Chapter 9 #3
‘He was . . . performing.’ That was the problem; Michelle had only just figured it out.
‘He wowed me, but I felt like an extra in a movie he was directing. Instead of connecting, he was stage-managing the whole event.’ Relieved that she’d pinpointed what had been bugging her, Michelle could afford to be magnanimous.
‘I mean, he did connect a couple of times – briefly – but it wasn’t about me, it was about him.
It was about the impression he was making as this dazzling impresario. ’
‘Hmm.’ Katrina nodded.
‘Not in a narcissistic way. It was almost needy? Attention-seeking? I don’t know.’ Michelle took a deep breath. ‘Maybe I was the problem. I felt like I couldn’t measure up because he’s so A-grade.’
‘Are you joking?’ Indignant, Katrina raised her voice. ‘Michelle, you’re so intelligent and capable, and you looked stunning in that outfit.’
‘But I didn’t know where the Dolomites were. Or what “abbocato” meant . . .’
‘So what? You’re smart, you’re beautiful and you’re in control.
Though – can I say this? – you could be making more of an effort with your hair.
’ Katrina reached across and scooped up the silky ponytail that was spilling over Michelle’s left shoulder, tugging the elastic free.
Then she leaned closer and began tucking the hair behind Michelle’s ears, flipping and combing with her fingers.
‘Do you know how to do a casual French twist? I think it would suit you.’
Michelle was about to say, ‘I can’t even do a plait,’ when she noticed a woman staring at her from further down the gallery walk.
The woman looked vaguely familiar. Her crumpled linen clothes were baggy and beige, with splotches of Hare Krishna orange that did nothing for her wan complexion.
Her hemp backpack had lots of bulging pockets.
Where had Michelle seen that blotchy skin before?
‘Pauline?’ Katrina exclaimed.
The woman gave a start. ‘Oh . . . hi,’ she mumbled.
‘I thought you were in the uniform shop?’ Katrina’s voice held a hint of dismay.
Pauline blinked nervously. ‘I had an appointment with my immunologist.’
‘Oh, so Gabby’s there? You told her, didn’t you? She’s on the relief roster.’
‘Um . . .’
While Pauline hesitated, Katrina whipped out her phone.
By this time, Michelle had recognised Pauline as the woman at the Colville gala who’d been picking over finger food as if a small bomb was concealed in each scallop-and-marjoram canape.
Seeing Katrina launch into a phone conversation with Gabby, Michelle decided she wasn’t going to sit there like an idiot, gawping at Pauline while Pauline gawped back.
‘Hi,’ she said with the requisite polite smile. ‘I’m Michelle.’
‘I know.’ Pauline looked at her reproachfully. ‘I recognised you from school.’
‘The gala, you mean? Yep, I was there.’
‘From school, Michelle! I used to be Pauline Schuetrumpf, remember?’
Michelle remembered. Who could forget a name like Schuetrumpf?
Pauline, who’d hovered on the edge of a few different groups, was the girl who’d fled to Colville’s sick bay whenever she had an exam, rubella injection, metalwork class or sporting event.
She’d also played the school secretary in Grease.
A picture flashed into Michelle’s head of Pauline in a permed grey wig, her long, mottled face frozen with shock, as she surprised Michelle removing the tape from Katrina’s exposed rear end after the curtain had fallen.
All these decades later, Katrina’s screams still rang in Michelle’s ears.
Pauline had made a strange gurgling sound, then turned and stumbled away before either Michelle or Katrina could explain.
‘You’re married, then?’ Michelle asked.
‘What?’
‘You said you “used to be” Pauline Schuetrumpf. What are you now?’
‘Pauline Cowper.’ Pauline cleared her throat, oozing discomfort. ‘What about you? Are you married?’
‘No.’
‘Kids?’
‘No.’
‘You live alone?’
‘No.’ Michelle wondered why Pauline was even interested. Was she totting up Michelle’s failures so she could feel better about herself? ‘I live with my dad.’
‘Ah.’ For some reason, Pauline sounded disappointed. ‘That’s good of you. But I suppose it’s part of his culture, looking after elderly relatives.’
Michelle raised her eyebrows. Seriously? ‘No,’ she said, ‘I don’t think the Scots-Irish are all that committed to elder care.’
Pauline, who had somehow mixed up Michelle’s parents, blushed, then changed the subject. ‘I remember you backstage, stomping around in your toolbelt. You were always very capable. Are you still working with your hands? Doing set design, or carpentry . . .?’
‘No.’ Michelle felt lost. She sensed that Pauline was pursuing her own agenda but had no idea what it could be. ‘I’m in account management.’
‘Oh.’ Again, that disappointment. ‘Well, I guess it’s nice to have a job where you can meet your friends for coffee in town.’ Pauline gave a pointless little laugh. ‘I didn’t realise you and Kat were so cosy. Did you reconnect at the gala?’
Michelle wondered if Pauline was jealous. ‘We did, yes.’
