Ms Sasha Bingham
Woman about 25, blonde hair, David Bowie face -- pretty, angular, sardonic. Brown pinstripe trousers mismatched with a fluffy collared, slightly grubby sheepskin coat. A large handbag doubles as briefcase. She flicks through an issue of Inside Housing as if angry with it.
One of many financial advisers for the Peebrane Trust, a housing association near Lambeth North. The Peebrane buys properties, acts as a landlord, works with the Prince's Trust, and matches a £30 million government grant with private capital. It is now raising a further £70 million by debenture stock issue.
What she is doing or thinking
She thinks she is scanning the news. Her mind is blocked by unacknowledged anger. Her last two jobs were with merchant banks and it was made plain in each that her services were no long required. She ended up working for a business that masquerades as a charity. It's just not honest enough to admit it.
It's happening again. The gossip, the politicking. Her boss is a nice old gent on his last legs. They liked each other, Sasha knew he saw her as new modern woman, a kind of progeny. One night drinking late, he told her he had cancer.
Wasn't she supposed to tell anyone? Look, your main fund-raiser is ill, just when you need him most? Wasn't telling the Trust about him a kind of loyalty? Launching a debenture is not easy, do they want someone who's on heavy medication?
So why is nobody talking to her?
They'll think better of it when she's given his job.
Car 5 map