Chapter 2
George came down to meet me on my first day at J.J. Ross.
"There's been a bit of a cock up. We were expecting you next week, but we checked and you are right; it is today." He seemed put out about the whole thing, as if it were partly my fault that they had made the mistake. "I'll see if I can find you a desk." He made it sound like a bit of a long shot. I was reminded of my first day at grammar school, where they hadn't had me on the list, and I was eventually accepted with bad grace by a grumpy physics teacher as if I had devised a fiendish plan to get into his class under false pretences.
I followed him upstairs where he slid a cardkey through a slot, and a door clicked open. There was a short walk to George's section; half a dozen desks fenced off by six-foot partitions.
George turned and pointed to one of the desks. "You can sit here for now. We'll sort you out a terminal. I've got a meeting now, but I'll catch you later on". He gathered up a few papers and was gone. I sat down at the empty desk, feeling for a moment as if I had gate-crashed a party that wasn't really worth it.
I looked up seconds later into the blue eyes of the girl I had met when I came for the interview. I jumped up again.
"Oh, hello", I said. "Natasha isn't it?"
She looked at me in surprise. "Yes that's right. And you must be..."
"Guy", I said. I was always good with names. "Just starting to-day. We met at the interview?"
Her face cleared. "Of course we did. Sorry. Didn't recognise you." I toyed with the idea of suggesting that she was more memorable than me, but thought that perhaps our relationship had not yet reached that stage.
"I didn't realise they were looking for two people", I said.
She looked puzzled again then laughed. "Oh I see what you mean. No, I'm not a computer person. God no. I'm George's Personal Assistant. Whatever that means. I've only been here a fortnight so I don't really know yet." She leant forward conspiratorially, and I again breathed the heady scent of Opium as she whispered in my ear. "You won't let on, will you?"
I was so taken aback by this sudden intimacy that I was lost for words for a moment, but a second later she leant back again, clasped her hands together in front of her and smiled demurely. "Now. Would you like some coffee?"
I nodded, and followed her down a back staircase, registering the glances and smiles of all the men as we passed. She was like a ray of sunshine brightening a dismal day, with no apparent effort.
We entered a largish room laid out with a few tables and chairs, a coffee machine humming in one corner. Two men, shuttling hot, full plastic cups from hand to hand, broke off their conversation and turned to us as we approached.
"Hi, John", Natasha said to the taller figure. I looked up at a spidery man who made my six feet two inches seem disarmingly short. He must have been approaching six and a half feet, but was so thin that he looked as if you could fold him up and tuck him in a drawer. He smiled behind his small round glasses which perched on a long nose.
Natasha turned to me. "Guy this is John Ferris, the lead analyst on George's team, and this", she indicated his stocky companion, "is Brian Gallagher, who started?when? The week before me was it Brian?"
He nodded and smiled tautly at me, his face serious and suspicious.
"You a graduate?" he shot at me. It was more of an accusation than a question.
I nodded and gave that rather smug little smirk to indicate that it was no big deal really. Some of us are academic, some of us aren't. It's just that I am. Not that I'd make a thing about it of course. Oh no.
"Not that I've used it much", I said with a light laugh. "There's not much call for a Maths degree for programming a stock control system."
He snorted his derision. "Maths? I could never be bothered with all that arty farty stuff. Started work straight after school. No time for all that bollocks." There was a slight pause as I took this in and grappled for an appropriate response. As it was I didn't need one.
"Same as George", he went on. He came straight here from school. Not done him any harm has it?"
"I suppose not." There was another pause as Brian regarded me with narrowed eyes. "Stock control did you say?"
"That's right. A chain of corner shops."
He shook his head and looked at me pitifully. "Takes all sorts. I've been in finance since I left school. Got in on the ground floor, learning the business. It's experience they need here, not qualifications."
John interjected at this point.
"It's actually Guy's analysis experience which got him the job here, Brian."
Brian shrugged. "Yeah,whatever. Anyway, I'm busy this morning. I'll see you later." He turned and walked off without looking back.
John turned to me. "Welcome aboard, Guy. Glad to have you on the team." Then he too was gone.
I followed Natasha over to the coffee machine. "White, no sugar?" she said, and I nodded with surprise. "You don't look like a poser, and you're not fat", she said simply as she pressed the buttons. "It's also the most popular", she added, in case I was too impressed with her psychic powers. "I won't be doing this every day, I'm afraid", she said. "It's not actually my job, despite what George may tell you. But you know where the machine is now."
I nodded, and took the cup from her, awkwardly feeling the lightness of her fingers for a moment.
"I think Brian is trying to make his mark", she said, as some explanation for the earlier conversation. I felt that he might have more luck than me. On our return to the section, she introduced me to a girl who was sitting at the desk next to her's, and who smiled shyly as we returned.
