Chapter Nine
‘Do these belong to you?’ rasped a voice from behind a pair of bright blue, daisy-festooned wellies.
They were mine and were being held up by the big, big boss, David. The MD. Surely I hadn’t been summoned to his office on the top floor to discuss my taste in footwear?
‘Yes,’ I answered guardedly. What was he doing with them? They normally lived in the back of the company pool car. I’d bought them several months ago because there’s nothing worse than getting to a muddy construction site and having to borrow warm, sweaty boots.
David smiled his crooked gangster smile, his bright blue eyes piercing. As usual he was perfectly attired in a charcoal-grey suit with a tiny pinstripe running through the beautifully cut fabric. It was worth every penny, hiding his barrel-chested, dumpy shape to perfection.
‘No wonder those bastards at Collingwood Construction love you so much. A dolly bird turning up in girly wellies must brighten the lads’ day up no end.
’ He guffawed with laughter. ‘They’re gonna have to do without you for a coupla weeks though.
That lazy sod Max will have to get off his arse for a change. ’
He shot me a shrewd look. ‘Didn’t think I’d noticed who did all the work on that account, did you?’
Poor Max, my immediate boss, a brilliant thinker but rubbish doer.
I didn’t answer, not that David expected me to.
Why had I been summoned? David wasn’t great on welfare; he didn’t do touchy-feely stuff, so it was nothing to do with the bandage on my arm. I would bet my entire annual salary that dealings with HR brought him out in hives.
It was only when a very red-eyed Fiona knocked at the door of David’s palatial office that all became clear.
She was head of the beauty team and Emily’s boss.
As always, she was dressed in a tight-fitting designer suit, the skirt skimming her knee to make the most of her ten-denier clad legs. Only her puffy lids spoilt the look.
‘You’re taking over Fiona’s team. She’s got a domestic crisis.’ In David speak this had to be a death in the family at the very least.
Without thinking I blurted out, ‘The beauty side! I don’t know anything about beauty stuff.’
‘What’s to know?’ dismissed David blithely, receiving a weary glare from Fiona. The poor girl looked completely done in.
‘Bright girl like you can manage that bunch of airheads. As of now you’re hanging up your wellies for a couple of weeks.
You’re acting Account Director. Fiona’ll brief you.
And if you wondering about your flower power boots, I’ve had to pinch the pool car — you won’t need it for a while. Some arsehole ran into the Porsche.’
With that he tossed the boots at my feet leaving me with Fiona.
‘Arrogant so-and-so,’ she said with feeling. ‘Unfortunately he’s right. I can’t trust them to get on with anything. Luckily, there’s nothing major on. Apart from the Luscious Lips launch.’
She sat down heavily in David’s chair, smoothing the tight skirt down her thighs.
‘I realise Emily’s your friend but unfortunately you’re going to have to find a way to manage her.
’ Fiona shook her head, her lips curling.
‘Her attention to detail is truly appalling. We’re launching this season’s new colours . . .’
I interrupted her holding up my hand. ‘I know all about it. Miranda has been the sole topic of conversation for the last week.’
‘Then you know the background.’ She looked at me.
‘How Emily came up with the idea, I don’t know.
She actually managed to come up with a winner.
But I need you to keep on top of things.
Miranda’s agent is a complete shark. I don’t want to come back to hear that the entire budget has been blown on room service in Miranda’s bloody hotel suite or on an entourage of thousands. ’
So far, a stylist and a make-up artist had been sanctioned but Fiona had vetoed the nutritionist, Reiki practitioner and personal Pilates instructor.
‘I’ve heard the problems,’ I murmured.
‘The main thing you have to worry about is Miranda’s partner.’
This was news to me. ‘Who?’
‘Rowan Majors, recently ex-boy-band hero and supposedly heading northward up the charts. Except it’s not happening.’
‘So?’ There was no point even trying to hide my ignorance. Fiona needed to know that I was out of my depth.
Fiona gave me another scornful look. ‘If,’ she paused with a heavy sigh, ‘his solo career doesn’t deliver a number one hit in the next week, he’s toast . . . and we’re stuffed.’
Apparently, Miranda’s ten-page contract stipulated we had to find an escort if she needed one. There was even a sub-clause specifying required inside-leg measurements. Fiona wasn’t joking!
The contract, legal and binding, was astonishing.
According to the densely written paperwork she fished out of her file, the escort couldn’t have blonder hair than her (unless there were obvious roots) and his shoulders had to be broad enough to show off Miranda’s miniscule size 6 frame.
