The Glass House

by Bella Bryce

  When Elisabeth finished, she left the hairbrush on the chair beside her leg, and replaced Alice's clothes for her delicately. Alice pushed herself up from Elisabeth's lap and turned to storm out.

  "Alice," she said, firmly.

  She was so torn; she wanted to ignore Elisabeth, but she couldn't. Especially not after that. Alice turned around, her hands in angry fists at her sides. Elisabeth stood up from the chair and walked to her. She turned her face to the side and tapped her cheek; she may not have perfected the follow through of punishment, but she wasn't about to let the girl storm out of her room. Neither of them had ever been allowed to behave in that manner.

  She begrudgingly planted a kiss where Elisabeth had indicated.

  "When you're finished being angry, I'll be in the gardens, waiting to go on a walk with you," she told Alice.

  * * * * *

  The meeting hadn't gone well. It hadn't gone well because Anabelle hadn't prepared. She hadn't prepared because she drank too much wine and fell asleep on the sofa, then overslept. It was unheard of, shameful behaviour – for her. Anabelle was always 'on', always flawless; that was her role with the German client, anyway. Usually she was called in to do the actual coordinating, but in the case of the Kaiser (as Ana affectionately called him in her notes, which nobody ever saw), she had been asked by her boss to do the pitching. Sell him the Tweed brand and make sure he contracts with them for the event. Even on her worst day, she was still the best. Unfortunately, her worst had just beaten a junior colleague's worse.

  "Hamish wants to see you," were the five least enviable words anyone at Tweed Events Co. wanted to hear, especially when they were in that order.

  "Shall I close the door, Sir?"

  "Please," came his abrupt reply, as he moved his large, wingback chair toward his desk. Hamish was like the wanker version of every good man. He was Operations Manager, in his fifties, a smart dresser, smooth talker and royal pain in the backside; mainly because all he cared about was money. He was a greedy man and everybody knew it.

  Ana closed the door and discretely rolled her eyes. She walked to the chair in front of his desk and waited until he stopped writing whatever he was writing, so that he could graciously flap his arm in suggesting she sit down. She did.

  "It wasn't your best pitch," he said, as he capped his pen and leant back.

  Ana plastered a small smile across her lips. "Well, Sir, you didn't hire me for my sales ability. You hired me for my strength in leading cross-functioning teams of staff to pull off the perfect event."

  Hamish folded his hands. "I hired you to make Tweed look good."

  Ana realised the conversation wasn't going well, and it wasn't going well fast. She'd never had that kind of exchange with Hamish, and it was because she always kept her head down and worked her bum off.

  "You were off today," was his next dig. Ana kept her mouth shut. "You're right, you don't normally do pitches, but I asked you to step in because I thought you could handle it."

  She blinked a few times and tried to swallow his words.

  "You're doing the Fowler wedding, aren't you?" he asked, spinning the chair sideways as he reached for a file folder. He dropped it on his desk in front of him.

  "Fowler-Warner, yes, Sir."

  "Fowler. She doesn't have any money. They're paying for all of it," Hamish replied, nonchalantly, as he opened the folder and began looking through it.

  "Her parents just died." Her voice tried to hide the disgust she felt. She was disgusted that he would speak about their clients in that manner. Who cared which one of them had money? Anabelle was only concerned that someone paid the bill. It didn't matter who. Hamish looked straight up at her and closed the file, causing Ana to bite her tongue. The tension was palpable.

  "I understand you're quite close to the family."

  Ana felt her legs go numb. If she would have picked up her hands to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, they would be shaking.

  "As close as is appropriate for my job as their wedding coordinator."

  "And Mr. James. Brayden James. You're close to him as well," Hamish said, as though he knew for a fact. It was as if he could see Ana's revolving thoughts about him right above her head. No doubt they would be incriminating if he could see them.

  She couldn't help but swallow, but maintained calm. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean by close, Sir." She was somewhat firm.

