Covent Garden in the Snow

by Jules Wake

  ‘Precisely Fred, no one here is ordinary. He doesn’t belong. You dress up as Thor, with a Viking helmet and a silver spray painted mallet for Comic Con. You’re one of us … even if you do understand the machines.’

  I laughed at his sheepish attempt to study the ceiling.

  ‘Don’t deny it. I saw the pictures on Facebook and the props guys told me they made the hammer for you.’

  ‘I had a great time. You should see the outfit Leonie in wardrobe’s going to make me this time. A proper one.’ His eyes lit up with glee. ‘Don’t suppose you’d do my make-up for me?’

  ‘Of course, I’d love to …’ I stopped, ‘but please don’t say you want to be that blue one from X-Men.’

  ‘Mystique? Nah, she’s a girl.’ Fred pulled a ‘yuk’ face.

  ‘And you think that dressing as an imaginary alien species is more acceptable than a spot of cross dressing?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘So, who are you going as? I’ll need to do my research to make sure it’s right.’

  ‘The Joker. Leonie’s making a purple suit.’

  ‘Batman. Yes. Big red lips. White face? Green hair.’ I studied Fred’s limp blonde mane dubiously. ‘It might not come out for a while.’

  ‘I can live with green hair. It’s a Saturday in about three weeks’ time.’

  ‘Sure, I’ll be working if we’ve got a matinee or I don’t mind coming in. I’ll have to see if I have the right coloured hair spray in the cupboard. But seriously if you want green hair-’

  ‘It’ll be fine.’

  ‘Can’t imagine he’d approve of that,’ I nodded towards the office door. ‘Surprised he hasn’t got you in a suit yet.’

  ‘Give him a break.’

  I pulled a face.

  Fred nodded enthusiastically. ‘Bit of a control freak but OK. Doubt he’ll be here long. You lot will drive him mad and besides, I reckon as soon as he’s got his shit together he’ll go back to the City.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  Fred checked the room with a furtive dart of his head as if to make sure no one was listening. ‘He was at Deutsche bank before here. Bit of a leap. They’ve got some serious mainframe over there. Why he came here, unless he was fired, made redundant or caught fiddling the books? This is a come down for him.’

  I put my hands on my hips. ‘This is one of the best places in the world to work.’

  Fred laughed. ‘I meant in terms of technology, you great muppet. It’s not exactly cutting edge and he doesn’t have much time for artistic temperament. Knows his stuff, though. Definitely on a mission. Bring this place into the twenty-first century. You have to admit he’s got a point. Some of the kit here pre-dates steam engines and you lot in make-up and wardrobe are a blinking nightmare.’

  I knew what he was referring to.

  I’d once called Fred up because the computer wouldn’t switch on. The light on the monitor was on, so as far as I was concerned when he said was it switched on, it was. Not seeing the cleaners had unplugged the hard drive the night before was an easy mistake to make.

  ‘The monitor and the hard drive should switch on together,’ I said still feeling indignant even though it had been six months before, ‘it’s not as if you can use one without the other. It should be automatic.’

  ‘That probably would make good sense in some situations, Miss Hunter.’

  I jumped up from the edge of Fred’s desk. How had he moved so quietly? My mouth dried.

  With his white shirt-sleeves rolled up to reveal strong tanned forearms and the top few buttons unbuttoned, I found myself totally distracted by the skin on display, which wasn’t even that much.

  ‘Would you like to step into my office?’ He gestured for me to go ahead of him.

  ‘About as much as a fly does into a web,’ I muttered under my breath.

  His office had the ice-cold minimalism of an executive. See, definitely alien species. A shiny silver laptop sat in the centre of the dark ash wood desk and absolutely nothing else. He did not belong here. Not a single personal item could be seen, no photos, no knick-knacks nor any colour apart from the rich red satin lining of his jacket which hung from the black leather chair at his desk. It contrasted sharply with my little cubby-hole upstairs which embraced a magpie approach, as if one had flown through my life, cherry-picking the best bits to produce a snapshot of memories with pictures of finished make-up designs, photos of me and friends on various nights out, ticket stubs of milestone productions and swatches of fabrics.

