Confessions of a Shopaholic

Wow. How on earth did I come out with that?

“They’re an extremely challenging area,” I add quickly, “and I think. .” What do I think? Should I throw in a quick reference to butterflies or expiry dates or something? Or Barings Bank? Probably better not. “I think I’d be well suited to that particular field,” I finish at last.

“I see,” says Jill Foxton, and leans back in her chair. “The reason I ask is, there’s a position we have in banking, which I think might also suit you. I don’t know what you would feel about that.”

A position in banking? Has she actually found me a job? I don’t believe it!

“Well, that would be fine by me,” I say, trying not to sound too joyful. “I mean, I’d miss the futures — but then, banking’s good, too, isn’t it?”

Jill laughs. I think she thinks I’m joking or something.

“The client is a triple-A-rated foreign bank, looking for a new recruit in the London arm of their debt financing division.”

“Right,” I say intelligently.

“I don’t know whether you’re familiar with the principles of European back-to-back arbitrage?”

“Absolutely,” I say confidently. “I wrote an article on that very subject last year.”

Which isn’t quite true, but I can always read a book about it, can’t I?

“Obviously I’m not trying to rush you into any decision,” she says, “but if you do want a change of career, I’d say this would be perfect for you. There’d be an interview, but I can’t see any problems there.” She smiles at me. “And we’ll be able to negotiate you a very attractive package.”

“Really?” Suddenly, I can’t quite breathe. She’s going to negotiate an attractive package. For me!

“Oh yes,” says Jill. “Well, you must realize you’re a bit of a one-off.” She gives me a confidential smile. “You know, when your CV came through yesterday, I actually whooped! I mean, the coincidence!”

“Absolutely,” I say, beaming at her. God, this is fantastic. This is a bloody dream come true. I’m going to be a banker! And not just any old banker — a triple-A-rated banker!

“So,” says Jill casually. “Shall we go and meet your new employer?”

“What?” I say in astonishment, and a little smile spreads over her face.

“I didn’t want to tell you until I’d met you — but the recruitment director of Bank of Helsinki is over here for a meeting with our managing director. I just know he’s going to love you. We can have the whole thing wrapped up by this afternoon!”

“Excellent!” I say, and get to my feet. Ha-ha-ha! I’m going to be a banker!

It’s only as we’re halfway down the corridor that her words begin to impinge on my mind. Bank of Helsinki.

Bank of Helsinki. That doesn’t mean. . Surely she doesn’t think. .

“I can’t wait to hear the two of you talking away in Finnish,” says Jill pleasantly, as we begin to climb a flight of stairs. “It’s not a language I know at all.”

Oh my God. Oh my God. No.

“But then, my languages have always been hopeless,” she adds comfortably. “I’m not talented in that department, not like you!”

I flash her a little smile and keep walking, without missing a step. But I can hardly breathe. Shit. What am I going to do? What the fuck am I going to do?

We turn a corner and begin to walk calmly down another corridor. And I’m doing pretty well. As long as we just keep walking, I’m OK.

“Was Finnish a hard language to learn?” asks Jill.

“Not that hard,” I hear myself saying in a scratchy voice. “My. . my father’s half Finnish.”

“Yes, I thought it must be something like that,” says Jill. “I mean, it’s not the sort of thing you learn at school, is it?” And she gives a jolly little laugh.

It’s all right for her, I think desperately. She’s not the one being led to her death. Oh God, this is terrible. People keep passing us and glancing at me and smiling, as if to say “So that’s the Finnish-speaker!”

Why did I put I was fluent in Finnish? Why?

“All right?” says Jill. “Not nervous?”

“Oh no!” I say at once, and force a grin onto my face. “Of course I’m not nervous!”

Maybe I’ll be able to busk it, I think suddenly. I mean, the guy won’t conduct the whole bloody interview in Finnish, will he? He’ll just say “Hašallø,” or whatever it is, and I’ll say “Hašallø” back, and then before he can say anything else, I’ll quickly say, “You know, my technical Finnish is a bit rusty these days. Would you mind if we spoke in English?” And he’ll say. . ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">