  "Attending his daughter's birthday party is as close to inactive clients as one can get," Hamish replied, as though he had the power to blackmail her. She wanted to get up and walk right out of his office. The only problem was, he paid the mortgage on her flat in Belgravia. At least, she hoped by the end of their little chat he still would. "Was it enjoyable?" he asked, forcing a lightness in his voice.

  Anabelle felt as though she might be ill. She'd not done anything wrong, but the way Hamish was making accusations through his tone and choice of words, it was enough to bring up last night's wine to the base of her throat.

  "We have a very strict non-fraternisation rule with clients, as you know. Specifically, those who are revolving clients, and those clients tend to be very wealthy and attractive, male clients. So my suggestion to you is that you stay away from the Fowlers and Mr. James, unless it is for business. "

  Ana was dumbfounded. It was completely unwarranted, and she didn't even know how to respond.

  "You've got holiday coming up next week, haven't you?"

  She could barely speak. "Yes, Sir," she replied, when she finally found her words.

  "It's just as well – I'm putting Clara on the Fowler wedding, and I'd like you to take the Bjorn engagement party. You'll be gone for an entire week, and I can't have that for the Fowlers," Hamish said, as he produced a file and laid it in front of Ana. His words were completely drowned out as she watched him open the file. She didn't even recall walking out of his office or returning to her desk. Or getting home that evening. She felt as though someone had just put their hand inside of her, swirled everything about, broke a few things, then ripped their hand back out without repairing the gigantic hole.

  Anabelle finally sat down and cried, but she burned her dinner in the oven first. Then she really cried. Maybe Hamish was right; perhaps she had gotten too close to her clients. She was sure her tears were more influenced by the fact she would no longer be seeing Bennett or Elisabeth – and that she knew them so well, that she could anticipate a lot of their decisions – more than she cried over her charred beef. Clara Jane was a nice girl but definitely not 'Fowler material', and her middle-child syndrome made Clara an even worse candidate. Regardless of whether Evelyn Fowler had been left out of the planning from then on, it took a certain type of personality to work with Bennett and Elisabeth. That was precisely why Anabelle had been put with the Fowlers and the James's, from the beginning. Hamish handpicked her because he knew she would do well with the Fowlers, and she had. They always wanted Anabelle, just like the late Kathryn James. Both families knew Anabelle to be of integrity and humble sophistication, and those were very attractive qualities in an event coordinator. The thought of all her sacrifice, losing sleep, losing time, and all to keep a smile on her face as she worked through the last several years of events with both families, made her boss' decision burn. The thought caused angry tears to course down her face, as she pathetically sat in her black dress and heels in the middle of her kitchen with one oven mitt and her mascara running. She folded her arms on the counter top and let her head drop as the smoke alarm went off.

  The alarm was still sounding in her mind at work the next morning by way of a migraine. She propped her head up and settled her slim fingers on the bridge of her nose as she closed her eyes, until she felt someone stop in her doorway. Anabelle opened her eyes and looked up.

  "Here," a colleague said, as she handed Ana a 500 mg tablet of paracetamol. "Perk up, darling. Hamish is in France until Friday." She raised her eyebrows.

  "Since when?"

  "Last night, apparently," her colleague re
plied, then disappeared.

  Ana swallowed the tablet and followed it up with a sip of her tea. She exhaled and turned to her computer. There were countless emails in her inbox from Bennett Fowler, because they'd been communicating constantly. He always ensured he didn't hit 'send' unless it was normal business hours, because he knew Anabelle would reply at any time of day or night, and he felt it was his responsibility – in recognising that about her – to protect her from herself, and not aide the temptation. Bennett also knew how worried Brayden was of Anabelle's long hours, because he often mumbled about it. He couldn't be a contributing factor to her lack of sleep and personal time.

  She sighed and shook her head a few times as she began going through the emails and forwarding them to Clara Jane. Middle-child syndrome would need all of them.

