Friend of the Family

by Tasmina Perry

  ‘Oh, hi,’ she said. ‘I’m Amy Shepherd. I have an appointment with Douglas.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said the blonde. ‘He’s actually with someone at the moment, but if you’d like to take a seat, he’ll be with you shortly.’

  Amy was just turning towards the nearby sofa when the office door opened and she felt the floor drop away. For a moment, she thought she was seeing things. But no, it was her. It was Josie, coming out of Douglas’s office, wearing a tight white blouse just like Amy’s, a smile on her face.

  Amy stood rooted to the spot as Douglas followed the girl out. He was saying something to her and they were laughing together. Amy’s mind spun.

  ‘Amy,’ said Douglas, catching sight of her. ‘Look who’s here.’

  Josie raised her eyebrows at Amy and gave a half-smile.

  ‘Josie,’ said Amy, barely able to catch her breath.

  ‘As you might know, Grace has left the company, so this young lady is starting on Monday while I look for someone permanent. Tanya’s been great, of course,’ he said, nodding politely at the blond temp, ‘but she’s found a permanent position elsewhere, so I need someone flexible but reliable.’

  Amy watched with a fixed smile as Josie shook hands with Douglas, who beamed at her warmly.

  ‘Douglas, you have a call,’ said Tanya.

  ‘Of course. Amy, I’ll just be a minute.’

  As Tanya put the call through to Douglas’s office, Amy stayed rooted to the spot. When Josie also didn’t move to leave, she knew she had to say something.

  ‘Congratulations,’ she managed through thin lips. ‘This is a great opportunity for you.’

  Josie broke into a big smile. Amy noticed she had thicker make-up on than usual. She was used to seeing the girl tanned and natural, but now she had a full face on that made her look older than twenty-one.

  ‘I’ve always wanted to work in magazines, so it’s a dream come true. You hear stories about people having to do work experience for ever, but this way I should be able to get a deposit together for a flat in London.’

  ‘I thought you’d gone back to Bristol.’

  ‘I did, but I came back as soon as I got this offer,’ she replied.

  ‘Look, Josie, about what happened in Provence . . .’ An apology hovered on Amy’s lips before she stopped herself. She was an inveterate apologiser: when people bumped into her in the supermarket; when people elbowed her out of the way to get on the Tube during rush hour. David used to laugh at her and say it was a British thing, but Amy didn’t know anyone else who said sorry quite as much as she did, and in her quieter moments she wondered if it was because she was so grateful for the life she had, a life she wasn’t entirely sure she was worthy of.

  ‘I’m just glad you’re all right,’ Josie said. ‘Peter and Juliet were very worried about you. We all were.’

  There was a smugness to her words that put Amy on edge. We all were. Who was the ‘we’? Was David involved in that collective? She desperately wanted to ask Josie if she’d spoken to him since Provence, but she didn’t dare. Instead she shook her head. ‘Let’s just put it behind us, shall we?’

  ‘Good idea,’ shrugged Josie. ‘Seeing as we’re going to be working together.’ She gave Amy a ghost of a smile. It was knowing, triumphant, a punch in the stomach.

  More and more questions were on the tip of Amy’s tongue now. She wanted to know how the Genesis job had come about; what exactly Josie’s relationship with Douglas was. It seemed strange that she would be offered a role like this so readily, but as she had found out, Josie would stop at nothing to get what she wanted. She didn’t suppose Douglas would be any more immune to her sultry charms than David had been.

  But of course, she couldn’t ask those things. Instead she gave Josie an awkward smile as Tanya called her name.

  ‘Amy? Do you want to come through?’

  ‘Well done again. On the job.’

  Josie shrugged, like she was used to walking into top-level secretarial roles. ‘It’s only for a few weeks,’ she said, but Amy was damn sure that wasn’t her plan. Josie played the grateful ingénue well, but she was ambitious. She’d get her feet under the table, parlay the temporary into permanent, use her position to keep on top of openings in the company – and when you had the MD in your corner, who needed a CV?

