Craven Conflict Read online

  Four law firm interviews later, all of them to no avail and with a consistent theme in the interviewer feedback of ‘nice enough chap, but nothing special about him’, Craven’s perceptive headhunter had stepped in. Craven had eagerly accepted the suggestion of a couple of hours’ intensive coaching on how to set about impressing a prospective employer face to face. The catchphrase ‘sometimes you’ve got to fake it to make it’ soon became firmly fixed in Craven’s mind, alongside the array of persuasive techniques that his mentor explained. The interview at Bastable & Co, a medium sized commercial practice in Birmingham, an opportunity that had coincidentally emerged soon afterwards, was an ideal chance to put everything to the test.

  Craven had only felt hesitant during the coaching when advised to try to play a sympathy card at some point in the course of an interview – ‘family, personal, whatever’ – and even more uncomfortable when he had been put on the spot to come up with something fitting the description then and there. He had reluctantly disclosed the fact that his mother was in a nursing home, her faculties continuing to decline, and that he spent many a weekend making the long journey from Stafford to Leeds to see her. He had found the enthusiastic reaction to his private disclosure rather distasteful, but had held his peace. At least he had been fortuitously spared any pressure to share a deep health related secret of his own.

  Craven was afflicted with Asperger’s syndrome. He was acutely aware that it comprised a most unforgiving form of autistic mental condition that played havoc with his ability to come to any natural understanding of the world at large and those around him. He had never been provided with any formal medical diagnosis of the condition, but had gradually worked out for himself that he was a sufferer. It had started with a once trusted school friend’s indiscreet comment that he had taken to heart, and had led to many a subsequent lonely night occupied with online searching, meticulous study of medical guidebooks, and self analysis. As he examined his day to day life experiences and setbacks, he was left in little doubt. He could find no other explanation for the difficulties he regularly faced in interacting with others on a social basis. His conclusions had frightened him to the core. And it was plain that there was nothing whatsoever about his predicament that he might ever be in a position to change. He could only aim to cope.

  Craven had at least been able to work out that he fell within the high functioning Asperger’s spectrum. As was the case with most sufferers at that level, he had never found that the condition caused him any day to day difficulty in earning a living. He followed careful routines and was grateful for the mundane nature of the work itself. But this small mercy had not dissuaded him from resolving to keep his discoveries private. Save for members of a local support group, he had only spoken of the condition with a select few whom he could not avoid telling, choosing otherwise to rely on coping strategies. The last occasion when he had broken his vow to any greater extent, in the mistaken belief that it would bring him sympathy and understanding in the face of his then imminent redundancy, had backfired on him and left a deep mental scar.

  As he sat and waited for his interviewers to finish their private conversation, it was plain to Craven that telling any prospective employer about his condition, at a time when employment opportunities in the legal profession were few and far between, was out of the question.

  “Please come back in.” Craven snapped back out of his private thoughts and looked up. Even he could not mistake the broad smile on the face of Rufus Squire, one of his two interviewers. “I think you’ll be pleased with what we’re going to tell you.”

  He obediently followed Squire back into the meeting room. As he resumed his seat, he could not help noticing that the picture at the bottom of the document in front of Squire was no longer unmarked, and had been scribbled on in red ink…..surely that’s not devil horns? His curiosity was quickly extinguished as Squire deftly turned the page over and took up the conversation once more.

  “Well, Tony and I have had a chat, and we like what we see, and we think we’re prepared to take a chance. As we explained, we were really looking for a qualified solicitor for this role, but you’ve come recommended and you’ve impressed us today, and we think there’s every chance you’ll fit in nicely here at Bastables.”

  Craven could scarcely believe his luck. He had taken great pains to follow all the coaching on interview technique that had been a closed book to him for so long, unnatural as it had been to go beyond mere straight and honest answers and to engage in role playing. Keeping eye contact. Praising the interviewers’ questions. False smiles and laughter. The odd touch of exaggeration, balanced by flattery. And all of that actually coming together, over a vacancy like this one?

  “That’s really kind of you, Mr Squire.”

  “It’s Rufus.”

  Craven was caught by his natural deference to anyone he perceived as a superior. Especially anyone with a slightly unusual first name. He quickly remembered his briefing on interview technique and made eye contact, forcing a smile.

  “Thank you – Rufus.” Craven glanced quickly away from Squire and tried to catch the attention of the stern looking man beside him. But Anthony Wagstaff was evidently deep in concentration as he read through his interview notes, pen in hand, and Craven found himself tongue tied. Fortunately he was spared further discomfort when Squire fixed him with another beaming smile.

  “Let me just recap on what’s brought us together today. As I’ve explained, we were waiting for one of our associates to come back from maternity leave, and we only found out a month ago that she’d decided to take her full entitlement rather than come back early as she’d promised. Women, eh?”

  The remark and the braying laugh that accompanied it left Craven with a fleeting vision of the medieval kings and barons once occupying the castles whose history he obsessively followed in his free time. He felt a touch of embarrassment at Squire’s comment, more out of surprise than offence, but managed to keep a straight face and answered only with a faint nod.

