'Rebecca?' A blond girl in a pale trouser suit is suddenly in front of me. Nice suit, I think. Very nice suit.

'Hi!' I say. 'Jill!'

'No, I'm Amy,' she smiles. 'Jill's assistant.'

Wow. That's pretty cool. Sending your assistant to pick up your visitors, as if you're too grand and busy to do it yourself. Maybe that's what I'll get my assistant to do when I'm an important futures broker and Elly comes over for lunch. Or maybe I'll have a male assistant – and we'll fall in love! God, it would be just like a movie. The high-flying woman and the cute but sensitive…

'Rebecca?' I come to and see Amy Staring at me curiously. 'Are you ready?'

'Of course!' I say gaily, and pick up my briefcase. As we stride off over the glossy floor, I surreptitiously run my gaze over Amy's trouser suit again – and find my eye landing on a discreet Emporio Armani label. I can't quite believe it. Emporio Armani! The assistants wear Emporio Armani! So what's Jill herself going to be in? Couture Dior? God, I love this place already.

We go up to the sixth floor and begin to walk along endless carpeted corridors.

'So you want to be a futures broker,' says Amy after a while.

'Yes,' I say. 'That's the idea.'

'And you already know a bit about it.'

'Well, you know,' I give a modest smile. 'I've written. extensively on most areas of finance, so I do feel quite well equipped.'

'That's good,' says Amy, and gives me a smile. 'Some people turn up with no idea. Then Jill asks them a few standard questions, and…' She makes a gesture with her hand. I don't know what it means, but it doesn't look good.

'Right!' I say, forcing myself to speak in an easy tone. 'So – what sort of questions?'

'Oh, nothing to worry about!' says Amy. 'She'll probably ask you… oh, I don't know. Something like, "How do you trade a butterfly?" or "What's the difference between open outlay and OR?" Or "How would you calculate the expiry date of a futures instrument?" Really basic stuff…'

'Right,' I say, and swallow. 'Great.'

Something in me is telling me to turn and run – but we've already arrived at a pale blond-wood door.

'Here we are,' says Amy, and smiles at me. 'Would you like tea or coffee?'

'Coffee please,' I say, wishing I could say, 'A stiff gin, please.' Amy knocks on the door, opens it.and ushers me in, and says, 'Rebecca Bloomwood.'

'Rebecca!' says a dark-haired woman behind the desk, and gets up to shake my hand.

To my slight surprise, Jill is not nearly as well dressed as Amy. She's wearing a blue, rather mumsy looking suit, and boring court shoes. But still, never mind, she's the boss. And her office is pretty amazing.

'It's very good to meet you,' she says, gesturing to a chair in front of her desk. 'And let me say straight away, I was extremely impressed by your CV.'

'Really?' I say, feeling relief creep over me. That can't be bad, can it? Extremely impressed. Maybe it won't matter if I don't know the answers to those questions.

'Particularly by your languages,' adds Jill. 'Very good. You do seem to be one of those rare breeds, an all-rounder.'

'Well, my French is really only conversational,' I say modestly. 'Voici la plume de ma tante, and all that!' Jill gives an appreciative laugh, and I beam back at her.

'But Finnish!' she says, reaching for the cup of coffee on her desk. 'That's quite unusual.'

I keep smiling and hope we move off the subject of languages. To be honest, 'fluent in Finnish' went in because I thought 'conversational French' looked a bit bare on its own. After all, who speaks Finnish, for God's sake? No-one.

'And your financial knowledge,' she says, pulling my CV towards her. 'You seem to have covered a lot of different areas during your years in financial journalism.'

She looks up. 'What attracts you to derivatives in particular?'

What? What's she talking about? Oh yes. Derivatives. They're futures, aren't they?

'Well,' I begin confidently – and am interrupted as Amy comes in with a cup of coffee.

'Thanks,' I say, and look up, hoping we've moved on to something else. But she's still waiting for an answer.

'I think futures are the future,' I say seriously. 'They're an extremely challenging area and I think…' What do I think? Oh God. Should I throw in a quick reference to butterflies or expiry dates or something? Probably better not. 'I think I'd be well suited to that particular field,' I say 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? Is she serious? 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.'

What was that word, again? Arbi-something.

'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, of course, 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. Hahaha! 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 my heart's thumping and 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 savagely. 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!'

He'll just say 'Hall' or whatever it is, and I'll say 'Hall' 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…

'Nearly there,' says Jill, and smiles at me.

'Good,' I say brightly, and clasp my sweaty hand more tightly round my briefcase handle. Oh God. Please save me from this. Please…

'Here we are!' she says, and stops at a door marked CONFERENCE ROOM. She knocks twice, then pushes it open. There's a roomful of people sitting round a table, and they all turn to look at me.

'Jan Virtanen,' she says. 'I'd like you to meet Rebecca Bloomwood.'

A bearded man rises from his chair, gives me a huge smile and extends his hand.

'Neiti Bloomwood,' he says cheerfully. 'On oikein hauska tavata. Pitiik paikkansa etti teilli on jonkin lainen yhteys Suomeen?'

I stare speechlessly at him, feeling my face turn red.

Everyone in the room is waiting for me to answer.

'I… erm..'. erm… Halla!' I lift my hand in a friendly little wave, and smile around the room. But nobody smiles back.

'Erm… I've just got to…' I start backing away. 'Just got to…'

And I turn. And I run.

Eleven

As I arrive back down in the foyer, I'm panting slightly. Which is not surprising, since I've just run about a half-marathon along endless corridors, trying to get out of this place. I descend the final flight of stairs (couldn't risk the lifts in case the Finnish brigade suddenly turned up), then pause to catch my breath. I straighten my skirt, transfer my briefcase from one sweaty hand to the other, and begin to walk calmly across the foyer towards the door, as though I've come out of an utterly ordinary, utterly unspectacular meeting.