  ‘Good luck.’ She winked, and Amy bristled.

  As she walked into Douglas’s office, her head was still whirling. Josie had manoeuvred herself into a top position in the company. Did that make her lucky, pushy or manipulative? And what did it mean regarding David? He was still protesting his innocence, and of course Amy hoped with all her heart that he was telling the truth, but if Josie was the player she was beginning to appear, then perhaps he had been used. But why? What was in it for Josie?

  ‘Are you not going to sit down?’ said Douglas, motioning towards the chair in front of his desk.

  She told herself to get a grip. ‘Sorry. I was just thinking how great it is you’re giving Josie this opportunity.’

  ‘It should work out. The way she sorted out that whole cock-up at William’s leaving party was quite impressive, didn’t you think?’

  Amy smiled weakly.

  ‘But right now, I want to concentrate on you.’

  He sat back behind his desk and put his hands behind his head.

  ‘So I’ve read your proposals for Mode with interest.’

  She could see that a tiny section of his shirt had popped open, exposing a flash of white flesh.

  ‘Do you want me to go through it point by point? I’ve got a PowerPoint presentation with me . . .’

  ‘There’s no time for that today. This is just a preliminary chat. Short-listed candidates will have to make a formal presentation in the next week. The final three will be asked to meet Marv Schultz when he comes over to London for Fashion Week.’

  Amy pressed her lips together to mask her disappointment. It was obvious what Douglas was saying.

  There was a knock at the door and Josie came through with two cups of coffee.

  Douglas flashed her a smile. ‘Thank you, Josie.’

  Amy looked straight ahead as Josie put the white china in front of her. She was determined not to look at her directly, even when she felt Josie’s sleeve brush against her own.

  ‘Doesn’t even start until Monday and she’s already part of the team,’ said Douglas with something approaching affection as she left the room.

  What special power did Josie have? Amy found herself wondering. It couldn’t just be her looks. Douglas had many faults but he was not a senior management sleaze; Genesis was full of attractive, highly groomed women, but he always seemed more focused on his spreadsheets. Could it be something as simple as a suntan? Amy had never noticed David give Josie any particular attention until they got to Provence and her skin had toasted golden brown.

  ‘So what do magazines have to do to get ahead in the digital age?’ asked Douglas, cutting through the noise in her head. ‘Now that everyone’s on their phone. Email, text, social media, movies, even books have gone digital; how do magazines compete?’

  ‘The website needed to be improved, for a start,’ said Amy, trying to pull herself together. ‘At the moment, we’re not good enough. Companies like BuzzFeed are expert at SEO, data, clickbait. We need to recruit staff who are really, really good at those skills.’

  Douglas nodded thoughtfully. ‘You’re right. I was just talking to Josie about how we pull young people in, and she said the same. They want the instant fix, the hottest news. She suggested videos, selfies, messaging forums. We have to make mobile the priority.’

  Amy tried to stop a small frown forming between her brows. Why was he spouting the opinion of Josie as if it was gospel?

  ‘How do we do that, Amy?’

  She hadn’t expected such a general chat. She had a bag full of slides, not
es and images about her vision for Mode, but Douglas was provoking her into a discussion about media platforms.

  ‘Invest in the website and increase our reach on other social media platforms,’ she said, realising that was what he wanted to hear. ‘It’s not good enough having a five-page news section at the front of the print magazine any more, because it’s not news. Face creams, shoes, celebrity news, it-bags. Anyone who has even a passing interest in fashion has already seen it all before the magazine even hits the newsstands.’

  ‘So you think there’s merit in the argument that we should be a digital-first product? Josie says she hasn’t read a magazine in five years. Why are we bothering with the expense of print when everyone wants short and snappy on their phones? Josie says she just follows bloggers and influencers.’

