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Merger Mayhem

A novelBy George Pavlou

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2009 George Pavlou
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4490-1449-0

Chapter One

The teenage brothers were waiting to cross the busy London road. The older one was pushing the other into the oncoming traffic, then pulling him back when a bus or taxi roared past. Eventually their annoyed Father shouted, "Oi, you lot. Two words. BE. HAVE." Eric who was standing behind the super-sized family was waiting for the second word. It never came. He imagined it might be, "Or-else," but the lights changed and the crowd migrated across the road as one herd.

For Eric, this was the day. The interview that would enable him to move away from his routine life in the Isle of Man to the capital of the big neighbouring island of Great Britain. The walk from the two star hotel in Euston to Moorgate in the City took longer than Eric expected. It was not raining. A novelty in itself having endured almost a month of persistent drizzle and wind in Douglas. His manager at the Isle of Man Fire and General Insurance Company Ltd, now a subsidiary of National Medical Life, told him to "keep the costs down, so you can forget taxis and fancy London restaurants for a start."

He had heard the story of a Manx man from Peel who flew to London to visit an old school friend running a Dot.Com. He was lost on the Underground for days. If the man had come from anywhere but Peel, Eric would have been dubious about the story. Even so, he decided not to risk it. His tall, skinny frame moved awkwardly, much like a juvenile giraffe learning to master legs that just keep growing. His curly, dark brown hair had just been cut short at the back and sides but still managed to fall across his right eye. His left handed swipe at his fringe only ever offered a temporary respite. His physique did not lend itself easily to wearing suits, which simply hung on him like shapeless blue sacks. His ties alternated between small knots and excessive length, or extremely fat knots and several inches too short. Today was a five inches below the belt day. He normally wore thick glasses, which afforded some charm and cerebral appeal, but was today trying to "break in" a new set of contact lenses, resulting in his right eye winking involuntarily throughout the day.

The reception area at National Medical Life was unlike anything he had expected. It was imposing, spacious and traditional with leather armchairs around a long, smoked glass coffee table. Copies of The Daily Telegraph and Financial Times were carefully placed at a welcoming angle. A bronze statue of a ram welcomed and confused visitors. It was an original feature of the first owners of the building, a wool trading company. Either side of reception boasted incredibly tall, exotic plants and the two receptionists looked as though they had never smiled. They had china doll make-up and hair brushed straight back making them look sophisticated and prim. In Eric's eyes they were gorgeous and, as a twenty six year old bachelor, he allowed himself the brief fantasy of sharing a penthouse flat in Chelsea with one or both of these nymphs.

"Good morning, NML. How may I help you?" Eric was taken aback and wasn't expecting her to speak to him yet. He was still a couple steps from the front desk. She hadn't. He also hadn't noticed the tiny headphones she was wearing and another call had come in just as she looked up at him.

"I've come to see..er," his mind went blank as he struggled to look for the letter bearing the name of the Human Resources Director. His hands flew from pocket to pocket in his desperation and he temporarily froze by the vision of beauty looking straight into his eyes and raising one manicured finger to indicate she would be with him in a moment.

He looked straight up to where she was pointing thinking he may have missed a sign or something, then back down to her finger. He had never seen such long nails and instead of rounded and pillar-box red as he was used to, they were square and clear white. Her name tag said, "Siobhan." He was wondering how it was pronounced when she spoke again. "I'll try to connect you," she said, dealing with the caller and now addressed Eric. "Welcome to NML. Do you have an appointment?" Her eyes were an astonishing shade of blue. She had been cautioned about coloured contact lenses before, but today the new boss was due to visit. He was flying in from America and was meant to be gorgeous and very, very rich.

"Yes, here it is," Eric said, locating the now scrappy piece of paper with his interview details. "I've come to see, er, Andrew Campbell in HR". Again the Chelsea love-nest fantasy kicked in and he missed some of the reply.

"Fifteenth floor, third office on the right. There are lifts on your right but you need to fill in this visitors' pass first." Did she say fifth or fifteenth floor? He daren't ask her so he took his pass and approached the lift, hoping there was a list of departments against each button. There wasn't. He pressed the fifth, he thought that was what she said. When he arrived on the fifth floor a young man, clearly uncomfortable in a suit and wearing a plaster over his left eyebrow, was walking past and asked, "Hello, can I help you?"

"Do you know where ... er?" The name was gone and the hands started their automatic search for the letter. "What happened to your eye?" Eric used, to stall for time.

"Nothing. It's a brow ring but we are not allowed piercings on show. It's Marketing on this floor. Malcolm's room is through there," the youth suggested pointing with his head as both hands were still in his pockets.

"Thanks very much," Eric said deciding to ask whoever Malcolm was, once he had located the letter and the clerk had gone.

"Cool. I'll take you there. Have you come to see the new ads? They're fabo."

"Well actually I was looking for, er ..." By the time the letter was out again they had arrived outside Malcolm's office. Malcolm had adopted the new style of wearing a suit without a tie, but being short and stocky just made him look as though he hadn't yet finished dressing. His ginger hair and green eyes clashed with the blue pinstripe cloth and lilac shirt, open at the neck.

"Hey Malc. A visitor for you. Got the new ads?" Malcolm shushed both the clerk and the goldfish impersonating Eric, who was trying to say something about, it's OK, he'll find his own way. Malcolm was finishing his phone call to the garage about his choice of company car. The new car scheme had just been announced.

"I can't believe it," he said to Eric and the clerk, who seemed to have nowhere to go. "With this new car leasing scheme, I now qualify for a worse car than I had before. Ridiculous. And I'm a grade higher now. What have YOU got?"

"Er, a Golf actually, but it's my Mum's old one. Not a company car," said Eric.

Malcolm continued his rant, "Well I'm NOT driving a Focus, and that's final. The other thing is, they'll insure a wife or fiancée but not a girlfriend. What's the difference between a fiancée and a girlfriend, I ask you? Hang on. I've an idea." He picked up the phone and tapped a four digit extension. "It's Malc again. Great news, she said yes. I know, it's brilliant. Listen, best not shout about the engagement just yet. We want to tell the parents first and hers are away at the moment ... and she's insured from today? Great. It's Amanda Way. W.A.Y. 18th May '82. Clean licence. Cheers."

With a thumbs up sign he was in a cheerier mood. "What do you think of the new strap line on the ads?" pointing to the three mock up posters around...