Seeing White

by Charlotte E Hart

  I have no doubt in my mind of my sister’s ability to pull this off. While this is by far the biggest challenge she has faced, Belle is a master of her art. She’s never lost a new deal and it’s unlikely this will go any differently.

  ~

  The next day comes and goes in a flurry of excitement, nerves, anxiety, tension and finally relief.

  Mr. Alexander White is not at the meeting, and therefore Belle is, as usual, exemplary. She only has to convince Miss Trembell that we are the catering company for the White Buildings’ business functions and it works. She calls me immediately from the taxi on the way back to Scott’s to inform us that we’ve been given the green light, and we are, of course, completely jubilant. We’ve been given a date of the twenty-sixth of October to cater for their first luncheon. It’ll be twenty-five businessmen from several different countries attending an all-day conference at Mr. White’s request. Something to do with rising oil prices and the index linking of such things. I really don’t have a clue what my sister is talking about and frankly, I don’t care. However, that date is only a couple of weeks away and I need to get planning. This is not something to get wrong, it would be devastating to our business if we get bad feedback and would probably wreck any hope of us ever expanding. Never mind the major arse kicking I would receive from my sister.

  Lists. That’s what I need, lots and lots of lists. This most definitely requires a new notebook, and a big one at that. Maybe even a new pen.

  Chapter 5

  Elizabeth/ Alexander

  T he weeks leading up to the White Lunch fly by in a whirlwind of varying clients and orders. We cater for a particularly fantastic Bond themed evening at the Chesterfield Mayfair, which is a resounding success, picking up several new names and numbers along the way.

  The White lunch has, if truth be told, been causing a great deal of tension between us all because we all know it needs to be perfect. We’ve been squabbling over the course choices and bitching at each other for no apparent reason. We all know what the cause is and yet no one seems able to broach the subject rationally. Eventually we go with a safe Mediterranean type affair that I will spice up a little with some flashy new ingredients, along with a kickass dessert. The wine is being provided by the venue, or actually by Richi’s, but White has gone direct. It’s the only decent high-end wine distributor in town. We’ve used them before for several events, so I’d called Anthony to discuss the dishes with him and worked together to bring the perfect balance to the meal.

  The day eventually arrives and here I sit, nervously chewing my nails at the kitchen bench. Everything is prepared. I’ve looked over the crates god knows how many times to ensure that everything is in perfect order, so now all that’s left is for the catering van to come and pick it up. Belle will be meeting the driver at the other end with the waiting on staff to help her unload and serve. It’s eleven o’clock. It’ll take a good forty-five minutes to get across town at this time of day, so we’ve ordered the driver for eleven-fifteen, giving ourselves plenty of time. I stand, deciding to take one last look at everything. It’s still perfect, so I let out a long breath, mumbling to myself. “If they don’t like this then I’m really just not good enough for them.”

  Hearing the van pull up, I race to the back door to help the guy start loading and direct him to the correct crates while carrying the first one through. Just as I’m heading back through for the second one, my phone rings, scaring me half to death.

  “This is just so crap!” Belle exclaims rather loudly in my ear.

  “Why? What’s the matter?” I ask, grabbing the next crate and beginning back towards the van.

  “The fucking tube’s broken down. I’m stuck under fucking ground and I’ve been delaying calling you hoping they’d get the fucking thing fixed, but I’m still sat here.”

  “But you’re supposed to be at the White in twenty minutes, Belle. Where are you?”

  “On the other side of fuckerty town. I’ve been sat down here for nearly a fucking hour. I gave myself plenty of time from the Croswell meet this morning but the sodding train’s broken down and now I don’t know what to do. No amount of me screaming at the fucking driver is making any difference and I’m going to fuck it all up because the London underground is completely fucking shit.” She’s almost crying with rage and frustration. I put the crate down and continue to point to the driver about the others.

  “Right, calm down, Belle. What can we do to sort this out?” I ask, trying to think of a quick solution to our issue.