  He pulled up a chair for me and then took his seat opposite. It felt as cold and chilly as being in a headmaster’s office.

  Any moment now, he’d say ‘You know why you’re here, have you anything to say for yourself?’

  Leaning back in his executive chair, he exuded an air of being relaxed and in control.

  ‘Would you like a coffee?’

  Surprised, I nodded. He disappeared and within minutes returned with two pristine white china coffee cups.

  ‘Wow, real coffee. How did you do that?’

  ‘Nespresso machine.’

  ‘How did you wangle one of those? Is that the sort of perk you have in the City?’

  ‘No, there we have minions who go out and get our double espresso mochaccino lattes for us.’

  I nodded, of course they did.

  His lips quirked in a brief smile. It took me a second to catch up.

  ‘It’s my own machine. I brought it in.’

  Oooh, a sense of humour. I hadn’t expected that.

  I took a sip. Heaven in a cup. ‘I’ll have to remember this.’

  One eyebrow twitched. ‘You’re always welcome.’

  He might have meant, over my dead body, but there was something else in his expression that made my pulse flutter in recognition of something that I thought had long since passed me by. Was he flirting with me?

  ‘Thank you for coming to see me.’

  Ah maybe he wasn’t. There was nothing flirtatious about the grave, business-like expression that had dropped down across his face as if the drawbridge had suddenly been drawn up.

  I shrugged. ‘Alison insisted,’ I blurted out with my usual blunt honesty, instead of slowing down to frame the apology I’d planned. Before I managed to carry on, his face darkened and he stiffened, the brief sense of humour I’d sensed earlier vanishing like smoke.

  ‘It’s obvious that for some departments in this building, technology is viewed with the same sort of suspicion as witchcraft in the Dark Ages.’ The stilted words sounded a bit rehearsed, the irony of which was not lost on me, given we were in a theatre where people normally played their parts with ease.

  He shook his head. ‘The place is filled with archetypal Luddites.’

  This place! Any thought of an apology dried up.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever come across anything quite like it. Alison and I have discussed some changes. My role is to help each department identify where technological applications could help increase efficiency and productivity. I can’t believe the lack of computer literacy in some of the departments. It’s a bloody nightmare.’ He sighed and fiddled with the pen on his desk before looking up and focusing on me. The stern expression in his green eyes made my stomach flip. Lord, talk about masterful.

  ‘And your department takes the prize for being the absolute worst.’

  Screw the lovely green eyes, he was horrible.

  ‘That’s because we don’t really need computers.’ My voice rose in indignation. We’d managed perfectly well without his interference or without stupid computers for the last … well for ever. Could they apply make-up, pin a wig, placate an unhappy singer? No. Unless I’d missed some incredible technological breakthrough which surely would have been broadcast by every paper on the planet. And even I couldn’t have missed that.

  ‘Of course, you do. Everyone does these days.’

  ‘Rubbish, we’re dealing with art.’ I shot him a disdainful look. Clearly, he had no soul. ‘Not numbers and widge
ts. There isn’t a right way or a wrong way to play Don Giovanni, there isn’t a definitive costume for him, or a prescriptive make-up design. It’s all open to interpretation. Not that I’d expect someone like you to understand that.’

  His jaw clenched and I felt a bit guilty. Him and his attitude just reminded me too much of my parents. They didn’t approve of my job at all.

  ‘As I said, I’ve got a job to do here and you people need to understand that technology is here to stay.’

  Did he just say you people?

  ‘Have you any idea how many of the disparate parts of this building are held together by computer equipment and software?’

  I shook my head and shrugged. Like I cared. A computer could not put on a show. We’d managed for hundreds of years without them. Yes, I’m sure for some industries they were essential tools of the trade but we didn’t need them.

  He leant forward, planting both elbows on the table, steepling his hands together. Again, I noticed they were lovely. Long fingers. Quite artistic looking. Nice nails.