  * * * * *

  Elisabeth's eyes shot to Bennett when Clara entered the parlour two minutes after the start time of their appointment.

  "Good morning, you must be Mr. Bennett Fowler, and Miss Elisabeth Warner," she said, as she put down a large stack of reading material, of which only half should have gone with her into the meeting. The other half of it was private files on the clients, including market research into where their clients' spending patterns lay. It was all used to help coordinators at Tweed 'up-sell' certain aspects of events based on what they learned from those reports.

  Bennett shook her hand, and then glanced at the door behind her.

  "Where is Anabelle?" he asked, putting a hand in his trouser pocket. Elisabeth tried not to look horrified, but it seemed obvious to her that they'd just lost Ana.

  "Yes, well, I'm afraid to say she's been moved to another client, Mr. Fowler. I understand you hadn't gotten too far along in your planning, so I'm sure I can get on board and help you get everything squared away." Clara smiled.

  Bennett wasn't buying it. "That's very kind, but I have a contract with Anabelle Greyson as my consultant, and I'm sure you understand that I expect your office to honour it."

  He was just as firm as Ana had told her he was. She could see his eyebrow was raised, and he didn't look pleased. "Yes, Mr. Fowler, I understand, but all contracts include services with all of our salaried coordinators, and we are able to change that in desperate circumstances." Clara Jane wasn't good at standing her own ground, not in the least. Her skirt and blazer were also one entire size too small. She was also Hamish's goddaughter.

  "What desperate circumstance would that be?" Bennett folded his arms across his waistcoat and blazer. Elisabeth raised an eyebrow right along with her fiancé.

  "I'm afraid I'm not able to discuss the specifics, Mr. Fowler. But I do hope—"

  "I would like to speak with your CEO. Now," he interrupted, as he opened the door and gently encouraged Elisabeth to walk through. He followed behind her and they waited in the corridor.

  "Mr. Seagram is out of the office this week."

  "That's very convenient. I'll speak to the owner or director, then."

  "He lives abroad and isn't easily reached, which is why Mr. Seagram would be glad to rectify the matter upon his return," Clara replied, as she closed the parlour door.

  "I'm paying a very large sum of money to have my wedding planned by someone with whom my family has had a relationship for the last three years, and previously, my family have been clients since I was an infant. Now, I don't know who you are, but I will ask you once more to kindly find someone for me to speak to, or I will walk these corridors until I find someone myself."

  Clara's face burned red, but she intended to stand her ground. She'd done everything her godfather had told her to do, but it wasn't working. Hamish had told her that Bennett wouldn't put up a fuss because he was more interested in how his wedding would look than who was organising it. Hamish couldn't have been more wrong.

  "Mr. Fowler, is everything all right?" Ana had heard his voice from her office, and he didn't sound pleased. Bennett was very particular, so it wasn't completely surprising, but he had impeccable manners, so it seemed unlike him to let his voice carry.

  "Ana," he said, looking back at Clara. "Will you please explain to this young lady that you and I have a contract, and that she will not be coordinating our wedding?"

  "Excuse us a moment, Clara," Anabelle said, passing her young colleague in the corridor as she offered her hand out toward the parlour. Bennett and Elisabeth followed her back in.

  Anabelle didn't seem her usual warm and genuine self. She was reserved and rather stiff. She didn't even say hello to Elisabeth.

  "I'm afraid what Clara said is correct; I have been reassigned to another client, and she is taking my place."

  Bennett didn't flinch. "I don't understand what is going on. Surely, there is a much better answer than that."

  "I'm afraid there isn't," she replied.

  He looked at Elisabeth, who was trying not to cry.

  "What is going on?" he asked, looking back at Anabelle like a father who wanted an answer that very moment.

  Anabelle straightened her posture and glanced at her watch. "I hope this isn't too disruptive for you, and of course, neither your nor our standards will be less than expected. Clara Jane is a very talented individual. I know she will deliver." Blatant lie. Anabelle didn't think Clara Jane was capable of anything and only got to where she was because of her family connection to Hamish.

