen the paperwork - maybe even wrote it. Then he laughed.

"No, sorry," he said, not all that pleasantly, "I may have advised you ages ago that you'd never cut it in the big time, to take your chances in organisational development and all that useless shit ... but I never once thought you were stupid. You know damn well that PCW - *we*, I suppose I should say - have lost interest in your friend's little project ... have, actually begun to regard it as a possible corporate embarrassment. You will probably also be aware that, since its founder has been *hors de combat*, your American friends in Bronstein Associates - the *other* backer, Of course - have been haemorrhaging cash and - worse - reputation and genuinely need to retrench if they're going to save their core business. As far as I can see - and trust me, I'm in a position to know - you haven't got a leg to stand on. Or rather, you have nothing but a rather pretty old Cumbrian slate works that you can't possibly afford to pay for, let alone refurbish, and some very expensive contractual commitments - oh and a group of eccentric, if not actually deluded, colleagues. Whilst ranged up against you is one of the most effective corporate financial consultancies in the world - and one not in a mood to compromise, either, I should probably add."

He paused, probably for effect, maybe so that I'd have a chance to discretely burst into tears or something. What I actually did - aside from suddenly realising just how much Ii'd always *hated* bloody sushi - was just keep looking at him. In fact, I hadn't known about Carla's lot's problems - we reported to them, not the other way around - but somehow I didn't think it would make a huge amount of difference ... even if I didn't quite no why. The fact that I knew - and knew that he *didn't* know - that Carla herself was very much on the mend - might have influenced this but maybe it was just bloody mindedness.

"Actually," I said, eventually, "this is all very interesting but, as you've pointed out, hardly news. So why the sudden invitation to lunch? I mean, we haven't worked together since you pointed out my deficiencies - what - six or seven years ago? I mean, thanks for the advice and all that, but why the sudden reignited interest, *now?"*

"Its quite simple ... and completely above board," he said, blatantly lying. "Like I said, I always thought you were bright and no-one can argue that you did a good job on the development side of things."

He paused, and I waited until he continued, "Thing is, we've had to make some changes in your old department and now we're looking for a new Director for the division. And, if you want it, the job's yours. Attractive package, too, I'm sure."

I smiled slightly as he said this, watched his own smile turn truly predatory as I reached under the table and picked up my bag.

"Thanks for the offer," I said, "but ... frankly ... I'd rather chew my own leg off ..."

*  **  ***  ****  *****  ****  ***  **  *

I got back to the office in a fairly exultant mood to find that May had dropped in, not, as it turned out, to check that we weren't abusing Niusha but rather to say hello to me and find out how Dave was. I think she noticed my near elation but presumably thought that it was to do with my being back in London, having just seen Dave, whatever. Naz and Seff were happily getting on with the stuff that I'd set them, didn't seem to notice the change either, both seemingly prepared to leave the strategic stuff to me, which suited me down to the ground.

So we talked for a while like friends do, then we got a little more work done before I finally sent everyone home without enlightening them - or even mentioning who it was I'd been out to lunch with. Time enough for that, I thought, enjoying being on my own in office and preparing to make a few phone calls in privacy.

Hell, I thought, if PCW are prepared to offer me a job, they must be *really* worried ...

####################################################

Feedback is nice ... extrusionuk@googlemail.com
