by Jo Carnegie
‘Tell him I’m not in,’ she gasped as she screeched to a halt in front of her desk. Harriet was already on the phone. Had reception beaten her to it? Catherine watched Harriet’s face anxiously.
If Harriet was startled by her normally ultra-cool boss arriving wide-eyed and panting, she didn’t show it.
‘I’m afraid Catherine is in a meeting,’ she said. ‘No, I don’t think she’ll be back in the office today.’ Harriet listened. ‘Jolly good. Will do.’
‘I know who it was,’ Catherine interrupted, as Harriet opened her mouth to relay the message. She took a deep breath. ‘Sorry, it’s just that I’m really busy today, and I don’t have time to see anyone.’
Harriet smiled cheerfully. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll take any messages.’
Unnerved, Catherine went into her office. What more did she have to do to put the man off? Walking over to the window, she pulled the blinds apart and looked down on to the street. After a few moments, John Milton’s dark head appeared. As if aware that Catherine was watching, he looked up. Catherine dropped the blind. Shit! Heart thumping, she sat down behind her desk and tried to get on with some work.
Leave me alone, for God’s sake, please, she said to herself. Don’t you know it’s better like this?
Chapter 39
THE RESIDENTS OF Montague Mews were busy preparing for the holidays. Stephen and Klaus had already departed for their month-long tour of the Napa Valley vineyards, while a taxi had turned up at the crack of dawn that morning to take Velda to Heathrow. It was mid-afternoon and shadows were already lengthening through the house. Benedict had gone to the shops with Milo, and Caro was making the most of it by having a much-needed lie-down on the sofa. Her energy levels had been flagging recently, and she hadn’t been able to chase round as much as normal after her son.
As she stared up at the ceiling, it dawned on her just how much there was to do back in Churchminster. Excluding Camilla, her entire family were descending on Mill House in under a week’s time. Caro hadn’t stayed in the place since Bonfire Night, and it was probably lying under a foot of dust. Then she had the decorations to put up, beds to make, food to get in . . . oh God, why wasn’t she more organized? At least they were going to Granny Clem’s for Christmas dinner. Even better, they would be spared Brenda’s distinctly unholy cooking, as Caro’s father Johnnie was traditionally in charge of the festive feast.
Despite her growing panic about getting everything ready in time, Caro was excited about going home for the holidays. Christmas was one of the few times her close-knit family all got together, and they always had a wonderful time, even if it had taken her three days and as many packets of Nurofen to get over last year’s champagne-induced hangover.
She found her thoughts wandering to Rowena, two doors down. What would her Christmas be like? Caro pictured her waking on Christmas morning to a dark, empty house. Who would Rowena toast the day with, or tell off for talking all the way through the Queen’s speech? For some reason, Caro found this last thought unbearably sad, and her eyes started filling up with tears.
‘What’s wrong?’ exclaimed Benedict, when he and Milo returned a short while later. Caro looked up from the sofa, eyes swollen and red with tears. Milo ambled over to his mother and laid a little mitten-clad hand on her arm. His sweet gesture made Caro cry even harder.
‘I was thinking about Rowena,’ she sobbed. ‘How alone and unloved she’ll be on Christmas Day. She hasn’t even got anyone to pull her c-c-cracker with!’
Benedict sat down beside her. ‘Do you always get this emotional when you’re pregnant?’ he asked sympathetically.
‘S-s-sometimes!’ She let out a snot-filled snort.
‘There, there, my darling.’ Benedict stroked her wet cheek.
‘I’m being p-p-pathetic,’ Caro wept. ‘For all I know Rowena could be a bloody J-j-jehovah’s Witness.’
For the last few years, Valour had put on a Christmas party for the Soirée Sponsors team and apprentices. As well as being an informal way to catch up with each other outside the formalities of progress reports and paperwork, it was a good chance for young people who wanted to join to come and find out what it was all about. Not that they could take on anyone else at the moment, as Adam reminded Catherine on a regular basis.
