Read Online A Perfect Heritage by Penny Vincenzi - Free Book Online
Authors: Penny Vincenzi
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As usual, he didn’t really understand much of what he was saying. He’d googled the company Jonjo now worked for which was called MPR, and learned that it provided brokerage services, trade execution trading platforms and other software products, and that its revenue in 2010 had been 702 million dollars – which he more or less understood. Jonjo was a foreign exchange trader.
‘We’ve got some very blue chip companies,’ Jonjo said now. ‘It’s high pressure, of course, but it’s a genius set-up, all the guys on the desks are really cool, so good to work with. I’m having a great time. How about you?’
‘Oh – you know,’ said Patrick, deliberately vague, ‘more of the same, really.’
‘Yeah?’ Jonjo looked at Patrick rather intently. ‘You still enjoying it?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Patrick, trying to sound convincing. ‘I mean, it’s nothing to get really excited about, but I have a lot of good clients, my colleagues are great, and I more or less write my own job spec.’ He wished it sounded just slightly more exciting.
‘Yeah, well I suppose you would. It’ll be yours one day.’
‘Possibly,’ said Patrick primly.
‘Oh, P, come on, you know it will – it’s a family firm and you’re the only one of your generation. Anyway, that kind of brings me round to what I want to talk to you about.’ He hesitated, looking mildly embarrassed; Patrick was intrigued.
‘Well, come on, spit it out. You don’t want me to cover up for some woman do you?’
‘Patrick! Would I?’
‘Yes,’ said Patrick and grinned at him. ‘Wouldn’t be the first time.’
‘I know, but I’m not married any more. God, which reminds me. I can’t be much longer. I’ve got a hot date with a sculptor.’
‘A sculptor?’ Patrick struggled not to sound astonished.
‘Yeah. Thinking of buying one of her – er – what are they called?’
‘I could make any amount of suggestions,’ said Patrick, with a grin, ‘but the word I think you’re looking for is pieces. What are her . . . pieces like, then?’
‘Oh lord, no idea. Bronze, I think she said. A good investment anyway. Want to come along? It’s the private view. Quite fun. Cork Street.’
‘I’d love to,’ said Patrick, and it was true: he rather liked private views with their heady blend of attractive people and pretentious chatter, ‘but I can’t. I’ve got a hot date with a history project.’
‘Yeah?’ Jonjo’s expression veered between boredom and – what? Sympathy? It depressed Patrick.
‘Come on, then,’ he said, ‘you’d better tell me what this proposition is. I don’t want to keep you from your sculptor’s pieces.’
‘Right,’ said Jonjo. ‘Now, I don’t know if you’d ever even consider it. But, well, it goes like this . . .’
‘Bertie, I think we should move.’ Priscilla Farrell’s deceptively good-natured face wore its most determined expression. ‘This house is too big for us now, with the children both away most of the time, and I never wanted to live out here, it was purely for their benefit.’
She made it sound as if Esher was the Outer Hebrides.
‘And mine,’ said Bertie carefully. ‘I like it here, very much. And I have to do the commute, after all.’
‘But look at the performance every time we want to go to the theatre or a concert, for instance. Do we take the car, where shall we park? When I look at people like Margaret and Dick, just walking into the Barbican – so much easier. And I’ve just taken on this new charity, it’s London based and I shall be forever on the train—’
‘Priscilla, I really don’t want to move,’ said Bertie, trying to sound decisive. ‘There’s enough upheaval in our lives at the moment, with Farrell’s being taken over, and God knows what will happen – I could be out of a job for starters.’
‘You’re the financial director! Of course you won’t be out of a job. I talked to Athina about it and she said all your positions would be
‘We’ve got some very blue chip companies,’ Jonjo said now. ‘It’s high pressure, of course, but it’s a genius set-up, all the guys on the desks are really cool, so good to work with. I’m having a great time. How about you?’
‘Oh – you know,’ said Patrick, deliberately vague, ‘more of the same, really.’
‘Yeah?’ Jonjo looked at Patrick rather intently. ‘You still enjoying it?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Patrick, trying to sound convincing. ‘I mean, it’s nothing to get really excited about, but I have a lot of good clients, my colleagues are great, and I more or less write my own job spec.’ He wished it sounded just slightly more exciting.
‘Yeah, well I suppose you would. It’ll be yours one day.’
‘Possibly,’ said Patrick primly.
‘Oh, P, come on, you know it will – it’s a family firm and you’re the only one of your generation. Anyway, that kind of brings me round to what I want to talk to you about.’ He hesitated, looking mildly embarrassed; Patrick was intrigued.
‘Well, come on, spit it out. You don’t want me to cover up for some woman do you?’
‘Patrick! Would I?’
‘Yes,’ said Patrick and grinned at him. ‘Wouldn’t be the first time.’
‘I know, but I’m not married any more. God, which reminds me. I can’t be much longer. I’ve got a hot date with a sculptor.’
‘A sculptor?’ Patrick struggled not to sound astonished.
‘Yeah. Thinking of buying one of her – er – what are they called?’
‘I could make any amount of suggestions,’ said Patrick, with a grin, ‘but the word I think you’re looking for is pieces. What are her . . . pieces like, then?’
‘Oh lord, no idea. Bronze, I think she said. A good investment anyway. Want to come along? It’s the private view. Quite fun. Cork Street.’
‘I’d love to,’ said Patrick, and it was true: he rather liked private views with their heady blend of attractive people and pretentious chatter, ‘but I can’t. I’ve got a hot date with a history project.’
‘Yeah?’ Jonjo’s expression veered between boredom and – what? Sympathy? It depressed Patrick.
‘Come on, then,’ he said, ‘you’d better tell me what this proposition is. I don’t want to keep you from your sculptor’s pieces.’
‘Right,’ said Jonjo. ‘Now, I don’t know if you’d ever even consider it. But, well, it goes like this . . .’
‘Bertie, I think we should move.’ Priscilla Farrell’s deceptively good-natured face wore its most determined expression. ‘This house is too big for us now, with the children both away most of the time, and I never wanted to live out here, it was purely for their benefit.’
She made it sound as if Esher was the Outer Hebrides.
‘And mine,’ said Bertie carefully. ‘I like it here, very much. And I have to do the commute, after all.’
‘But look at the performance every time we want to go to the theatre or a concert, for instance. Do we take the car, where shall we park? When I look at people like Margaret and Dick, just walking into the Barbican – so much easier. And I’ve just taken on this new charity, it’s London based and I shall be forever on the train—’
‘Priscilla, I really don’t want to move,’ said Bertie, trying to sound decisive. ‘There’s enough upheaval in our lives at the moment, with Farrell’s being taken over, and God knows what will happen – I could be out of a job for starters.’
‘You’re the financial director! Of course you won’t be out of a job. I talked to Athina about it and she said all your positions would be
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