  ‘Miss Hunter? Are you listening to me?’

  ‘Yes,’ I lied and focused on the grim set of his jawline. Gosh he was handsome.

  I tried hard not to look at the dark hair peeking out of the top of his white shirt.

  ‘Every part of the operation in this building, and I mean every part, is dependent on technology.’

  He paused, looking expectantly at me.

  ‘Sorry?’

  Oh heck, I could feel myself blushing.

  I put on my ‘interested’ face. Concentrate Tilly. Operation. Building. Technology. Yes, got it.

  I nodded at him, with no idea what he was banging on about.

  He had one view, I had another. It was all very well giving me this lecture but what did he hope to achieve? Tell me off. Tell me not to pull the plug out or open any more attachments. Blah. Blah. I knew all that, now.

  I realised he was still talking and I’d tuned out.

  ‘… So, it is vital that everyone can use computers without potentially causing a problem elsewhere.’

  I nodded anyway. Again. I’d been doing that a lot since he’d started. Hopefully he’d wind it up soon. Honestly, he could have given Wagner’s Ring Cycle a run for its money.

  Suddenly he threw himself back in his chair, finding something interesting up on the ceiling. I followed his gaze and then realised he’d turned his thunderous expression on me.

  ‘None of this is getting through, is it?’ His tone was mild but there was a pulse just under his jawline which tipped forward, just erring on the side of pugnacious.

  When he rose to his feet, for a second, I thought he might be about to strangle me. He strode around the desk.

  ‘Come with me.’

  With a hand under my elbow he ushered me to my feet. Wow, he smelled good in an understated, subtle aftershave, sort of way. I tried not to sniff too obviously. And since when had I liked that masterful touch? Rather than shake his hand off, I let him lead me out of his office and over the corridor to a large glossy black door.

  Bluebeard’s den? The IT prison cell?

  Inside the room, a steady hum emanated and in the dark lots of green lights flickered and blinked in and out with synced regularity.

  ‘No point in asking if you know what this is,’ he said, snapping on the light. His eyes glinted as they roved across the back wall. I turned to look, which wasn’t a great move. There wasn’t much space and I was conscious of him standing right behind me, his toned thighs almost touching the back of mine.

  The room had a bank of cabinets on one side filled with grey and black boxes, all of which had lots of grey wiring leading out of them along the wall and disappearing through the ceiling and away.

  ‘This is the main server. Every computer in this building is linked to it. If that goes down, nothing happens. La Bohème doesn’t go on stage. Every computer is networked through this. If something goes wrong on one computer in your department, such as it being infected with a virus…’ He paused expectantly. I turned around and gave him a weak grimace.

  He responded with a very serious look to underline his very important point, but it just had my heart doing a ridiculous cartwheel. Who knew that stern and serious could be sexy? Except he wasn’t sexy and I was spoken for.

  ‘It can impact on the whole network. This server manages a whole host of systems throughout the building. Systems that every production going on stage is totally reliant on. There’s the system which manages the ticket sales in the box office. Another one which programmes the lighting desk. No server, no stage lights. Everything in the music library is catalogued on a computer. There are thousands of scores stored here, finding the right one for the woodwind section for La Bohème could take months, without that catalogue. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.’

  Now when he stared down at me, I shuffled and swallowed. The blood pounding quite hard in my veins. Fear, obviously at how close I’d come to messing things up. Who knew that a little box with all those wires could have such significance?

  ‘When you happily downloaded your little virus, it slowed the whole network down. Every computer in the building was busy sending out emails to every contact on every email account in the building. To stop it we had to shut down most of the network, in order to ensure that the vital systems could carry on. Luckily for you the real damage only started after the opera had finished for the night. Otherwise the show would not have gone on.’

  Shit. That would have been serious. We’d weathered storms, riots outside, transport strikes, but we’d never missed a show.

  ‘But I thought we had virus protection things and isn’t that your job to install those things?’