  Josie says, Josie says. Why did men listen to her? What had she said to David to lure him into bed? Their bed. How had she got him to buy her the necklace? What had she been doing staring into their bedroom the night Tilly had had sunburn? Josie, Josie, Josie.

  ‘What do you think, Amy?’ asked Douglas, but she could hardly hear him, as if she were swimming underwater, drowning.

  She was tempted to say that Josie did read magazines. That she had confessed to being a fan of Verve and Living Style, but she didn’t want to sound petty.

  ‘Well, we have to compete with them. Beat them. Give the consumer more than the blogger can offer. A slick e-commerce division, glamorous events, corporate tie-ins and digital TV.’

  ‘The last time I looked, the most successful bloggers are selling their own products, quite successfully I might add. As for events, I’ve just had to sign off the budget for a deluxe train. Are influencers hiring the Orient Express to get followers? I’m not sure they are.’

  ‘Then why don’t we just recruit an army of bloggers?’ said Amy, finally snapping.

  Douglas shuffled some papers on his desk. If the hard copy of her presentation was amongst them, she couldn’t see it.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, feeling suddenly panicky.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Douglas. It was clear that their preliminary chat was over. The look on his face told her she’d blown it.

  Her breath started to stutter. ‘I go to New York on Tuesday, so if you want me to make my presentation before then . . .’

  ‘I’m aware of the problems of Fashion Week when we have such a short time frame to make the appointment. Nothing that we haven’t done before, though.’

  He glanced at his watch and stood up, stretching his hand over the desk.

  ‘I’m sure you’ve got a busy week. Keep me in the loop about the gala.’

  ‘But Douglas . . .’

  He was already at the door and holding it open for her to leave.

  Amy’s head was swimming, her heart pulsing hard. She was so angry with herself. Angry with Josie, angry with David, even with Claire and Max for inviting them to Provence. Josie had destabilised her, but she had allowed herself to be distracted.

  She had once interviewed Liv Boeree, an English high-stakes poker player with model looks and a posh accent, who had explained the notion of going ‘on tilt’ when playing in Las Vegas. It meant getting out of control, losing concentration and making stupid mistakes, one leading to another. ‘On tilt’ was a phrase that had kept going around in Amy’s head as she’d talked magazines with Douglas. She’d stuttered, mumbled, said dumb things. It was like having an out-of-body experience, like she was looking down on herself, flunking the interview.

  It was particularly upsetting because she knew how good she could be, how good she should be. She had prepared, she knew the market and the magazine world inside out, and her ideas for Mode were good, she knew they were. But she’d blown it. Tears welled in her eyes and she just wanted to speak to David, despite everything that had happened between them. But it was mid-afternoon, and from the itinerary his PA had emailed over earlier that week, she knew he would be on the flight home from Hong Kong.

  Loneliness consumed her. She pulled her phone out of her bag and scrolled to Juliet’s number, but the call went straight through to message. Using the main switchboard number and extension number, she tried her office, but only got connected to Abigail, Juliet’s assistant.

  ‘It’s Amy Shepherd. I’m trying to get hold of Juliet. Do you know where she is?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Juliet’s already gone for the afternoon,’ said Abigail.

  ‘Has she gone to the house in Hampshire?’ Juliet had mentioned earlier in the week that she was looking forward to a weekend at the cottage: the calm before the storm that was the whirlwind of fashion shows.

  ‘She didn’t say, but that’s where she usually goes on Friday afternoon. You could try the landline there,’ said Abigail. ‘I can text the number to you.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got it,’ Amy said, and headed for the door.

  Chapter 24

  At least she had the car. Tilly was due back from Disneyland Paris at nine that evening, and Amy’s original plan had been to work late and then pick her daughter up from Esher. But now her little Fiat in the basement car park seemed like the perfect getaway vehicle. She couldn’t stay at Genesis a second longer. The walls felt as if they were closing in around her, and with Josie working on the top floor, the place that had once felt like her second home was now hostile territory that she had to escape from.

  Her keys, phone and purse were in her tote, so there was no need to go back to her office. She called her PA.

