скачать книгу бесплатно
‘Fair enough,’ said Catherine, running her finger down Georgina’s list. ‘Now, let’s talk about language fluency. I know you speak French, so maybe it isn’t necessary for him to as well?’
‘No, that’s non-negotiable. I don’t want to be the only one planning our French holidays.’
Catherine thought for a moment. ‘What if he’s a member of a concierge service like Quintessentially? The consultants there can book the entire thing for you. All you have to do is turn up at the airport with your bag and your passport. In fact, they could plan all your holidays. It really would be a big advantage.’
‘Hmm, I like the sound of that,’ Georgina said. ‘Fine then, please only find me dates who’re Quintessentially members.’
Bollocks, that backfired. There were probably even fewer of those than there were fluent French speakers. She let out a sigh. Win some, lose some. She had one more battle to fight, and then she really did have to go.
‘Shoes without socks. Georgina, that really is getting too particular. Is it a hygiene issue? Because Boots does decent foot spray and—’
‘It’s not hygiene,’ she said. ‘It’s Sloaney. I can’t stand those South Ken types. You just know he’s going to fnar fnar fnar at his own jokes and have fond memories of all the times he was bummed at school. No, he must wear socks.’
Catherine had to hand it to Georgina. She may be about as flexible as Woody Allen but she did have a reason for every demand she made.
* * *
‘So so SO sorry I’m late!’ Catherine hurried into the restaurant twenty minutes later full of smiles and excuses.
The blonde young woman bounced up from her chair when Richard stood to kiss Catherine hello. ‘I am so happy to finally meet you!’ Magda said, nearly pushing Richard out of the way so she could clasp Catherine to her. ‘You have no idea how much Richard talks about you.’
‘Congratulations on your engagement,’ Catherine said, noting the huge round diamond sparkling on her finger.
So this was Magda. Her wide, ice-blue eyes were framed by darkly mascaraed lashes, set in a flawlessly smooth square face that was much more Cameron Diaz than SpongeBob SquarePants.
In the nanosecond that they stood together, Catherine committed Magda’s figure to memory. As tall and as slim as she’d been at twenty-three, there was nothing to fault there. Catherine adjusted her beige jumper, wishing she’d worn a dress. But she hadn’t wanted to seem as if she was making an effort.
Mission accomplished, she thought crossly.
When she took a seat across from Magda at the small square table, the girl scrunched up her shoulders, gurned and giggled like they were sharing the most exciting secret imaginable.
Maybe that was the attraction for Richard. Magda seemed to be the inverse of Catherine – a bubbly-looking blonde instead of a sensible brunette. Catherine was Hobbs and M&S. Magda was Gucci and, Catherine was betting, Agent Provocateur. And instead of her straight, smooth dark locks, Magda’s hair looped in huge curls. If those curls could talk they’d say, Take me to the bedroom.
‘I got caught up at work,’ Catherine said.
‘I think what you do is fascinating,’ gushed Magda. ‘You have to tell me all about it. Richard never tells me anything.’
She pushed out her pillowy bottom lip.
‘Oh, well, there’s not a lot to tell, really. We’ve got two businesses – the website and the dating agency. I’ve been working mostly on the website lately.’ She didn’t make eye contact with Richard in case he took that as a judgement. ‘But I’ve recently signed an interesting client. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it, actually, Richard. But not tonight, obviously.’
‘No, no, please do,’ Magda said. ‘I insist! After all, I am sort of involved now that Richard and I are getting married.’
Catherine saw Richard wince and realised that he was nervous. Though she couldn’t work out who he was wincing at.
And really, she should be squirming, not him. She was the one sitting across from her replacement, like the spare laptop that he couldn’t quite bring himself to get rid of. But no, it wouldn’t even occur to Richard how this might grate on her ego. He was too busy pretending that it was normal for his ex-wife to have dinner with his fiancée.
And, she realised, it was more about her ego than her heart. After everything that had happened she couldn’t really imagine being with him now. But that wasn’t to say she wanted his upgrade to be easy.
Petty? Yes. Understandable? She thought so.
She found herself relaxing as she explained that she’d offered Paul and Georgina the remodelling service. Ah, the sweet influence of work! It was such a clever business model. Clients paid them to be both their customers and their product. The more clients they had buying, the more product they had to sell. So spending a few extra hours to improve their success rate would be worthwhile. She didn’t expect Richard to object. After all, she was spending her time, not his.
