Bridget Scott-Thomas
Bridget Scott-Thomas had worked for Waldern Moore for almost six years, and yet this was the first time he had summoned her to his office. Despite her reputation for being cool bordering on icy, Bridget, known affectionately as the bridge, was a little nervous. A rumor was spreading that Waldern had just sacked his Vice President for Honey Products and his Chief Scientist. There were no prizes for guessing what the problem was. Everyone knew it had just been announced that a special honey could cure the most deadly infections. What everyone also knew was that some months ago Waldern had travelled overseas and ‘obtained’ a colony of the bees that made this honey and had desperately wanted to develop a treatment himself. Unfortunately, the bee’s honey had stopped working as a medicine shortly after he brought them back. Waldern had launched an investigation into the problem and Bridget guessed that her report was probably the reason he had ordered her to meet him. Perhaps she shouldn’t have said ‘any fool should know honey comes from bees plus nectar.’
Bridget gasped as she stepped out of the lift. Waldern’s office was enormous, 10 times the size of any other office in the building, it took up the whole top floor. This was in fact the only floor Waldern ever visited. He arrived and left every day from the helipad on the roof which he accessed with his own personal lift.
However, it wasn’t the size that surprised Bridget; it was because the whole floor was filled with flowering shrubs and plants, and in the center of it all was a hum of bee hives, Waldern’s own design of course. The smell of flowers and the sound of bees was almost overwhelming.
It took a moment for Bridget to see Waldern. He was standing with his back to her, gazing out of the window.
It was clear that he wouldn’t have heard her arrive over the hum from the bees. Taking a deep breath she called, ‘Mr Moore Sir.’
Waldern turned slowly and peered over the Shrubbery. ‘Ah, Mr Scott-Thompson,’
‘Ms. Scott-Thomas, Sir’ Bridget corrected.
‘Where’s Scott-Thompson?’ Waldern asked.
‘There isn’t one, Sir.’
‘Well, who is the idiot who wrote that report saying bees are useless without nectar?’
Bridget paused, unsure how to respond. ‘Ah, that was Scott-Thompson.’
‘I thought you said there wasn’t one?’
‘Well... there was one, but now he’s gone, sir.’
‘Damn shame,’ said Waldern, ‘I wanted to give him a piece of my mind, useless indeed... so have you replaced Scott-Thompson?’
‘ahhh... yes.’
‘Well, come a little closer lad.’
Fortunately for Bridget, Waldern turned his attention to a bumblebee on a rhododendron as she approached.
‘Apparently Scott-Thompson had a Masters’ degree in entomology from Oxford, so he thought he could teach me about bees? Well, I’m glad he’s gone, saved me the trouble. But the fellow may have had a point. I want you to find out what is special about those confounded Exotic bees are what sort of flower they are making their golden honey from. But look out for the Bean boy. He may not look and act like the brightest child, but he’s clever.’
‘When should I leave Sir?’
‘Now, immediately! There is a plane waiting. I want a report daily and an answer yesterday.’
Bridget nodded.
‘You have 24 hours to prepare. Pick your team and identify what equipment you need. Remember, money is no object!’
‘Will you be joining us, Sir?’
Waldern winced, ‘unfortunately not. Thanks to Tom Wan I’m banned from entering the country, it’s all up to you.’
Bridget stood waiting for further instructions.
‘What are you still doing here?’ Waldern asked, turning to look at her.
Bridget quickly turned and walked directly to the lift.
‘And by the way,’ he called as Bridget entered the lift, ‘I don’t care what strange religion or culture you follow, I won’t have fellows in my company wearing skirts... and get a haircut.’
As the lift descended Bridget considered resigning. However, she quickly decided that when Mr Moore worked out she was Mr Scott-Thompson, she would probably be sacked anyway, so in the meantime she may as well have a holiday.
Bridget gasped as she stepped out of the lift. Waldern’s office was enormous, 10 times the size of any other office in the building, it took up the whole top floor. This was in fact the only floor Waldern ever visited. He arrived and left every day from the helipad on the roof which he accessed with his own personal lift.
However, it wasn’t the size that surprised Bridget; it was because the whole floor was filled with flowering shrubs and plants, and in the center of it all was a hum of bee hives, Waldern’s own design of course. The smell of flowers and the sound of bees was almost overwhelming.
It took a moment for Bridget to see Waldern. He was standing with his back to her, gazing out of the window.
It was clear that he wouldn’t have heard her arrive over the hum from the bees. Taking a deep breath she called, ‘Mr Moore Sir.’
Waldern turned slowly and peered over the Shrubbery. ‘Ah, Mr Scott-Thompson,’
‘Ms. Scott-Thomas, Sir’ Bridget corrected.
‘Where’s Scott-Thompson?’ Waldern asked.
‘There isn’t one, Sir.’
‘Well, who is the idiot who wrote that report saying bees are useless without nectar?’
Bridget paused, unsure how to respond. ‘Ah, that was Scott-Thompson.’
‘I thought you said there wasn’t one?’
‘Well... there was one, but now he’s gone, sir.’
‘Damn shame,’ said Waldern, ‘I wanted to give him a piece of my mind, useless indeed... so have you replaced Scott-Thompson?’
‘ahhh... yes.’
‘Well, come a little closer lad.’
Fortunately for Bridget, Waldern turned his attention to a bumblebee on a rhododendron as she approached.
‘Apparently Scott-Thompson had a Masters’ degree in entomology from Oxford, so he thought he could teach me about bees? Well, I’m glad he’s gone, saved me the trouble. But the fellow may have had a point. I want you to find out what is special about those confounded Exotic bees are what sort of flower they are making their golden honey from. But look out for the Bean boy. He may not look and act like the brightest child, but he’s clever.’
‘When should I leave Sir?’
‘Now, immediately! There is a plane waiting. I want a report daily and an answer yesterday.’
Bridget nodded.
‘You have 24 hours to prepare. Pick your team and identify what equipment you need. Remember, money is no object!’
‘Will you be joining us, Sir?’
Waldern winced, ‘unfortunately not. Thanks to Tom Wan I’m banned from entering the country, it’s all up to you.’
Bridget stood waiting for further instructions.
‘What are you still doing here?’ Waldern asked, turning to look at her.
Bridget quickly turned and walked directly to the lift.
‘And by the way,’ he called as Bridget entered the lift, ‘I don’t care what strange religion or culture you follow, I won’t have fellows in my company wearing skirts... and get a haircut.’
As the lift descended Bridget considered resigning. However, she quickly decided that when Mr Moore worked out she was Mr Scott-Thompson, she would probably be sacked anyway, so in the meantime she may as well have a holiday.