‘That’s quick. You must have a lot in common.’
‘Well . . . we’re starting a business together, if that’s what you mean.’
Pauline’s eyes nearly popped out of her head; she clearly knew nothing about Katrina’s cover story. ‘You are? Doing what?’
‘Event management.’
‘Goodness.’ Pauline pursed her lips. ‘I’ve got my own business venture, did you know? It’s called Tranquerb – herbal supplements. You might be interested.’ She turned to Katrina, who had just hung up. ‘Kat, you didn’t tell us about your new enterprise!’
‘Pauline, Gabby says you didn’t get in touch with her. Has there been some kind of miscommunication? The uniform shop didn’t open this morning and Dr Mayhew’s upset.’
Pauline caught her breath and shrank away as if Katrina had spat at her.
Katrina sighed as she massaged her forehead.
‘It’s supposed to be my day off. I understand you had a doctor’s appointment, but we need to stick to the procedure or these kinds of muddles happen.
If you can’t come in, you contact Gabby, then message me.
If Gabby can’t cover you, she’ll alert one of our standby mothers—’
‘Katrina, I can’t handle this right now. Not while you’re in such a state.’ Pauline’s voice cracked as she began to retreat. ‘You’ll make my skin flare up – don’t forget, I’m an HSP. Your negative energy has an effect.’
‘Pauline—’
‘Later. When you’ve calmed down.’ She flitted off like a scrap of windblown paper, leaving Michelle open-mouthed and Katrina resigned.
‘What’s an HSP?’ Michelle whispered.
‘A Highly Sensitive Person.’
‘Right.’
‘She made the school buy her a full-face respirator before she’d help sort out the secondhand uniforms.’ Katrina pulled a face. ‘Which are disgusting, mind you. Oh, well – calm blue ocean. You told her about our event management thing?’
‘Yes.’ Michelle stiffened. Had that been a mistake?
‘It’s fine, don’t worry. Let’s get back to your feedback form. How are you going to answer question three?’
For the next half-hour, Katrina seemed to enjoy dissecting Filippo’s survey. Perhaps because she’d never met him, she found it easier than Michelle to be honest, though they both agreed that they couldn’t be too blunt. Filippo was, after all, a paying customer.
‘“How would you rate the amount of attention paid to you?”’ Katrina read aloud. ‘You could tick “excellent” but add a sub-question: “How would you rate the kind of attention paid to you?” For that, you could tick “satisfactory”. Would that work?’
Michelle nodded, typing.
‘Then, in the notes,’ Katrina continued, ‘you could say he overwhelmed you without really finding out what you wanted.’
‘Because he was trying to make me think he was the perfect host,’ Michelle added, furiously tapping at her screen.
‘So – the ambience was gorgeous, the food was delicious, the music was . . .?’
‘Opera. Fabulous.’
‘But it wouldn’t have suited me. Did he offer you any alternatives?’
Michelle shrugged. ‘Sort of.’
‘“How would you rate the choice of music?” You could write “non-applicable” and say, “It wasn’t a choice” . . .’
They wrangled their way to the end of the survey, compromising on things like the need for adverbs like ‘very’ and the meaning of the word ‘respect’.
After reading their work through a couple of times, Michelle hit ‘send’ just as the castle clock erupted into another Trumpet Voluntary, and she realised she was going to be late.
‘Oh, shit!’ She jumped up, scrambling for her wallet. ‘Here – take this for the coffee. And keep the receipt, because this was a business meeting. Tax deductible. Are you okay for tonight? With Nick’s friend?’
‘Shane? I think so. He wants takeaway, so I don’t have to shop for food.’ Rising, Katrina hugged her. ‘Well done you. You’re now a fully fledged Dreamwife.’
Michelle wasn’t so sure about that. She didn’t feel as if she had put much effort into her appointment with Filippo. But she smiled and hurried away, hoping Rolf wouldn’t decide to look for a cab – or do something equally mulish – just because she was ten minutes late.
Scooting past a stationery shop, she sent her father a quick text message, which he probably wouldn’t see. He kept forgetting he even had a mobile phone. Then, as she tucked her phone back into her pocket, a sudden movement tugged at the corner of her eye.
She glanced up just in time to see a stooped figure in beige linen ducking behind a pillar.
For a second, she thought she’d imagined it.
But no – two more steps gave her a great view of Pauline’s hemp knapsack, which she wore on her back like a snail’s shell.
Pauline seemed to be peering at a window display that featured a large diagram of a fountain pen, but Michelle didn’t for one second think she was genuinely interested in tines, imprints or breather holes.
Crazy as it seemed, Michelle was pretty sure that Pauline had been spying on her.
She was about to say something when her phone pinged. Had her father actually texted back? If so, this was the first time ever.
But the message wasn’t from Rolf. It was an email from Filippo Balducci.
Received your feedback form. Urgently need second appointment. Pls respond asap.