  “Nothing, absolutely nothing, unless you can get a train engineer down here pronto,” she huffs.

  “Okay, well the waiting on staff will just have to do it on their own until you get there,” I say, closing my eyes and praying that Belle isn’t going to say what I think she’s going to say.

  “Beth, that’s no fucking use and you know it. They’ll mess it all up. Without someone there to direct them, they’ll end up throwing it all over someone.”

  “Belle, I...”

  “Beth, you’re going to have to go,” she states dramatically. I can imagine the arm waving and pointing.

  “Belle, I can’t. I’ve got too much to do and you know what-”

  “You don’t have a choice, honey. You’re going to have to go there and head the lunch.” Fuck.

  “I can’t. I don’t have anything to wear for a start, and the thought of standing in front of twenty-five businessmen is making me want to be sick already. You know how I am around that sort of money. I just can’t,” I stammer, hoping desperately that there’s a different way forward, but even I know there isn’t if I’m honest. My shoulders slump.

  “Beth, listen to me. There is no time to argue about this. You have to pull your shit together. I am not going to make it and this has to go perfectly. There is a work suit and shoes in my office and make-up in the top drawer. Go in there and get yourself sorted out. Put me on speakerphone so I can talk you through what you need to do. Make it snappy and tell the driver you’re going to need a lift.”

  Resigning myself to the fact that this is happening, I proceed to listen to Belle as she gives me tips and tricks to get me through any variety of tricky situations. She explains each of the businessmen in detail and gives me a detailed layout of the room. She also gives me directions to the conference room and the names of all the people I will need to see upon arrival. God knows why she’s bothering. I’ve almost tuned her out because of the nausea that’s gracefully rising its way up my stomach toward my throat, but she’s still chattering away while I get into the van. The drive seems to go by in minutes and before I know it, I’m at the White Building. I direct the driver around the back to the caterer’s entrance and step out of the van, wobbling ever so slightly and taking in a long, deep breath. Apparently this is supposed to help me feel calm. It doesn’t.

  I’m now sweating and feel clammy all over. Sickness is raging up inside my stomach again and there isn’t a thing I can do to stop it. I’m wracked with nerves and my head has that fuzzy and confused thing going on that always helps me make a complete arse of myself. Who am I meeting and where am I meeting them? Christ, pull it together, Beth.

  I shake my head about and walk towards the first door, nodding at the girls who have gathered near me. My waiting on staff look immaculate. I only wish it was the same for me. Pushing the buzzer, I explain who we are and the lady on the intercom says she will meet us and show us through to the room. I almost curtsey at her high, clipped, English accent. It’s yet another thing that increases my state of inner chaos.

  The next forty minutes goes by in a flash of cutlery, waitresses, napkins, wine glasses and general nerves. I have to admit that the room is a stunning design of white and smoky blue glass. The tableware is the highest quality and I’m pretty sure that one glass was worth as much as the waitress’s wages for the afternoon. The walls are decorated with modern art, all in differing tones of blue, giving a cool edge to the room. It’s not a space to relax in. This is a place o
f work, probably one of ruthless business decisions, and it feels as if there is no room for emotion or geniality in here.

  I sigh and try to gather my thoughts. Everything is laid out beautifully and all we have to do is serve. The girls are good, some of the best we’ve used, and hopefully they will all do their jobs perfectly so we can get the hell out of here as quickly as possible and leave without an accident occurring. I have to do this. It will be fine. I am strong. I am an independent woman of means. Who am I kidding? I’m screwed. Fuckety fuckety fuck!

  I open the glass doors and hear the rumble of the guests arriving. Keep it together. One by one, they start to approach along the corridor. Keep it together. Old, young, grey suit, blue suit. Keep it together and smile. Tall, short, they’re all a blur of business suits and ties. They are all talking vigorously and making so much noise, I hardly notice as they start to find their places at the table. I turn to the serving table and tell the girls to proceed, but as I reach for the first plate to hand over, I hear a lone voice coming from the corridor. Shit. Wait. I hold my hand up to the girls.

