Beginning
Beginning
NOVEMBER FOURTH WAS COLD AND DRY. UNDER her sheepskin jacket she wore a green mohair sweater and her favourite Levi’s, and tan fur-lined desert boots that were as comfortable as slippers. No need to be nervous, she told herself on the Tube. Everyone was new today, not just her.
The same moustachioed man sat behind the same desk in the lobby. ‘I’m starting work at Creative Ways,’ she told him, and he wished her well and got her to sign a different register to the one she’d signed before.
‘Just for your first day,’ he said, ‘so we have a record of employees.’
‘Nice to meet you,’ the receptionist on the fifth floor said. ‘I’m Bella, Lucinda’s sister.’ She was a darker-haired version of Lucinda. ‘The studio’s at the end of the corridor.’
The piled-up boxes had disappeared. There was a smell of fresh paint. The door at the end of the corridor was open.
‘Ellen,’ Lucinda said, ‘come and meet everyone.’
Two Americans, one Australian, four English and Ellen, who was secretly pleased to be the only Irish creative. Everybody looked under thirty. Jamie, one of the Americans, wore two tiny studs, one gold, one silver, in his right ear. Briony, English, had a tumble of curls like Claire’s and shiny black platform boots that extended to mid-thigh. ‘I love your red hair,’ she said to Ellen, the first time anyone had complimented it.
The studio was L-shaped, with three pairs of desks against the long wall, and Ellen and Lucinda’s in the other section. A round table with eight chairs was positioned in the corner of the L. Appointment diaries and pens, branded with the company logo, sat on everyone’s desk.
Lucinda gave a short talk, listing the clients already secured. ‘We need,’ she said, ‘to deliver top-class advertising. We need to be original and cutting edge. We want people talking about us – and remember, even though you’re working in a team of two, you’re also a team of eight. The big table,’ she said, pointing, ‘is for when a job needs everyone to pitch in with ideas. It’s there to be used, so let’s use it.
‘I should add that your pairings are not set in stone – because we’re all new here, it remains to be seen how we work with our assigned partners. Let’s see how we go for a month, and then review the situation.’
Her hair was tied up today in a ponytail. She looked even younger than Ellen remembered, in a blue and white gingham shirt over jeans, but her voice rang with confidence. She knew what she was doing.
It was thrilling to be part of it. Ellen loved that she was paired with Lucinda – she felt it gave her an advantage right off, like odds in a race. The eight of them spent the morning in their teams of two, reading up on the client brands. At noon, Bella appeared with menus from a local delicatessen and took orders for sandwiches and drinks, which arrived at one. They brought them to the staff canteen just down the corridor, and as they ate, they talked.
Stuart, the Australian, gave an account of the two weeks he’d spent volunteering in an elephant sanctuary in Namibia before arriving in the UK: ‘We went on poacher patrols, and built protective walls around water sources, and reported elephant movement to the government.’
Briony told them of the rock band she’d joined age sixteen, to her parents’ horror: ‘I wanted to be the next Suzi Quatro. We lasted four months and got no gigs at all. There went that dream.’
‘Ellen, tell them about the competitions,’ Lucinda prompted, so Ellen, self-conscious, listed her wins, and the others seemed impressed, but she felt it wasn’t half as interesting as working with elephants or being a member of a rock band, with or without gigs.
After lunch they returned to the studio and sat around the big table, and tossed ideas about for possible advertising angles for each client. Ellen listened to the contributions, and made some of her own, and pinched herself that she was in what felt like exactly the right place for her.
As four o’clock approached, Lucinda told them they were finishing early so they could meet the rest of the company. She brought them to one of the meeting rooms, where others were already congregating, and where the polished table was laid with bottles of wine and jugs of water and plates of cheese, and dishes of fat olives and mixed nuts and dried figs.
Justin gave a short welcoming talk. ‘Momentous day,’ he said. ‘The first day of the London branch of Creative Ways. Lucinda and I are excited, and we hope you’re excited too. Within our small company we have five nationalities, so we’ll have a lot to learn from one another.’ He raised his glass. ‘Here’s to our new venture, and all who sail in her.’
The wine tasted expensive. Ellen shook various hands, trying to remember all the names. She was careful not to drink too much, but on the Tube on the way home her head buzzed gently and pleasantly. She reached into her bag for her book, but for once she found it hard to concentrate on the story, her mind bent on replaying her first day.
‘Excuse me.’
She looked up to see a man sitting directly across from her. Dark hair, navy overcoat, polished shoes. Cradling a bottle-shaped package. Something familiar about him. They’d met before – but where?
‘I may be wrong,’ he said, ‘but did we meet in Paris, at the start of the year?’
Paris. The man who’d chased the thief who’d snatched her bag. She beamed at him, braver because of the wine. ‘Oh, we did. You came to my rescue.’
He lifted a hand to dismiss it, giving the gentle smile she remembered. ‘I tried.’
‘You were very kind. Nice to see you again.’ She hadn’t thought about him in months. What were the chances of a second encounter in a city the size of London? She’d forgotten his name, and how good-looking he was, and how attractive his voice.
‘Ellen,’ he said, ‘isn’t it?’
She was inordinately pleased that he’d remembered hers. ‘It is indeed, but I’m afraid—’
‘Leo,’ he said. ‘My memory is embarrassingly good. So how have you been?’
They talked. She told him about the new job, hoping she didn’t sound too animated. ‘Just started today, actually.’
‘Wonderful. I haven’t heard of them.’
‘They’re American, new to London. Starting up in Battersea.’
‘My stomping ground,’ he said. ‘Wishing you every success.’
‘Thank you.’
A short pause followed. The train rattled along its rail. She wished she’d chosen less casual clothes this morning. Her beloved sheepskin felt suddenly shabby – and the desert boots, Lord.
The train stopped. Passengers got off. He crossed the aisle and took a newly vacated seat beside her.
‘Would you by any chance care to have dinner sometime?’
Wow – he was asking her out. She felt herself flushing. ‘Oh . . . well, that would . . . yes, I’d like that.’ She wondered if he could smell the wine on her breath.
‘Great. How’s this weekend?’
She thought fast. On Friday she and Claire had planned to see Desperately Seeking Susan . ‘I’m free Saturday night.’
‘Saturday it is.’ He took a little notebook from a pocket inside his coat. ‘Let me have your address and I’ll pick you up.’
She blinked. The conversation felt like it was galloping along. She recited her address, her thoughts spinning. ‘We’re on the top floor,’ she said. ‘Flat 6.’
‘Shall we say half past seven?’
‘Yes, fine.’
‘Lovely. I’ll book us a table somewhere nice.’ He got to his feet as the train approached Bond Street Station. ‘Well, this is me,’ he said, ‘off to a seventieth birthday party, for my sins.’
His smile. ‘Enjoy,’ she said.
The train stopped. The doors slid open. ‘Bye, Ellen.’
‘Bye, Leo.’
She practically skipped home. She had a date, and it was with by far the most interesting man she’d met in London, the most interesting man since Ben. He was booking a table. They were going somewhere nice for dinner. He was picking her up. She’d need something very swish to wear.
It felt like she was on the brink of something, teetering on a precipice.
And she was dying to jump.