Adam had also told her Valour would not be putting up the usual financial contribution to pay for the party. To be honest, Catherine hadn’t been surprised, but it still didn’t stop her feeling angry and disappointed. When Gail had phoned to ask if she could go ahead and choose the venue as normal, Catherine hadn’t had the heart to tell her. In a spur-of-the-moment decision, she had decided to foot the bill herself. Not that she would ever tell Gail that, but this was too important an occasion to miss.
The party was being held in a leisure centre near the Soirée Sponsors office. While it wasn’t compulsory for her own team to come and show their support, Catherine felt it was important that they were kept informed about the scheme as much as possible. After all, they were all part of the same brand. So she’d sent round an email, and everyone in the office – apart from the picture editor who had a sick child at home, and Annabel, who apparently had an important commitment – had said they’d come down and help.
Catherine arrived late because of a meeting overrunning, and was greeted by a long queue of girls lining up to have their make-up done by the beauty team. Meanwhile Alexander was teaching another giggling group how to walk down the catwalk. ‘Work it, own it!’ he shouted like a camp drill-instructor, as he sashayed back and forth with them trailing behind him.
The room was decked out with colourful balloons and long strands of tinsel, and a rectangular table with platters of sandwiches, crisps and fizzy drinks stood against the wall on one side. On the other, a couple of teenage boys were intently spinning tunes behind a set of decks. Soirée Sponsors posters were stuck on the walls with photos of some of the scheme’s success stories. One of the team had set up a stand with leaflets and other literature explaining what the scheme did.
Despite everything, Catherine’s heart lifted. This was what it was all about! The room was buzzing with life and energy. Most people would write those here off as hoodies and troublemakers, but there wasn’t a hint of menace. More than ever, it made Catherine believe these kids just needed a chance in life.
Gail walked up with two plastic glasses of Coke. She was wearing a tent-like sequinned top and Pat-Butcher-inspired dangly earrings.
‘Great bash, Catherine! Maybe that Sir Robin bloke isn’t such a baddun’ after all.’
Catherine smiled diplomatically and took a fizzy drink. Suddenly one of her ankles gave, and she had to grab on to Gail’s arm for support.
‘Easy, girl!’ Gail looked down at Catherine’s vertigo-inducing heels. ‘Bloody hell, I’m not surprised you can’t stand up in those! I’d need a bloody ladder to get up there in the first place!’
A funny look crossed Catherine’s face.
‘I was only joking,’ Gail said in bemusement.
‘Oh, it wasn’t that,’ said Catherine. ‘You just reminded me of something my mum used to say.’ The memory had surprised her. When she was little Catherine used to play dressing-up in her mother’s wardrobe, and had once come downstairs in a pair of Annie’s highest heels. Her mother had laughed affectionately as her daughter, already showing a tendency to be clumsy, had wobbled round the kitchen.
‘Heavens, pet, we’re going to need a ladder to get you down from those!’
Catherine smiled, reminiscing, before realizing Gail was watching her expectantly. She forced herself back to the present.
‘It’s all going OK, then?’
‘A few idiots tried to gatecrash earlier, off their heads on something. I soon sent ’em on their way.’
Catherine smiled. ‘Nothing frightens you, does it?’
Gail looked serious for a second. ‘Losing Soirée Sponsors bloody does, I can tell you.’
‘Hi, Catherine!’ Saffron came up, puncturing the moment. She
was holding hands with a small thin girl, who didn’t look more than seven.
‘This is Sasha. She’s here with her older brother, who wants to join Soirée Sponsors.’
Catherine looked down at the little figure. ‘Hello, Sasha, that’s a pretty name.’
Sasha smiled shyly. She looked back up at Saffron. ‘I love your necklace, it’s like a princess would wear.’
Saffron looked down at her star-shaped pendant, then unclipped it and leant down to put it round Sasha’s neck.
‘It’s yours now, Princess Sasha!’
Sasha looked like all her Christmases had come at once.
It was past eleven by the time Saffron got back to the Soirée office after the party. She’d left her BlackBerry on her desk and the thought of being without it for even one night had made her feel rather panicky.
To her surprise, Annabel was still at her desk. ‘What are you doing here?’ Saffron said in surprise. ‘I thought you had some sooper dooper function to go to?’