  “Don’t get me started on that fucking idiot. Has he any idea how much of my money he might have lost? I swear, I will have his balls on a platter if he comes within a mile of my building, and it’s a bloody good job you’re on the other end of a phone because if you weren’t, you’d be getting an arse kicking as well. How could you let this happen? I gave you control for two weeks while I was in New York. Can I not trust anyone with anything? Fuck!”

  I cringe and slowly turn to the door to await the arrival of the obviously very angry last guest, and oh God, there he is - Mr. Alexander White himself.

  Oh. My. God.

  There is a moment in time that seems to last for an eternity. Eyes so blue that they somehow sear into my soul, meet mine and my body immediately goes numb as he continues forward. I can’t move. I’m frozen. My heart rate was already high, but now it begins to tear through my chest like it might explode or just give up at any point. I’m even struggling to breathe as I look up at him and gaze into those icy eyes that just continue with their assault of mine. The unyielding stare directed back at me has me quaking in my heels and whatever it is that he’s thinking, for some reason has me questioning my very existence in his presence. His completely unreadable expression doesn’t change in any way as he ends his call and pockets his phone. I watch as the corners of his mouth lift slightly, his probably permanently fixed frown dissipates, and the most glorious smile I have ever witnessed graces his delicious face. I instantly wobble a little on my heels and swallow down the gasp that is about to leave my mouth as that smile turns into something infinitely more wicked.

  I’m so screwed here.

  “Miss Scott,” he says as he enters the room with that smile, and time comes racing back to normal speed. I can’t help thinking that such a devilish smile probably endangers everyone in the room, possibly the world given a chance, and how the hell did he go from raging beast to calm and agreeable anyway? And how does he know who I am? Breathe, Beth, breathe.

  “Mr. White, please be seated. We can start whenever you’re ready.” He stands for a moment longer, just staring at me, his face changing to one of puzzlement.

  “Is there something wrong, sir?” I ask, hoping to god there isn’t.

  “No, not at all. It’s just that I expected the other Miss Scott today. Please, carry on,” he says as an amused smirk sets in and his eyes leave mine to address the rest of me.

  “Thank you, sir. We hope everything will be to your liking.”

  Fortunately, his gaze returns to my eyes as he nods and walks towards the centre of the table, looking back over his shoulder at me briefly. Had I not been staring at his arse, I would never have noticed. My face flames and my heart rate escalates again. He narrows his eyes a little at me and continues on to the table. Stupid Beth.

  I hear him launch into a humorous tirade at someone across the other side of the table and take that as my cue to begin service. Nodding towards the girls, I motion for them to start with the service and drag in a long, calming breath. This is going to be a very long ninety minutes.

  Actually, the first hour flies by and I find I have even enjoyed myself at some points. I haven’t needed to talk with anyone, which helped calm my nerves enormously. The conversation from the table has been both informative and strangely interesting. It appears that Mr. Alexander White can be quite the entertainer. He’s been both comical and motivating. The group of businessmen sitting around him are completely enthralled with what he’s discussing and most of them are constantly muttering sounds of approval or agreement. On a few occasions, the tension level has risen to an unacceptable level and he’s quickly diffused the situation by complementing the inaccurate party or bringing harmony with an amusing anecdote. Even I have to admit he’s utterly astounding, well, for a manipulative bastard that is. No wonder he’s done so well for himself. He holds people in the palm of his hand without even trying. God knows what the man could achieve if he was really challenged, or what lengths he would go to get the correct result for himself.

  We’re down to the final course. We only have to put the desserts on the table and then we can pack up and go. We’ve done it. I’ve done it. I’m jumping up and down on the inside. Ecstatic isn’t the word for it. Just for the formality of it, I choose to serve Mr. White myself. We need this contract to be perfect, and so far, it has been. Everyone has eaten heartily and I’ve heard several positive comments regarding the food, so I’m confident that all is well. I know that extra bit of effort to promote the business will only help to secure a good working future with them.