  “Anyway, and this is the real reason why you’re here today, we thought we’d be able to solve the problem once our two firms had merged on the first of April.” Squire gestured towards Wagstaff, who had by now looked up but seemed just as forbidding. “One of Tony’s assistants from Lewis Hackett was lined up to come over from their office in Edgbaston to hold the fort at Bastables, working under one of my colleagues, but for some unaccountable reason she got cold feet and resigned. Hope it was nothing personal!”

  His laughter this time struck Craven as even more contrived, but again he managed to nod and smile.

  “Then blow me down, one of the other associates here comes in and tells me she’s up the duff and all set to join the baby club, and she’s decided to take every single day of her pre-birth maternity leave. Only a few weeks more in the office.” As Squire pulled a contrived face, Craven averted his eyes. “Which leaves me with a pile of top quality commercial dispute work, desperately in need of someone keen and enthusiastic with balls – I mean, with the balls to take the job on. And now you’ve walked through the door. I think you’re our man. How about it?”

  Craven was not to know that Squire had interviewed two other potential recruits in the preceding ten days and had offered the job to both of them, only to be turned down on each occasion. But this time Squire was well aware that his candidate was likely to be anxious, not merely keen, to accept the position after a prolonged and continuing spell of forced idleness following his redundancy.

  For his own part, Craven’s urge to seize the first chance in weeks to start earning a living again was checked by his disquiet at the manner in which Squire had confirmed his offer. But he knew that he had little choice.

  “I’m very pleased. When would you like me to start? I’m not working at the moment, as you know. I could start next Monday if you wanted.”

  Squire and Wagstaff exchanged glances.

  “I think it would suit us better if you joined up on the first Tuesday after Easter.” S
quire checked a nearby calendar. “That’s the first working day of the newly merged firm. Two and a bit weeks from now. We’re having a computer systems overhaul next week, we’ll be closing our books at the end of the month, and we go forward together under our new banner straight afterwards. It’s also when Caroline Shore’s going to start handing her files over, before earth mother syndrome kicks in.” Another braying laugh accompanied the witticism. “You’ll fit in much better then.”

  For the first time since Craven had been invited back into the meeting room, Wagstaff spoke.

  “I agree. It’s enough of a nightmare for Rufus and me to cope with making all this happen. You’ll be far better coming on board once there’s less chaos. It’s going to be bad enough having to run a single firm from separate offices.”

  Try as he might, Craven could not understand why the logistics of two law firms merging their practices should count against him starting earlier and bringing his frustrating spell of unemployment to an end. He almost spoke up, but remembered his interview coaching and nodded his head, forcing another smile.

  “Now, let’s go over the main terms.” Squire reached for a checklist. Ten minutes later, with the promise of a letter in the post to confirm what he had just been told, Craven was left with the impression that the starting salary was very much at the lower end of the range that he had been led to understand might be on offer. Once the cost of his commuting was reckoned in, he would not be any better off in real terms than he had been in his previous role, much closer to home. But he knew full well that he was in no position either to choose or to try to negotiate for more. He listened politely until Squire asked him if he had any questions.

  “Er…not right now. I’ll probably think of some in the next couple of weeks, though.”

  “Just email them to my secretary. I’ll make sure they’re answered.” Squire stood up, and the dour Wagstaff finally showed a more human side as he reached across the table and offered a handshake, which Craven gratefully accepted. “Let me show you out. As I said, we’ll make sure all the paperwork’s with you by the weekend. Paul, it’ll be a real pleasure to welcome you to the firm.”

  As Squire opened the meeting room door and strode across the reception area towards the exit, a sudden thought struck Craven as he followed in Squire’s wake.

  “Can I just check something, Mr Squire…er, sorry, I mean, Rufus? Should I let Ripple Recruitment know about what you’ve told me?”

  In an instant, Squire’s expression changed to a frown. Craven felt an all too familiar wave of confusion. He knew full well from his research into his own mental weaknesses that interpreting another person’s facial change was something he could never hope to be entirely sure about. For one awful moment he wondered if he might have thrown away the chance of a fresh start in the legal profession after all. But just as quickly, Squire’s charm was back.

  “Oh no, no, no. That’s not the way this is done. Just leave it all to us. We’re paying the fee, so we have to follow procedures. Nothing to worry about at all.”

  “It’s just…” Craven tailed off, as Squire held the door open, smiling broadly as Craven shook his outstretched hand. “Er…thank you very much again. I’ll see you in April.”

  “Right you are, Paul.” In a moment Squire was gone, and Craven found himself alone in the street outside Bastable & Co’s office. It quickly sunk in that his career problems would soon be at an end, and the soul destroying months that had seen him involuntarily barred out of earning a living in the legal profession would soon be over. The welcoming coffee shop across the road was too tempting to pass by in favour of an early train back home to Stafford. He was soon sitting alone in a far corner armed with a large white coffee, the myriad choices of exotic brews on the baristas’ menu remaining a closed book to him.

