Losing You

by Susan Lewis

  It was funny, but she’d never have imagined herself to be his type. There again, she’d never imagined everyone’s heart-throb, Will Scott, would single her out when they were at uni, but he had and had even gone on to marry her. And if ever there was a warning not to be taken in by looks and charm, that was most definitely it. She could already feel herself backing away, as well she might if she didn’t want to end up making a complete fool of herself. Philip Leesom had kindly recommended a book that he’d enjoyed, and she, sad little person that she was, was sitting here behaving as though he was planning a major seduction. She really, desperately needed to get out more. She might even need to sign up to a dating website after all.

  Faint with relief that he had no idea what effect he was having on her, she sent a quick return message saying Thanks. Really sweet of you. Will look forward to it. She almost added and will report back but stopped herself just in time. She simply wasn’t going to encourage this, if indeed there was anything to encourage, so just a pleasant, slightly patronising response was undoubtedly the best way to go.

  She was now facing the dilemma of whether or not to go on to Amazon to order the book. She decided it could wait. She wasn’t short of reading material right now, and in any case her card was still maxed out, so if she did find herself intrigued enough to read it she would borrow it from the library – if they hadn’t already closed it down by then.

  Making a note to herself to join any campaign there might be locally to keep the libraries open, she clicked on to her next message and moments later was staring at the screen in overjoyed disbelief. (Probably another overreaction, but she wasn’t going to give herself a hard time over this one.) One of the agencies she’d visited yesterday had only emailed to let her know that the perfect job had just come in for her: an Events Organiser at a leading West Country hotel with a salary of up to forty thousand per annum.

  Grabbing the phone as it rang, she almost gushed as she said hello.

  ‘Mrs Scott? It’s Helen here, from Jobs4U. Have you seen my email?’

  ‘Yes, just,’ Emma cried. ‘What amazing timing. Are you able to set up an interview?’

  ‘Of course, I just needed to be sure you’re interested before I get in touch with them, and to find out if there are any dates that won’t work for you.’

  ‘I can make it any time,’ Emma assured her, wincing at the thought of Lauren’s performance exam and Berry’s exhibition. But they were both still a couple of weeks away, and they’d be in the evenings anyway, so there surely wouldn’t be a clash. ‘Do you know when they want someone to start?’ she asked.

  ‘I think they’re looking at the beginning of March, which is perhaps not quite as soon as you’d like, but they’ll have a lot of people to interview so they obviously want to give themselves time to be sure they have the right person.’

  Emma’s hopes hit the floor. The competition was going to be like first auditions for Britain’s Got Talent. And they’d all be young.

  ‘I have no doubt they’re going to be completely blown away by you,’ Helen breezed on loyally. ‘I’ve already sent through your CV and they should let me know later today, or tomorrow, when they’d like to see you.’

  When, not if – how sweet of her.

  ‘With your background and experience,’ Helen continued, ‘I really think you’re in with a very good chance.’

  ‘What about my age?’

  ‘Oh, but that can’t come into it.’

  ‘Maybe not, but it does. They might not want a woman either.’

  ‘Please try to have confidence in yourself, but if you do sense any sort of discrimination you must let me know.’

  ‘Of course. So I’ll wait to hear from you?’

  ‘Lovely. I have your mobile number, just in case, and with any luck we’ll be speaking again before the end of the day.’

  As she put down the phone Emma had no idea whether she wanted to jump for joy or run away and hide. This job had to be hers, please, please, please God, it just had to be.

  Chapter Five

  THOUGH RUSS’S FIRST reaction was to gasp in shock, he found himself unable not to laugh as Angie’s cry of euphoria tipped her over the back of her chair and sent her crashing to the floor.

  Being the closest, Graham, her fellow associate, dashed to the rescue. ‘Are you OK?’ he choked, hardly able to contain his own mirth.

  Russ was on his feet ready to lend more assistance, but when Angie’s beet-red, freckled face peered up over the edge of the desk with a mortified grin, he relaxed again.

  ‘And for my encore ...’ she said boldly.

  Bursting into more laughter, Russell sank back in his chair and watched her carefully restoring her dignity as she retook her seat in the most exaggeratedly ladylike fashion she could manage.

  ‘So,’ Graham announced, returning to his desk, ‘I guess we’ll long remember the moment we heard we’d won a commission for West Country Towns. Just didn’t expect you to go quite so over the top, Angie.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, very funny,’ she muttered, flinging a pen in his direction. ‘This is my first big deal, remember, so I reckon I’m entitled to get a bit carried away.’

  ‘Exactly so,’ Russ confirmed, deciding they could probably break out a bottle of champagne, even if it was still only four o’clock. With Carleen and Percy Sharland in one of the editing rooms to help them drink it, and Paul Granger and Oliver about to return from a recce, there would be no shortage of takers. It was just a pity that Toyah, their office manager, wasn’t around to join in, but she’d left an hour ago to go and collect her poorly six-year-old from school and take her home.

  ‘Oh God, I am so loving this job,’ Angie gushed, as the bottle came out of the fridge in the kitchen area of their open-plan office suite. ‘Please don’t sack me when my probation period’s up next month, or I’m afraid I’ll just have to shoot myself.’

