Numbered Account

CHAPTER 25

Sylvia Schon stared at the blue slips on her desk and wondered when he would stop calling. The first note was dated Tuesday evening and read, Mr. Nicholas Neumann phoned at 6:45, requests that you call back. The second was taken early this morning. More of the same. She read them both again, recognizing the extension given as belonging to the Fourth Floor, to the Emperor’s Lair.

Sylvia laid the messages on her desk and urged herself not to be jealous of his good fortune. In nine years at the bank, she had never seen, or even heard of, an employee moving from the position of management trainee to assistant vice president in the space of five weeks. It had taken her six years to gain that rank! Unsure of her chances to rise beyond it, she’d enrolled at the University of Zurich and taken classes three nights a week and on Saturdays toward a doctorate in management. Three years later she received her degree and only this past winter a promotion to full vice president. If Nick excelled at his post alongside Wolfgang Kaiser, there was no reason he shouldn’t be elevated to full vice president in nine months’ time, in late November when the bank posted its annual list of promotions. Such things happened often to men in the center of power.

Sylvia picked up the blue slips bearing Nick’s extension and tossed them into the trash can behind her desk—where she had tossed all the other messages he’d left since Monday. She tried to tell herself that his promotion didn’t feel like a slap in the face. That it was just another petty injustice she had to swallow. But she couldn’t.

The phone rang. Sylvia craned her neck to see if her assistant was at his desk. The phone rang a second time. Obviously, he wasn’t. She picked up on the third ring. “Schon.”

“Good morning, Sylvia. It’s Nick Neumann. Hi.”

Sylvia closed her eyes. This was not what she needed right now. “Hello, Mr. Neumann.”

“I thought we had settled on Nick.”

She swiveled in her chair, hating herself for hiding in her “Miss Professional” routine. “Yes, Nick. How can I help you?”

“You can probably guess. I’m calling to apologize about the files. I should never have asked for your help. It was selfish of me. I was wrong.”

“Apology accepted.” She had hardly thought about the files since Saturday. It was his sudden promotion that merited punishment. “How are things with the Chairman?”

“Exciting. Busy. In fact, I’d love to talk to you about it. Are you free for dinner tomorrow night?”

Sylvia took a breath. She’d guessed he’d been calling to set up a date. Hearing his strong voice, she knew her anger was misdirected. She had no right to blame Nick. Still, she needed time to figure out how she felt about him. “I don’t think so. In fact, I think it’s better if we left this as it was.”

“Oh? And how was it?”

“It wasn’t,” she replied testily. His insistence rankled her. “Do you understand now? Look, I really have quite a bit of work to do. I’ll stop by when I have some free time. Let’s leave it at that.”

Sylvia hung up the phone before he could protest. Yet, even as her hand left the receiver, she began criticizing herself for being unspeakably rude—not an easy task given her own demanding standards. I apologize, Nick, she said silently, staring at the phone. Call me back. I’ll say I didn’t know what got into me. I’ll tell you that yes, we had a wonderful time Saturday and that I am still trying to figure out that lovely kiss.

But the phone did not ring.

Sylvia spun her chair and stared into the wastepaper bin. She picked up one of the crumpled message slips, flattened it on her desk, and reread the number.

Nick unsettled her. He was handsome and confident. He had lovely eyes. Eyes whose unimpeded stare could be frightening one minute and heartbreaking the next. He had no family and she thanked God for that—wished she could be so lucky. Her father was a boorish man, a red-faced tyrant who had never given up trying to run his home as he ran the railway station at Sargans. When her mother died, Sylvia had taken the care of her younger brothers, Rolf and Eric, onto herself, preparing their breakfasts, cleaning their rooms, doing their laundry. Instead of being grateful, the boys had mimicked their father’s behavior, ordering her around the house as if she were a maid and not their older sister.

Sylvia thought back on her dinner with Nick. “Independent” was how he’d described himself and she’d jumped on the word. Loved it. Because she was independent, too. Her life was her own. She could make of it what she wanted. She recalled the touch of his lips when they said good night, their cool pressure hiding the warmth close behind. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to imagine what would come next. His hand brushing her cheek, her body pushing hard against him. She would open her mouth and taste him. She felt a sharp stirring pass through her body, and its stark carnality woke her from her reverie.

Sylvia checked her watch. Seeing that it was already nine o’clock, she set to work updating a list of interviewing requirements for Swiss university graduates. It was a monotonous chore, and to relieve it she reminded herself of the goals that she had set herself earlier in the year.

First, in the spring she would travel to the States to supervise the bank’s recruitment of American M.B.A.s. Second, by December 31, the finance department would boast the highest employee retention rate in the bank. The first goal was as good as accomplished. Wolfgang Kaiser had personally assigned her the task. She could thank Nick for that, at least partially, for it was his presence that had allowed her to shine in the Chairman’s eyes. The second goal—seeing to it that her department kept its employees—would require her constant attention. The finance department was lagging behind commercial banking but was ahead of trading. If Nick stayed longer than the usual arrogant recruits Rudolf Ott hired, she would be very happy.