She was surprised, though, by how many questions Magda asked. That girl wasn’t kidding. She did want to know every detail.
‘Shall I choose some wine?’ Richard said after the waiter went away for the second time with an empty order pad.
He started flipping through the wine menu, running his finger down each page as if he was looking for something special.
Catherine suppressed a smile. He’d choose the fourth or fifth cheapest wine. He always did. He was just too proud to admit he didn’t know much about it.
Did Magda know this, or was she impressed by his sommelier impersonation?
‘See anything interesting?’ Catherine couldn’t help asking.
‘Hmm, there are a few good vintages,’ he said. ‘I think we’ll like this one.’ He pointed out his choice to the waiter.
She wondered what else Magda didn’t know.
Did he still claim that he made his own pesto because he’d found the perfect basil at the market? He actually bought it from the Italian deli in Farringdon and froze it. Or that when he said he’d played football with David Beckham, it had been for half an hour when he was sixteen years old, away at football summer camp with a lot of other not-very-athletic boys? The camp’s founder knew David’s dad from when he fitted his new boiler and got him in as a favour.
Everyone was a little bit false when it came down to it. Catherine only needed to look at herself, smiling at Magda as if they were new best friends.
When she thought about it, that’s what she was offering with the client remodelling service: a few tips and tricks to brighten up a sagging façade. They were only cosmetic renovations.
Mentally she filed away Richard’s wine gimmick to share with Paul. He wouldn’t need to be an expert, only to look competent on a date. Once a woman was in love with him she wouldn’t care that he didn’t know his Meursault from his Merlot.
‘What other changes are you thinking of making?’ Magda asked.
‘Changes?’
‘To the business,’ she said, frowning. ‘You must have a lot of ideas about how to grow it.’
‘It doesn’t need growing. It does pretty well as it is,’ Catherine said, knowing she sounded defensive.
‘But you cannot rest on your laurels.’
‘What makes you think that I’m resting on my laurels?’
‘Oh, I did not mean to offend you! I just thought that a businesswoman like you would be full of ideas.’
‘We can’t expand too quickly or we won’t be able to give our clients the service they’re paying for.’
She did not have to justify her business to this child.
‘Catherine is always coming up with new ideas,’ Richard said, grasping Magda’s hand. ‘RecycLove wouldn’t exist without her.’
But Magda wouldn’t be distracted. ‘So this renovation idea,’ she continued. ‘Giving clients a one-on-one self-improvement, is that not going to stretch the staff?’
‘Magda,’ Catherine said, knowing she was about to sound exactly like her mother. ‘Richard and I talk through all business-related matters and decide together what makes sense for the company.’
She may as well have said, Your dad and I don’t think you need to worry about that kind of grown-up talk. Now go upstairs and do some colouring in.
‘Magda does have a point though, Catherine. Will taking on two new clients be too much for you?’
‘No! Definitely not. I’ll keep track, shall I, and report back to you in a few weeks. Now, are you ordering starters or just mains?’
She’d known dinner would be uncomfortable, but she hadn’t expected a work critique.
‘Just a main for me,’ said Magda. ‘With the holidays coming, I need to watch my diet or I will never fit into my dress.’
She rolled her eyes like she was a contestant on The Biggest Loser.
Catherine officially hated her.
Chapter Eight (#ulink_9248459b-6feb-59f1-b4df-c0301d2796dd)
Rachel (#ulink_9248459b-6feb-59f1-b4df-c0301d2796dd)
James didn’t fool her. He might be doodling in his notebook but he’d also hang on every word their boss said. He just thought that pretending disinterest made him look cool.
Rachel, on the other hand, was leaning so far forward that she was practically lying across the table. Missed a trick there. She should have had her nose in her book when Ed came in. But then nobody ever accused her of being cool.
‘So what’s up?’ James asked, as if he and Ed were old pals.
‘Thanks for coming,’ Ed said, ignoring James’s bonhomie. Rachel allowed herself the tiniest smile. Not that his snub meant she’d get promoted to the favourite instead.
‘I wanted to touch base about the Zigler pitch,’ Ed continued. ‘At the risk of repeating myself, you did an excellent job and the client loved your ideas. It’s not always easy for young architects to read a meeting correctly, to know just where to pitch your message, but you did it.’