  "Anabelle," Bennett said.

  She was dying inside. "Is there anything else I can do for you this morning?"

  "You can give me your CEO's mobile phone number," Bennett replied, without hesitation. "I will phone him wherever he is."

  She felt like she was lying to Bennett, which only made Hamish's claims about her getting 'too close' a little more convicting. "Forgive me, Mr. Fowler. I wish I could," she replied, and managed to slip in one little sympathetic look before she turned and walked toward the door. She closed her eyes as she walked back toward her office, wishing she could just disintegrate.

  Clara shouldn't have been surprised when she returned to an empty parlour. Bennett hadn't hesitated in vacating the upper class Tweed Events office. They were back in the limo, and he pulled out his iPhone as soon as his chauffeur closed the door.

  "We were supposed to set our date today." Elisabeth's face conveyed her confusion and disappointment. She felt betrayed, thinking of how Anabelle wrote them off. It wasn't like her at all, and it hurt. "I don't understand."

  "Don't worry, Darling, I will sort everything out," he said, and looked over at her with the same look he gave her before she was punished. Except, she wasn't the one in trouble. "Yes, good morning, Brayden. Listen, I don't mean to be abrupt, but what exactly happened between you and Anabelle Greyson at the party yesterday?"

  Elisabeth swallowed. She was pretty sure she shouldn't be listening to that conversation – not when she was accountable to her Uncle Brayden. Bennett could speak to him like that, but she certainly couldn't, and it wasn't good for her to hear such a conversation. She turned and looked out at the passing London scenery as the driver pulled away from the kerb and Tweed Events Co.

  "Right," Bennett replied into the phone. He looked at his watch. "Best not, we will come back now and discuss this properly."

  Brayden ended the call and put his hands on his hips. Anabelle had been dismissive? He felt a prick of shocked confusion. He wanted to phone her and ask for an explanation. She wasn't accountable to him, but he felt comfortable enough to ask her the question. Something didn't seem right about her manner as Bennett described.

  Ana didn't answer when he rang. In fact, Brayden rang twice and found the audacity to leave her a polite voice mail. She didn't respond in the 45 minutes it took Bennett and Elisabeth to return to Waldorf. Elisabeth was quiet and had been the entire way home. It was clear she felt let down.

  "Darling," Brayden said, when he saw her face. Bennett wasn't pleased, and he could only look at his friend as Brayden kissed her forehead, then unbuttoned her coat for her.

  They retreated into the sitting room and sat dow
n as Wellesley appeared and began serving tea. Alice was upstairs in the library, reading. Thankfully. She would have been upset to learn that Anabelle was no longer coordinating the wedding. Nobody wanted to hear her mourning or wailing about the situation, but they all felt it.

  "I will be straightforward; it seemed as though Anabelle didn't want to have anything to do with us. Clara, the girl who is replacing her, didn't tell me anything, except some corporate rubbish about ambiguous contracting. She must be related to someone in high places because that girl couldn't organise an ant march."

  Elisabeth bit her lip as Wellesley arrived with tea.

  "I don't know what to say, Bennett, except that it doesn't seem like her at all," Brayden replied, as he checked his phone again. Still no reply. "What we've come to know of her, anyway."

  "It was like I'd never worked with Tweed before, which is, of course, ridiculous. My parents have been clients since my first birthday, and now I've used them countless times. Your parents, you. It's just unthinkable the way they behaved this morning."

  "It sounds to me like this CEO made a hasty decision, or Anabelle requested to be taken off of your event, and he has no intention of making a change. He's out of the office until Friday?"

  "That's what junior girl said." Bennett exhaled, as he crossed one leg over the other. He didn't like Clara Jane. "You're sure that nothing happened on Sunday which might have had anything to do with this?"

  "The last I heard, work was the reason she left early," Brayden replied.