You want him to stay for more reasons than that, whispered a naughty voice.

Sylvia tapped her nails on the message slip and picked up the phone. She wasn’t seeing anyone at the moment, why not call him back? She reminded herself that he was independent like her, that she could date him without too big a risk of involvement. She preferred her relationships to have a maximum of passion and a minimum of commitment. Special treats she allowed herself once or twice a year. She’d worked too hard for her own freedom to give it up by getting stuck in a relationship—any relationship. She expected that someday she’d want something more secure, something for the rest of her life, but for now she was happy with things as they were. Then why, dammit, couldn’t she ignore the sentiment tickling deep inside her stomach that he might be the one?

Sylvia dialed Nick’s extension. The phone rang once. A male voice answered. “Hello.”

“You’re supposed to give your family name. You’re too friendly.”

“Which one of you is this?” Nick asked. “Dr. Jekyll or Mrs. Hyde?”

“I’m sorry, Nick. Forget that call ever happened, would you. You caught me off guard.”

“Deal.”

A familiar voice drifted in from the hallway. “Fraulein Schon, are you in your office?”

Sylvia bolted upright in her chair. “Nick, I have to call you back. Maybe I’ll come up to see your new office. Okay? Gotta run.”

She hung up the phone even as his voice said “Bye.”

“Good morning, Dr. Ott,” she said brightly, already circling her desk to shake hands with the vice chairman of the United Swiss Bank. “An unexpected pleasure.” She was not happy to see the rotund form rolling into her office for an unannounced visit. The man was a worm.

“The pleasure is all mine, Fraulein Schon.” Ott stood before her, his hands interlocked on top of his bulging stomach. His lips had the habit of telegraphing his intention to speak three seconds ahead of time. Now Sylvia saw them beginning to squirm, as if disturbed by a weak current. “We have a tremendous amount of work to do,” he said. “Many tasks to accomplish before the general assembly.”

“Hard to believe that only four weeks remain,” she said pleasantly.

“Three and one half, to be precise,” corrected Ott. “Letters to your department’s personnel regarding the voting of their USB shares at the general assembly must be written today. Be sure you make it exceedingly clear that everyone must vote for our slate of directors, either by proxy or in person. Everyone. I’ll need a copy by five o’clock this afternoon.”

“That’s rather short notice,” said Sylvia.

Ott ignored her comment. “In one week, you will phone each and every member of your department to learn which way they will vote.”

“I don’t mean to be impolite, but do you really believe that any of our employees could think it in their interest to vote for Konig?”

Ott bent forward at the waist, as if he had not heard her clearly. “Do I believe that?” he asked. “In the best of all possible worlds, of course not. But that’s beside the point. The Chairman has instructed me to ensure that you personally telephone every member of the finance department. You are to encourage all employees to attend the meeting. A half day’s leave will be granted. He’s under the impression that you’re well respected by your charges. You should be thrilled.”

“I am. Just pressed for time. I’m leaving for the States next week. I’ve faxed an interview schedule to all the major schools we’ve worked with in the past. Harvard, Wharton, Northwestern, a few others.”

“I’m afraid your trip will have to be postponed.”

Sylvia smiled awkwardly. Had she heard him correctly? “We have to visit these schools before the end of March, or the top graduates will have committed to other companies. The trip will only require two weeks of my time. I planned on sending up a schedule to your office tomorrow.”

Ott’s lips twitched for a moment, then he spoke. “I am sorry, Fraulein Schon. Surely you can see that the Chairman requires your skills at home. Unless we repel Mr. Konig, we will have no need whatsoever for your crop of M.B.A.s.”

Sylvia went to her desk and picked up the itinerary for her recruiting trip. “If you look at my schedule, you’ll see that I plan on returning a full week before the assembly. Plenty of time to ensure that all votes will be cast for Herr Kaiser.”

Ott brushed away the schedule and lowered his bulk into a chair. “You’re still under the impression that since Herr Kaiser asked you to go to New York in my place, he has taken an interest in your career? My dear, your dining with Mr. Neumann showed admirable foresight. Very clever, indeed. Kaiser was quite impressed. Oh yes, you’ve poisoned the Chairman against me. That I grant you. I shall not be going to New York. But alas, Liebchen, neither shall you.”

“Really Herr Doktor. I’m sure we can find a solution acceptable to you and to Herr Kaiser. I can shorten my trip.”

“I think not. As I said, your services are too much in demand here.”

“I must insist,” Sylvia said loudly, unable to keep her desperation from spilling into her voice. “It was the Chairman’s wish.”

Ott slammed his hand on the table. “There will be no trip. Not now. Not ever! My dear, did you truly believe that your dalliance with the Chairman would insulate you from the rest of us? Did you think it would hasten you along your chosen path?”

“My personal life is no concern of yours. I have never tried to gain any benefit from my relationship with the Chairman, but in this matter I won’t hesitate to speak with him directly.”