  Craven felt a strong urge to share his good news, but as he pulled out his mobile phone he hesitated. His widowed mother remained in a distant nursing home and would be unlikely to understand more than a few words of anything he told her. His few close friends were not much more likely to appreciate interruption during the working day. This left one obvious person to call. But after only four rings, the voicemail message kicked in. Ending the call without waiting for the tone, he keyed in a text message, taking his usual pains to ensure that it was grammatically perfect.

  “Bastables offered me the job twenty minutes ago. I am really pleased. They will confirm it with you. Thank you very much for all of your efforts in helping me. I really appreciate them. Regards, Paul.”

  As he sent the message and reached for his coffee cup once more, he was in no doubt that Wayne Avery would be delighted to have heard from him.

  Monday 18 th March

  The weekend had done little to ease Karen’s anxiety about the dilemma she faced. With the time ticking ever closer to half past ten, and no sign of Avery despite the fact that she had asked to see him half an hour earlier, she wondered whether to pick up the phone and call him, reluctant as she was to show any sign of weakness.

  Karen’s working day had at least begun with one piece of reasonably promising news. A candidate had secured a second interview for a position that offered an above average salary and the hope of a premium level commission for Ripple if he fitted the bill. But the news was dampened by Karen’s suspicion that her PA was brooding over some unexplained problem of her own. Before the new working week was fully under way, Dawn would normally be eager to chat about how she had spent her weekend. On this particular Monday, having turned up for work much earlier than usual, she was surprisingly quiet and distant. Karen had let it go, but she had resolved to grasp this particular nettle once she had tackled Avery.

  Ten further minutes passed before her office door opened, without a preceding knock. Avery entered and sat down opposite.

  “Just been following up a lead, off site. Probably won’t come to anything, but it was worth a try.”

  Karen noted the lack of any apology for Avery’s lateness, but chose to bite back the cutting response that she had almost fired in his direction. Someone who might soon be out of a job deserved some slack, she decided, despite his lack of courtesy in making her wait.

  “Forget it. How’s things?”

  “Not great, to be honest. Hardly able to eat or sleep for the whole weekend.”

  There was nothing in Avery’s appearance to suggest that he was suffering from lack of sleep or any other discomfort. But again Karen thought it better to let the response pass without letting it provoke her.

  “Sorry to hear that. Would you like me to bring Dawn or Neeta in? Just to keep everything above board?”

  “No need, thanks. And I’m not wired for sound today.” Avery deliberately turned back his lapels and patted his breast pocket.

  “Thanks for that. Have you had a chance to think about what we discussed last week?”

  There was an awkward silence before Avery replied.

  “Well, I’m at a bit of a loss, to be honest. It really doesn’t seem that long ago when you were promising me a proper equity stake in the company.”

  As Karen weighed up her answer, she wondered why Avery was not putting up more of a fight. There was nothing about his demeanour that showed concern for the threat to his livelihood, just some unspoken air of near insolence.

  “Wayne, you know as well as I do that the good times are long gone. I have to be completely frank and open about this. Have you got anything to suggest? I’m genuinely undecided. This is your chance to say your piece. If you can come up with any good reason at all to make me scrap the whole idea and think it through again, I’m all ears. But I have to say you’re not making it any easier for me.”

  “OK, then…how about bumping Neeta and giving me the finance division? Last in first out? That’s fair, isn’t it?”

  Karen found it hard to believe that Avery had made such an absurd suggestion. The utter lack of enthusiasm or sincerity in Avery’s tone of voice spoke volumes.

  “Oh, come on, Wayne, you know ve
ry well that you’ve only ever been involved in legal recruitment. Is that really the best you can do?”

  Another awkward silence followed before Avery finally spared Karen the need to prompt him. The look he gave Karen was curious.

  “Tell you what. Let’s have a half hour break. I need some more time to think.”

  As Avery stood up, clearly assuming that he would have his way, Karen struggled to keep her temper in check. The disruption that the late start to the meeting had already inflicted upon her plans for the day was now in danger of escalating.

  “OK, if you like. But I really need feedback, and I need it soon. It’s just as hard for me as it is for you.”

  But Karen’s comment fell on stony ground. Avery was already half way towards the door. His only response was a nod as he left and closed the door behind him. Suppressing the temptation to curse out loud, Karen took a deep breath and phoned through for Dawn to join her.

  “I don’t miss much, Karen. Something’s up, isn’t it?” As she came in and sat down, Dawn’s question was only to be expected.

  “You’re right. I’d can’t really say anything more just yet, but I have a tricky situation with Wayne. Hopefully we’ll be able to work something out.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Are you OK? You don’t seem yourself today.” Karen asked.

  “I’m fine.” Dawn looked away. Karen was by now convinced that she was holding something back, and gave her an enquiring glance. But it elicited no further response, and they settled down to deal with the firm’s weekly cashflow review. The quarterly rent payment was only seven days away, and their examination of the figures for the week’s projected income and outgoings was generating little comfort.

  Twenty minutes later, a ping from Karen’s computer terminal announced an incoming email. Noticing that it was from Avery, and not only headed Today’s Discussion but also marked with the red exclamation mark of urgency, Karen hurried to open it. She could hardly believe what she was reading.