Cordelia

CORDELIA

Catherine’s new boss’s name was Armstrong, and his daughter’s name was Cordelia. From Shakespeare, Catherine thought. She couldn’t remember which play. Armstrong told Catherine that Cordelia was coming for a visit, and he hoped Catherine could have that promised chat with her about women in finance. Catherine said of course.

When she came into the office after a lunch with her father, Cordelia turned out to be petite and pretty, with soft features and a blue cashmere sweater that was tight and took a dive into cleavage that was impressive for someone her size. The men in the office took notice but quickly looked away when her father scanned the room. Cordelia didn’t seem to mind the attention.

Catherine had some of her old accounts with Barnstable up on her screen when she saw Armstrong and Cordelia walking toward her. She blanked it.

“Catherine,” Armstrong said. “Here she is. She’s looking forward to talking to you.”

“Nice to meet you,” Catherine said.

Cordelia, who had been doing her own scan of the room, turned to Catherine and said, “Hi. Yeah. Thanks. I’m just looking for a woman’s point of view about this. I’m thinking either banking or consulting.”

“Good options,” said Catherine. “I’ll be happy to help.”

Armstrong smiled. “I’ll give you two my office. Take your time.”

“Sure.” Catherine stood up. “Maybe I could show her some account records so she can see the kind of work we do.”

“No need,” said Armstrong. “I think all she’s looking for are broad strokes now.”

“Is that right?” Catherine asked Cordelia.

“What the man says,” she shrugged.

Catherine led the girl to Armstrong’s office and closed the door behind them. There was a couch against one wall, but she took the seat behind Armstrong’s desk and gestured for Cordelia to take the visitor’s chair.

“So,” Cordelia said, leaning forward, “what’s it like to work for my father?”

“Actually,” Catherine said, “if they were all like him, everything would be wonderful.”

Cordelia nodded, pleased, while Catherine surveyed Armstrong’s desk. There was a fountain pen in a stand. Photos of Cordelia and her mother and a dog. The usual markets ticker running on the computer. She looked for Post-it notes stuck on the monitor or the surface of the desk or the base of the desk lamp. Nothing.

“I think he’s pretty cool,” Cordelia said. “He’s kind of pushing the idea of me in banking, but he says whatever will make me happy.”

“That’s what my father always said.” Catherine stopped her survey of the desk, remembering. He had always said that.

“Was he in finance, too?”

“Not exactly.”

Cordelia waited for Catherine to say more, but nothing more came.

“Well,” Cordelia said, “I guess it could be interesting. My father definitely likes it. Do you?”

“I do,” Catherine said.

“Not to mention lucrative,” Cordelia said.