Last but not least, Miranda had to have final approval.
‘Christ, I hope Rowan stays the course!’
Fiona gave a God-give-me-strength groan. ‘He won’t. It’s my worst nightmare. Or rather, it’s yours now,’ she said sounding bitter. ‘Look I need to go. My mother is desperate.’ She looked at her watch grimacing. ‘I’ll come down with you to break the news to the team.’
‘I’m so sorry about your mother . . .’ I said tentatively, wondering what was wrong with her.
‘Thanks.’ She smiled weakly at me. ‘It’s not totally unexpected but Mummy’s really cut up. She can’t believe the surgeon won’t operate again. And on top of Daddy, it’s too much.’
‘Oh, no. Is it cancer?’ I asked sympathetically.
Fiona looked at me sharply. ‘No, liposuction. She’s devastated. She swore she’d never go to Weight Watchers again.’
What could I say to that? If I’d been a cartoon my eyes would have done that bugging out thing where they bounce up and down on springs. All I could do was manage a strangled, ‘Don’t worry about a thing. I’m sure we’ll cope.’
‘Of course, Daddy’s is a little more serious with his prostate trouble. Mummy doesn’t drive so she needs me while he’s in hospital having his op.’
Then to my surprise, she stood, smoothed her perfect skirt again and came towards me. Squeezing my good arm with an earnest expression on her face she said, ‘You know, Olivia, I couldn’t leave my team with anyone else in charge. You’re the only other person here who knows what they’re doing.’
With that she wheeled out, leaving me staring after her in amazement. Blimey! Compliments from Fiona and David? What a day it was turning out to be. Perhaps I should be off sick more often. Now all I had to do was break the news to Emily. Deep joy.
* * *
My visit to the top floor had been the subject of much conjecture, so when I came into the office all eyes swivelled my way. I cringed, looking at all the curious faces.
Max might just break down and cry and as for the beauty team’s reaction, I didn’t even want to go there. It was going to be bad enough trying to do the job. Miranda’s demands sounded outrageous. She was one high-maintenance chick.
Old Jabba the Hutt had never demanded any more than a hanky to wipe his sweaty brow before a photo shoot. In fact, I’d maligned him. Today, I’d returned to find two dozen, scented pink roses and a beautiful card wishing me well.
Predictably, Emily was livid. She couldn’t believe it wasn’t her stepping into Fiona’s shoes. The fact that it was me was a double whammy. Even I could see it was a very public slur.
It was going to be a difficult couple of weeks. Changing desks with one arm was my first challenge. Not one of the beauty team offered to help. Cara was about to but when she jumped up, she got a quelling look from Emily and quickly sat down again.
Max roused himself from his perennial laziness to carry over my laptop. Being helpful didn’t come naturally to him; he just wanted to moan about how unfair it all was.
‘How am I going to manage? Who’s going to write the Winton Bypass release? What about the Broughton public enquiry?’ he griped, wiping his perpetually smeared glasses.
‘Max,’ I said with exasperation, handing him a pile of neatly labelled files. ‘I’m right here. It’s not as if I’ve been relocated to the Leeds office.’
‘God forbid.’ He really did look horrified at that. ‘But still . . .’
‘You know all about the bloody Broughton enquiry — and you can read. Everything’s in the file.’ And even you should be able to write a press release by now, I thought.
‘Yes, but Olivia, I’ve got so much to do for the Management Team Report.’
‘Max,’ I said raising my voice. ‘I write that report for you every month, all you need to do is update it — it’s not even my job to do it.
’ Then lowering my voice I hissed, ‘Most of the stuff is confidential, I’m not supposed to know that Ian Riley is on his third warning or that David is considering restructuring again. ’
‘Yes, but you’re so trustworthy.’ A wheedling tone crept into his voice. ‘I can always rely on you.’
‘Well, you can’t anymore. Not until Fiona gets back.’
‘I get the message,’ he tutted. ‘The power’s gone to your head already. Just remember pride before a fall. Don’t you worry, Uncle Max will hold the fort for you.’
I rolled my eyes. You’d think I was crossing a crocodile-infested river rather than the short expanse of grey carpet to the other side of the office. Mind you, looking at the grim faces of Emily, Cara, Camilla and Helene, it might be as dangerous.
You could almost see the dark cloud hovering above them, for once united in disapproval. I hadn’t dared look at Emily when it was explained that I was taking over for the next few weeks. If looks could kill, Fiona would have spontaneously combusted.