“Do you think you can run back into the arms of Herr Kaiser now? Dear child, the Chairman is finished with you. He is a disciplined man. Should he require the company of a woman, we will choose someone far less grasping than you. Preferably, a woman with no ties whatsoever to the bank.”

“You can’t control his heart, who he loves, who he desires…”

“Desire is one thing, my dear. Utility, another. The Chairman requires me. Today, tomorrow, and for as long as he shall manage the bank. I am the oil that makes this intricate machine run smoothly.” Ott stood, pausing for a moment to glory in his exalted position. He extended a stubby finger in Sylvia’s direction. “You didn’t actually believe that a Swiss bank would allow itself to be represented in the United States of America by a woman? A child practically?”

Sylvia moved her mouth to respond but nothing came out. Of course, Ott was right. Switzerland was light-years behind England and France and America in its treatment of women. Just look at USB. How many women were on the executive board? None. How many women were executive vice presidents? Still, she knew that things had to change soon. And she had seen herself as the one changing them.

“You did,” said Ott, at once incredulous and supremely certain. “I can see it in your eyes. How quaint!” He walked from the office, calling over his shoulder, “Have that letter ready for me by five o’clock this afternoon without fail, Fraulein. We must have our votes.”

Sylvia waited a few minutes after Ott had left, then walked to the ladies’ rest room. She made her way to the farthest stall, and after shutting the door, collapsed against the tile wall. Ott’s words burned like acid in the space behind her eyes. He had won. He had broken her. Another soul vanquished so that he could strengthen his alliance with Wolfgang Kaiser.

Ott was such a bastard! she thought, and then a fresh wave of self-pity swept over her and she cried. She lamented her short affair with Wolfgang Kaiser even as she remembered the day they had met. It had been at the bank’s annual picnic on a warm July afternoon almost two years ago. She had never expected to speak with him, let alone flirt. No one at her level even knew the Chairman. There was no telling where the discussion might lead. The chances for disaster were simply too high. So when he drew her aside and asked if she was enjoying herself, she had been reticent, even afraid to meet him in conversation. But instead of hearing some dry rot regarding the bank’s newest hiring policies, she had listened as he enthused over the visiting Giacometti exhibition at the Kunsthaus. Instead of a dreaded “do tell” about her colleagues, he had asked if she had ever rafted down the Saanen River, and then related his own trip two weeks before. She had expected a severe but polite functionary but had met a warm and effusive man.

Two weekends at his summer home in Gstaad, that had been the extent of their liaison. He had treated her like a princess. Dinners on the veranda of the Palace Hotel; long walks roaming the grassy hills; romantic and, she still had to admit, passionate evenings drinking exquisite wine and making love. She had never been so blind to think it would continue forever, but neither had she dreamed it might be used against her.

Fifteen minutes later, a becalmed Sylvia ran cold water over her face. She kept her head near the sink and ladled handful after handful of water onto her swollen cheeks. She looked into the mirror for a long time. Trust. Dedication. Effort. She had given her whole being to the bank. Why would they choose to treat her this way?

The United Swiss Bank was an internationally active bank. Should anyone hope to rise to the directorship of the bank’s personnel division, he—Sylvia wouldn’t waste another breath considering herself—would be required to supervise hiring not only in Switzerland but in New York, in Hong Kong, in Dubai. Should that person be blocked by the Chairman’s eminence grise from representing the bank abroad, his career would be at an end. That was that.

Sylvia straightened herself up and dried her face. She needed to unburden herself of the grief that sat on her chest robbing her of oxygen. She needed to escape the confines of her office. But that was impossible. Activity in the bank was running at a fever pitch: every department gearing up for presentations to be made at the general assembly; managers nervous to learn the annual operating results; the Adler Bank hovering ever closer. She couldn’t consider taking a day off for at least a month.

Sylvia chided herself for her misplaced loyalties. The avenue leading to a successful future at the United Swiss Bank had been blocked, perhaps permanently, yet she continued to think of nothing but her duty to the bank. She slipped her hand into her pocket and discovered that at some point during her discussion with Ott she had jammed Nick’s messages into it. She uncrumpled the papers and memorized his extension. Was she so alone that the only person she could turn to was a younger man she barely knew?

Sylvia looked in the mirror. She was a mess. Eyes swollen, makeup smeared, cheeks redder than a baby’s. You’re pathetic, she told herself. Allowing the decision of one man to tear apart your dreams; letting a lieutenant tell you the captain’s orders. Go to Wolfgang Kaiser. Present your case directly. Convince him that you can represent the bank overseas. Fight back!

She replayed the meeting with Kaiser Friday morning. She recalled the callused grip of the Chairman’s hand. His lingering touch. Instead of desire, she saw in it hunger. Instead of strength, weakness. Weakness of a variety she knew well. Weakness she would exploit to her own advantage.

Sylvia took a tissue from her purse to wipe away a trail of mascara. She dabbed it in cold water and raised it to her face. Halfway to her cheek, she paused and stepped away from the mirror. Something was wrong. She looked at her hand and saw that it was shaking uncontrollably.