  Taking the dessert in my hand, I walk across the room, making sure that everyone else has been served before I place the food in front of him as has been requested. I am three feet from the table. This is it, the last minutes of our perfect performance are almost finished and then I feel my toe catch the floor and it’s slow motion all the bloody way.

  I actually watch the plate leave my hand and fly scarily close to his head before the entire fresh strawberry and balsamic mousse tumbles from the dish, down his shirt and straight into his lap. Oh buggery shit and bollocks. I’ve stumbled and fallen, clearly looking like a complete imbecile, and somehow managed to end up kneeling at his side.

  Silence. Utter silence. Shit. Which way is this going to go? And what the hell do I do now? Should I try to wipe it off? Probably not. I look up at the other gentlemen, not sure what to do with myself. A few are smiling, but most are frowning at my ineptitude. Shit. Realising that I am only a few inches from his crotch, which smells of strawberry mousse, I decide to make the grave mistake of looking up to his face. Beautiful, cold blue eyes stare down at me in complete shock, and then slowly, a smirk of amusement rolls over them. He’s laughing at me. Great. Well at least that’s better than anger. I stand quickly and begin to apologise profusely.

  “I really am incredibly sorry, sir. I must have tripped on something and I couldn’t hold onto the plate and it slipped from my fingers and… Oh, God, I am just so sorry,” I blurt out. My face is more than likely the colour of beetroot and my body is shaking beyond belief. He simply continues with his assault of my eyes, his eyebrow raising at me.

  “Elizabeth, please don’t worry about it. Sometimes we all embarrass ourselves and really, there’s no harm done. Unless you count the distress caused to my suit that is,” he says as his smile softens to one of concern or something. I have no idea what it is, but it’s bloody lovely; I know that much.

  “Sir, please let me pay for the dry cleaning,” I say, digging into my pocket to pull out one of Belle’s business cards. “We could pick it up and return it to you or just send us the bill, whatever is convenient for yourself. I really would like to apologise for my blunder and I don’t know any other way to…” I’m rambling again, my standard response to any awkward situation.

  There is another pause long enough to eclipse the sodding sun while I look at my feet and wait uncomfortably for h
is response.

  “Okay, thank you. I’ll be in touch. I think perhaps it is time for you and your staff to leave now,” he replies with a soft but dismissive tone, turning back to the table.

  “Oh right, yes. Sorry again,” I mumble.

  I can’t even begin to look at anyone again so hurry towards the door, ushering the girls out and being careful not to trip over my own feet again. No need to make myself look more of an incompetent fool than I already have. Looking at my girls is also not an option, so I wait until they’re far enough away before I call over my shoulder to them.

  “Girls, I have to rush so please pick up your wages on Friday. Thank you. You all did a great job today.”

  With that, I turn in the opposite direction, listening to them giggling and recounting the ridiculous situation. Embarrassment surges over me again as I try to remember how the hell to get to the main foyer, while berating myself over and over again. How could I be so stupid, so pathetic? Bloody hell, I can’t even walk properly. No wonder I don’t fit in with these people. Every eye in the building seems to follow me as I pelt in random directions, hoping that something will look familiar. Nothing does. Clearly not even escaping a bloody building is possible for the likes of me.

  Eventually I find a corridor that happens to lead me in the right direction, and hitting the fresh air, I run down the steps towards the nearest taxi rank. I have just ruined my own business, and Belle is going to kill me.

  ~

  Alexander

  “Gentlemen, it appears I have some cleaning up to do and a suit to change.” Alex looked at his colleagues and then at his lap, feeling a smirk crawl over his mouth again. He couldn’t help it. The last hour or so had involved some of the most entertaining moments of his life.

  “Yes, it appears so,” one of them retorted.