"This is Debbie", said Natasha. "We met at college. It's all her fault that I'm here at all really."
Debbie's eyes widened as she turned to her friend. "Oh it's not. I only said they were looking for a secretary. You wouldn't have come if you hadn't wanted to."
Natasha laughed. "I know, Debbie. Of course I wouldn't. Lighten up, it's only a joke."
Debbie looked relieved.
I settled down with my cup of coffee and began ploughing through the first of many volumes from George's bookcase.
In the afternoon, a serious older man came over to where I was sitting absorbed in a large manual on the operating system. I dragged my thoughts away from the fascinating world of directory structures and text editors and turned towards him.
"Hello. I'm the security officer, Henry Cooper", he apologised as if this were reason enough for his gloomy face. "Do you have time for your security briefing? I need to see you for ten minutes some time today".
"Sure. Now would be fine".
I followed him into a small room at the far end of the office. "Close the door", he said as I went to sit down. He looked around the room suspiciously, as if expecting it to be bugged. Having assured himself that it was unlikely, he began to speak slowly and methodically. I guessed that he had made this speech many times before.
"We have twenty four hour security here because we deal with personal financial details, and we do some work for the government. The security policy is all explained in here", he proffered a large ring bound document, "but you should also read company standards 289/4 and 289/5. 291/2 also refers."
I goggled at him, but he was well into his stride.
"Most of it is straightforward. The computer systems are password protected. You will be given an account and password on the computer, and divulging your password is a sackable offence", he looked up and stared at me at this point. "All modifications made to the company database and financial products packages are recorded by the system and held off-site at a location known only to me and the managing director. These records are kept in a fireproof safe."
I nodded.
"Norman Stubbs is our full-time security guard, and he will check your pass each morning."
"Norman the doorman, eh?"
He looked up sharply at me, but did not smile. "He may also ask to search your briefcase. If you are found taking any classified documents to or from work without the covering paperwork, it is also a sackable offence." He stared at me again, as if to imply that there was really no point in trying to hang on to my job against such overwhelming odds.
I had noticed the security guard downstairs. He was a mild looking, inoffensive man well into his fifties, and I wondered how he would stand up to a frontal assault by some desperado terrorist or mad axe-man.
"Now I am afraid I have to ask you some rather personal questions. Your answers will be treated entirely confidentially of course." This sounded a bit dodgy. Hope he didn't ask about the marmite and the wellington boots.
"Do you have any dubious friends?" I was so surprised by this question, that I almost started to laugh. Instead I responded without thinking, "Only my brother".
I knew instantly that this wasn't a good answer. Security officers are like policemen, but without that natural sense of fun. Henry looked at me sombrely with his sad eyes, and then I saw him write down the single word 'brother' on his large pad. Presumably Eddie would be vetted later by the J.J. Ross thought police. Perhaps Henry thought that his shock tactic questions would weed out potential industrial spies and fraudsters. "It's a fair cop, Henry. I do have dubious friends; I am an international terrorist known as 'The Wolf' by Interpol. Put the derbies on quick."
Henry put his pen down, and looked up at me without speaking for a moment. Then he gave a short smile. "Mister Sanderson. This may all seem like a huge joke to you, but I would remind you that this is a secure site for a good reason. We have to be absolutely certain that our systems can not be tampered with. Not only is there the constant threat of computer viruses, which could cause enormous damage to our profits and our reputation, but there is the real possibility of computer fraud. We can not afford to employ unscrupulous people, or people with dubious connections, because even our more lowly employees have to be trusted with confidential financial details which must remain confidential, and have access to systems dealing with very large sums of money. Do I make myself clear?"
I nodded slowly. "Yes. I'm sorry. It's just that I haven't worked in an environment like this before."
"I know. In fact we probably know more about you than you might imagine. And despite your flippant answers, I do not expect that we will be investigating your brother Eddie."
Henry noticed me start at the mention of my brother's name. I came out of the encounter feeling like a spy whose cover had been blown. Back at the section I told them about it.
"He's West Ham", said Alan.
I looked at him with confusion, and he smiled smugly.
"One stop short of Barking", he went on. "He marched one of the window cleaners out of the building last week when he looked at my screen over my shoulder".
"Don't be so horrible. He's very nice", said Debbie.
"He's all right", agreed John. "I know he seems a bit melodramatic, but we actually hold a lot of sensitive data here. We have to be careful about who has access to the systems."
I realised that even to my new friends I may have seemed a bit too frivolous, and made an effort to backtrack. "I suppose so. I'm just not used to this sort of thing."
The rest of the day passed without much incident. I had a mug shot taken, and was obliged to wear it on my lapel like everyone else. By five o'clock, I'd had enough and headed out for the car park.
"Cheerio, Guy", said John as I walked out. "See you tomorrow". And he would too.
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