Annabel’s head snapped up, her cheeks flushed.
‘What do you think? Working.’ Annabel adopted a self-righteous expression. ‘Someone’s got to hold the fort while you lot swan off and party.’
Saffron had never known Annabel to work late in her life. ‘C’mon, what are you really up to?’ she asked, walking round the side of the desk.
‘Don’t be so nosy!’ yelled Annabel, immediately closing down whatever she’d had open on the screen.
Saffron couldn’t help but laugh. Annabel looked like an outraged bullfrog. ‘I don’t think Catherine would be very impressed to know you’re using your work computer to look for a new job.’
Annabel started to bluster. ‘Don’t be so ridiculous. Why would I want to do that?’ She made a big show of switching her computer off and gathering her things up. ‘Anyway, excuse me but I’ve got a life to get to.’
‘Good for you,’ Saffron replied acerbically, as she watched Annabel lumber out of the door. She looked over at Catherine’s office. The door was shut, but the lights were on. Saffron frowned, they came on automatically when someone walked in, but the only person here had been Annabel. Why had she been snooping around in Catherine’s office?
Chapter 40
IT WAS THE day of the Soirée Christmas lunch. It was always held at a fashionable restaurant, and then, depending on how generous Valour Publishing was feeling, they’d all go on to another bar where a tab would be set up. It had been Harriet’s job this year to source the venue, pre-order everyone’s menu, and report the budget back to Catherine. Everyone had wondered if they would be asked to dip into their own pockets for the first time, with the credit crunch snapping round their heels, but Valour had proved surprisingly generous. Guilty conscience before they give us the chop, thought Catherine, before chastising herself for a lack of Christmas spirit.
She knew, more than anyone, how difficult she had been to work with these last few months. Nevertheless, the team had still given it their all, and she was immensely grateful to them. Catherine was determined to make sure they all enjoyed themselves. Predictably, not much work had been done in the Soirée office that morning, as people sat around chatting about their plans for the holiday, or seeing who could think up the wittiest out-of-office reply on their email. For once, Catherine had turned a blind eye. It was 12.30 p.m. when she summoned them all to the middle of the office.
‘As you know, taxis will be turning up shortly to take us to the restaurant, which Harriet, with her usual organizational brilliance, has booked.’ Everyone cheered, and Harriet stepped forward to take a mock-bow. Catherine couldn’t help but smile; her PA’s confidence had soared since she’d joined Soirée.
As the clapping died down, she addressed them again. ‘I know it’s been a tough three months for us all.’ A few nods around the room. ‘I’ve asked everyone to go above and beyond the call of duty, but I really think our efforts have paid off. Soirée is looking better than ever, and we’ve hit each of our monthly targets so far.’ Catherine grinned. ‘We’ve just passed the 260,000 mark!’
Everyone cheered, including Catherine. She looked round at them.
‘I’m not going to pretend we can take our foot off the brake, and I’m going to ask just as much from you going forward into next year. But I feel very proud with what we’ve achieved, and I want to take this opportunity to thank you for all your hard work. So come on, let’s go and have our extremely well-deserved Christmas dinner.’
As they all gathered their coats and bags together and headed downstairs, Tom Fellows remained at his computer, staring at the screen.
‘Hey, Tom, do you want to come with us?’ called out Saffron. He looked up and blinked behind his bottle-tops.
‘I’ve still got some stuff to do,’ he mumbled.
Saffron smiled cheerily. ‘Don’t be too long, all work and no play!’
Tom’s cheeks flamed and he dived back behind his computer screen.
Saffron and Harriet got into the lift with the chief sub. ‘We rock, officially,’ Saffron declared. ‘Let’s forget about work for once, and get on it!’
The chief sub, a man who cared more about deadlines than debauchery, shuddered. At last year’s Christmas dinner, someone had spiked his orange juice with vodka all the way through lunch. Normally teetotal, he’d ended up climbing on the table to do an impromptu version of ‘My Way’ using someone’s half-eaten baguette as a microphone.