  ‘I have to leave the office early. If anyone needs me, I’m on the mobile.’

  ‘Cool,’ said Chrissie. ‘About time you left before the cleaners. So how did it go?’

  ‘We’ll see,’ Amy said quickly, and rang off.

  As she drove out of the underground car park, she could feel her cheeks burning pink and her leg tapping against the car seat with nervous energy. For the first time in a long time, she didn’t know what to do, and it was a feeling she hated. She had always prided herself on being decisive. In moments of introspection, when she had wondered how she, a girl from Westmead, had ended up in one of the most glamorous jobs in London, she realised that it was because when she made up her mind to do something, she just worked her hardest to make it happen. No dithering, no regrets, just forward motion to take her where she wanted to go. But now she felt amateur, inept. She had allowed herself to be completely destabilised. Sent off kilter by Douglas and Josie.

  Juliet liked to boast that the journey to Walnut Cottage took a little over an hour, but in the rush-hour traffic, it took Amy almost two, not helped by a horse on the road, standing still and square and staring straight at her, as she turned into the village. She beeped the Fiat’s horn, but the little brown horse just looked up at her through a fringe of hair, like a surly teenager.

  ‘Come on, horsey,’ she muttered, leaning on the horn again. ‘I feel tired too, but you can’t go to sleep in the road.’

  She rolled the car slowly forward and was relieved to see the horse finally stroll away in a leisurely manner until it found a juicy-looking patch of grass, where it bowed its head and began munching.

  Still, it added to the idyllic scene: rolling grasslands, dappled trees, sudden tiny hamlets or grey stone churches, their lychgates covered in moss. Every time she came down this way, Amy could see why Juliet found the countryside so soothing. She and David had often discussed getting their own place nearby, but something had always got in the way: jobs, projects, cash flow. Maybe they hadn’t wanted it enough, or maybe they’d just realised that given the tiny amount of time they ever had free, their cute cottage would be standing empty fifty-one weeks of the year.

  In any case, Juliet and Peter were very generous with their place, having friends down whether they were in residence or not. Amy briefly crossed her fingers that Peter was elsewhere this weekend; she wanted Juliet to herself, at least for tonight. She needed a
full and frank debrief on the interview, and while Peter was achingly polite, there was a limit to how open she could be with him there, especially after her meltdown in Provence.

  She thought back to the times she and Juliet had sat together in their shared house in Oxford, poring over magazines, discussing them, dissecting them, their likes and dislikes, what they’d do to improve them. She wasn’t sure when the idea of actually considering journalism as a career had begun, but she knew the seed had been sown on those long nights of tea, magazines and Garibaldis. She had Juliet to thank for that, and right now she hoped Juliet’s head-girl pragmatism would help get her back on track.

  She was so deep in thought that she nearly missed the village sign, almost covered by the leaves of a hawthorn. She took the next right, passing the King’s Arms, then slowed as she reached the turning to Dawes Lane, invisible unless you were looking for it. Juliet’s cottage was actually down a one-lane track, which was a nightmare to reverse out of, so Amy had long ago taken to driving past and parking in a turn-off next to an overgrown wood.

  Locking the car, she pulled out her phone – one bar, about all you could expect out here. No messages from Juliet, but she could easily be suffering from the same patchy coverage. Walking towards the cottage, she called David’s mum, and was surprised when she picked up immediately.

  ‘Amy, how are you? We’re just buying toffee apples.’

  Amy couldn’t help but smile: at least Tilly and her grandparents were having a good time.

  ‘Can you put Tilly—’ she began, but her daughter was already on the phone.

  ‘Mummy, is that you? I love it here. It’s so cool, and I’ve seen Elsa, and Tiana and Olaf waved at me from the parade.’

  ‘Well you be a good girl, okay?’ She was desperate to see her, and feel her comforting softness in her arms.

  ‘Okay,’ said Tilly breathlessly. ‘Love you.’