  His jaw tensed and I could see his throat working. I got the distinct impression he was holding something in. ‘They work just fine, as long as idiots don’t open suspect attachments.’

  He leaned back against the door with his arms folded. ‘Can I ask that you never, ever, ever open another attachment if you don’t know where it’s come from or who has sent it to you? In fact, don’t answer or respond to any email unless you know who has sent it or you ascertain that it has come from a bona fide contact. Do you have any concept of e-safety?’

  ‘Erm, sort of.’ My half-hearted smile elicited another narrow-eyed stare.

  ‘It’s about keeping yourself safe on-line. Protecting your personal information. Privacy settings on Facebook. Limiting the information you share on-line. In emails. Twitter, etcetera.’

  ‘You can rest easy there. I have a habit of frying my phones, so I don’t tend to do much on-line stuff.’

  ‘Frying your phones?’ The patient tone radiated scepticism.

  ‘Yes. Phones. Watches. Those Fitbit things. Anything electrical seems to be allergic to me.’

  ‘Really?’

  I shrugged. I’d been through enough phones and watches not to care whether people believed me or not.

  ‘When it comes to attachments on emails,’ he paused and a brief smile flared at the corners of his mouth. Had he seen Santa Baby in action? ‘In future, if in doubt, call myself or Fred.’

  ‘Yes sir,’ I said with a sudden smile. He was kind of cute when he was being all earnest and entreating. I decided against accompanying my words with a salute. He was after all a director and only trying to do his job. ‘I don’t mean to be useless with technology, it just doesn’t like me.’

  I could see him bite back a smile.

  ‘Tilly, computers don’t like anyone. They’re not people. They’re machines. They work for us. Do what we tell them. As long as we treat them properly.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ I asked doubtfully.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure. Hopefully you’ll feel a bit more confident when we’ve had a few sessions.’

  ‘Sessions?’ That wasn’t the deal with Alison.

  ‘Yes. As our first champion for the make-up department, we need to spend some time together so that we can identify what processes and systems we can impleme
nt to improve the way you do things. While you’re here, we’ll diarise a few dates to get things moving.’

  I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. But I must have signalled my dismay.

  He had to be kidding? We were absolutely fine as we were. Hadn’t he ever heard the saying, ‘If it isn’t broke’?

  ‘I think a couple of half days in the next week or two, to get started, and then once we’ve identified those areas that we can work on, we’ll develop appropriate systems, get you trained up and then you can introduce them to the rest of your team.’

  ‘What?’ A couple of half days? ‘Is it really going to take that long? I’m sure there’s not a lot you can help with.’

  ‘Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?’

  I sighed. ‘And why me?’

  He smiled, not a nice friendly smile, but a shark going in for the kill type.

  ‘I think unplugging a computer to reboot it, I think the phrase was, is a perfectly good starter for ten.’

  Our eyes met.

  I let out a long huff and glared. The room seemed to get smaller as he lifted his head and stared me down. It drew attention to the handsome jaw-line which was smoothly shaven, not like Felix’s sexy but occasionally irritating stubble. This man was the total opposite, a corporate robot, looking to improve things, take the soul out of everything with his streamlining and rationalisationing. Well, he needn’t think I’d be going over to the dark side. I’d grown up with all that crap and escaped it.

  ‘I thought we’d start with our first meeting a week on Thursday. Have a chat about what you do in more detail and what areas could do with some improvements. I hear you’ve had a few …’ he was fighting back a smirk, ‘issues in the past.’ Alison had clearly gone to town telling him how rubbish I was. ‘Sent a few emails to the wrong people. Copied in the wrong people. Attached the wrong file?’ I could see merriment dancing in his eyes. ‘Dr Who, was it?’

  ‘Might have been,’ I muttered.

  ‘Tennant, Smith or Capaldi?’

  ‘Tennant,’ I muttered, blushing. To be fair, I had been trying to send a picture of the potato headed man, Drax, to illustrate an idea but had got a bit carried away when I started searching the internet for pictures.