An hour later everyone was in fine spirits. Alexander was on his third Campari and lemonade and keeping the team in stitches with outrageous tales of the fashion industry. As he launched into an anecdote about a world-famous supermodel who had an outlandish sexual foot-fetish, Catherine turned to Harriet.
‘Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves.’
Harriet smiled. ‘Rather!’
They were seated in their own private area, around a large oval table. On the other side of it, Annabel glowered at Harriet. She’d made no secret of the fact she’d wanted to sit next to Catherine and suck up to her all the way through lunch. Annabel had been furious when she’d patted the empty seat next to her and Catherine had gone to sit in-between Harriet and Alexander instead.
With the wine and conversation flowing it wasn’t long before everyone was well on their way to becoming blotto. The picture editor, a single mum of three who hadn’t been out for six months, was telling a very rude joke about a Frenchman and a camel, while one of the beauty girls was trying to put red lipstick on the highly alarmed chief sub.
After inhaling her Christmas pudding in about three gulps, Saffron looked reproachfully down at her stomach and groaned.
‘Fuck, I’m stuffed! Why did I wear these high-waisted trousers?’
‘More vino, darling?’ Alexander asked Catherine. She moved her glass across. ‘Just a splash.’
‘You having fun?’ he asked.
She smiled. ‘Yes, it’s so good to see everyone letting off some steam. I know I’ve been the boss from hell the last few months.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Alexander loyally. ‘What are your plans for Christmas, anyway?’
‘Oh, I’ve got a few friends coming to stay,’ Catherine said quickly. The actual truth was that she had no one to spend Christmas Day with, but there was no way she was telling Alexander that. She changed the subject.
‘You?’
‘Going to the family pile in Northampton. Pa has organized a shooting party the minute I get back, so I’d better pack my plus fours. Luckily Prada have done some divine ones for autumn/winter.’
Catherine laughed. ‘I wouldn’t have had you down as the country sort!’
‘Crack shot, actually. Represented England at under twenty-one rifle shooting. Oh, my father would have loved me to be a county gentleman like him and my brother. It didn’t quite turn out like that, but luckily I can still hold my own grouse shooting with him. It’s the only reason I haven’t been cut out of the family will!’
‘You’ll be telling me you can milk cows, next.’
<
br /> Alexander looked mortally offended. ‘Darling, we have staff for that!’ He readjusted one of his huge cuffs. ‘I may be straying on to dangerous territory, but has anything happened with that chap of yours?’
‘He’s not my chap!’ Catherine retorted quickly. She sighed. ‘I don’t know, Al, it’s complicated for reasons I can’t go into.’
‘If you say so, darling. I just don’t want to see you ending up all alone. A woman needs sex, especially when she’s got a fabulous pair of pins like yours. It’s a waste!’
‘Enough,’ smiled Catherine. ‘Tell me about your love life instead, it’s far more interesting.’
Alexander’s eyes flashed wickedly. ‘Well, I have just started seeing a new man. He’s married, but I do always like a challenge.’
‘What are you like?’ she laughed. ‘Anyone I know?’
Alexander mouthed the name at her and Catherine looked shocked. ‘He’s just renewed his wedding vows in Hello!’
‘Takes all sorts, darling. And before you write me off as some kind of home wrecker, his wife is enjoying an extremely hot and heavy affair with a Bulgarian weightlifter.’
An hour later, Catherine left them all to it.
‘Will you be all right looking after things here?’ she asked Harriet.
Harriet nodded. ‘Five hundred pounds bar tab, and then people start paying for themselves.’ There was a scream of laughter and she looked over at the picture editor, who was now sitting uninvited on Tom Fellows’s lap, trying to feed him the grapes off her cheeseboard. Tom sat there stiffly, the red napkin tucked into his T-shirt matching the colour of his face.
Catherine stood up. ‘Bye, everyone, have a great Christmas.’
‘You too! Bye Catherine!’ they all yelled back. ‘Love you!’ someone drunkenly shouted. With their happy cries ringing in her ears, Catherine headed home. She’d only have one or two more glasses. It was a special occasion after all . . .