Young architects? Ed was welcome to think of her as a fresh-faced hotshot. She smoothed down her dress – navy polka dots today. Sometimes her style did work in her favour. Though he didn’t need to make it sound like he was their grandfather, tutoring them at his wizened old knee and fishing Werther’s Originals from his cardigan pockets. She knew for a fact that he’d only just turned forty. His wife had sent an enormous cake to the office a few months ago and embarrassed the hell out of him. There was no arguing with his experience though. He’d been with the company since he graduated, working his way up to partner. The higher he climbed, the more hair he lost. These days his shiny scalp was reflecting a lot more than his success.
When Ed’s eyebrows knitted together in concern, Rachel realised she’d been beaming idiotically. Composing herself, she said, ‘Thanks, Ed. We worked really hard on it. And thanks for giving us a chance.’
Way to go, she thought. Pitch your message about two notches above kiss-arse.
Ed directed his next comments to James. ‘I thought your use of that mood board was excellent. It lifted your idea from a drawing to a concept. Inspired.’
That wasn’t James’s idea. It was hers. Well, technically she’d nicked it from Sarah. She was always putting mood boards together for her cards. She shredded magazines faster than a hamster when she got a new idea. Even if the housemates were still reading them.
‘And the presentation was slick,’ Ed continued as James doodled. ‘You used just the right amount of animation to keep their interest. Too much just makes everyone dizzy and lowers the perceived quality of your message.’
Why did he keep looking at James? He’d never been able to work the 3-D program properly. Those animations were hers.
‘Actually, Ed, the mood board was my idea,’ she said.
Ed’s smile creased the laugh lines near his pale blue eyes and made his face look less narrow than usual. Without the smile he looked like a youngish Richard E Grant.
‘Rachel, there’s no “I” in team.’
She felt her face go crimson. She shouldn’t have said anything. Now she just looked petty, while James confidently doodled. If only she could rewind the conversation and take it back. But she couldn’t make Ed unhear her.
Actually, sod that. She didn’t want to take it back. She wanted credit where it was due in the first place. Then she wouldn’t have to stick up for herself. Because that’s all she was doing. She wouldn’t get anywhere if her boss thought James did all the work while she sat in the meeting looking pretty.
Ed kept talking to James while she stewed. Then he complimented the pastries they’d ordered for the meeting. This time he looked straight at Rachel.
That figured. James got credit for all the important work. She got pastries. What did that make her – Julia Child to his Mies van der Rohe?
No, she wasn’t even Julia. She was Mr Kipling handing out pre-packaged cakes.
‘This is ridiculous!’ she said. ‘There may not be an “I” in team, Ed, but if you change your perspective a bit, you’ll see that there is a “me”. You seem to have forgotten that.’
Ed stared at her.
James stared at her.
She wanted to crawl under the table and forget the meeting ever happened.
‘Rachel, is everything all right? I’m sensing there might be an issue here and, honestly, I need to know that nothing’s going to derail you. You and James will be working closely together on this project. Is there a problem?’
She was so incensed at Ed that she hardly heard what he’d just said.
‘We’ve got a shot at the design?’ James asked, finally stilling his pen.
‘You’ve got it. Congratulations. Sorry it’s taken so long, but I guess they’ve got a lot on. They just got back to me yesterday. They want to see your preliminary design on the,’ he consulted his notebook, ‘the twenty-first of next month, so you’ve got five weeks.’
Well not really, thought Rachel, since the office would shut down for Christmas in a few weeks. Ho Ho Panic Ho.
‘It’s all yours,’ Ed said. ‘Well, both of yours. So I need to know if there’s going to be any issue with working together. Rachel?’
‘What? No, no, of course not. That’s awesome, Ed, thanks!’ She couldn’t wait to call her mum.
‘James, what about you? All okay?’
He nodded. ‘Absolutely fine, Ed. Oh, and by the way, it really was Rachel who came up with the mood board, not me. And she’s a whizz at using the software and all the details that made the clients feel comfortable. If I wasn’t so literal – You want me to design? Okay, I design,’ he added in a simpleton’s voice, ‘I’d be good at all the touchy-feely stuff like she is.’
The unimportant stuff, he meant. By implication, the actual designs were his. That was bullshit.
‘Well as long as you deliver one great design next month, I don’t care how you divide up the work.’
Surely, Rachel thought, he meant one design each. ‘Ed, we’re each submitting our own ideas, aren’t we?’
There was that ‘me’ again. Maybe she did sound like she wasn’t a team player.
He shook his head. ‘No, you’ll submit one concept. You’re working together on this. Okay?’
‘Sure, fine,’ Rachel said. She felt anything but fine.
* * *