  ‘With the hours you’re putting in,’ Russ responded, as he removed the foil, ‘and the kind of energy you put into the pitch on Monday, I don’t think we’ll be handing you the gun just yet.’

  With a grin that made his lopsided features almost handsome, Graham said, ‘You were totally awesome, Ange, amazing, no one would ever have believed it was your first pitch, so this commission is definitely down to you.’

  ‘Oh, and like all the research and writing up and everything else you guys did had nothing to do with it?’

  ‘It was a team effort,’ Russ informed them, standing aside for Graham to take some glasses from a cupboard over the microwave, ‘mostly led by you two, which gives me great faith in being able to keep this company afloat while so many of our competitors are going under.’ It was going to be a near thing, every commission was vital now, and this was the first good news they’d had in weeks.

  Graham said, ‘By my reckoning, once this deal’s been signed, and I just know it will be, we’ll have no less than four projects at various stages of production, which really ain’t bad when you consider the state of the world we’re in.’

  Glancing up at the sound of a car driving across the gravelled forecourt, Russ said, ‘But it’s no excuse to become complacent. We still need to be pulling in as many projects and producers as we can to help get their ideas to the screen, if we’re going to weather this storm.’

  Receiving no argument with that, he began filling half a dozen glasses with a fairly decent Laurent Perrier, while Angie skipped off along the narrow corridor that led to the largest editing-cum-meeting room to dig out Carleen and Percy. The pair were putting together a rough cut of a documentary on the current use of coal mines, a joint commission from BBC Wales and the Discovery Channel that Russ and his team had won for them back in September. Now all Russ had to do was executive-produce the project, which meant making sure they stayed on budget, their scripts were both entertaining and informative and the finished product was of the required quality. Not an enormous task when the producers knew their game and conducted themselves in a professional manner – an out-and
-out nightmare when they got caught up on their own egos or found themselves unequal to his exacting standards. Fortunately that didn’t happen too often, but whenever it did he and Toyah made a note not to work with that producer or production company again.

  Times were such that they might not be able to be so fussy in the future. Now, only four out of the eight desks in the office were in constant use, and the three edit suites and two meetings rooms were empty more often than they were full. Still, at least they remained operational, and with ambitious and dynamic young associates like Graham and Angie, he was going to remain confident that they’d stay that way. Angie, considering her tender age (twenty-two) and relative inexperience (actually none that had ever been paid), was probably one of the most impressive finds he’d made in a long time. Her attention to detail, quick thinking and spectacular imagination were becoming as integral to proceedings as Graham’s unerring ability to spot a winner, and Russ’s own input which oversaw and put together the whole thing.

  So it was a great relief to him that Angie hadn’t abandoned ship in fright after Sylvie’s outrageous behaviour, or taken offence at being accused of an affair with a man who was old enough to be her father, and her new boss to boot. The entire episode had been intensely embarrassing for them both, and he could see how uncomfortable Angie still was whenever she happened to answer the phone to Sylvie. He also knew, through Graham, that Angie hadn’t slept alone in her flat since the night Sylvie had let rip outside. Apparently a girlfriend had moved into her spare room to keep her company until everything had been sorted out and all the drama had died down.

  Russ couldn’t even begin to imagine when that happy day might dawn, but something had to be done to draw it closer. His alcoholic wife attacking an innocent young girl simply for working at his office was so far from acceptable that he shuddered to think what Sylvie might do were she ever to find out about the woman he really was involved with. Fortunately, no one, but no one, knew about him and Fiona, and for her sake, perhaps more than anyone else’s, he intended to keep it that way.

  ‘Hey, looks like I turned up just in time,’ Paul Granger declared as he came hastily through the door to escape the rainstorm outside. ‘Am I to assume from this that you’ve had some good news?’

  ‘Only the best,’ Graham informed him, standing back to avoid the freezing spray as Granger shrugged off his coat. ‘The budget we asked for and presenter of our choice.’

  ‘I don’t believe it!’ Granger cried, turning to Russ. ‘That’s quite something. I only wish I was producing.’ Though Granger wasn’t employed by Russ’s company, officially, he’d produced and directed so many programmes and training videos for them over the years that the two men had come to view one another more as partners than mere colleagues.

  ‘Frankly, I wish you were too,’ Russ told him, ‘but Guy Fitch has his strong points, and the idea was his, plus the contacts are all his ...’

  ‘Was he there for the pitch?’

  ‘Sure, but he was clever enough to let Angie take over. She’s got a gift for it, we’ve discovered, so we’re damned lucky to have her.’

  ‘I heard that,’ she said, beaming as she came back into the office. ‘Hey Paul, how did the recce go?’

  Rolling his eyes, Granger said, ‘Champagne first, and congratulations to all ... Carleen, love of my life,’ he cried as a willowy brunette with intense green eyes and a low-cut top followed Angie through the door. ‘Oh God, husband in tow, how are you doing, Perce?’

  Laughing, Percy came to shake Granger’s hand, while Russ finished pouring the champagne and Graham and Angie passed around glasses.

  ‘To Clyde Court Productions and all who sail in her,’ Graham declared, saluting them all.

  ‘Hear, hear,’ everyone echoed.

  As they drank, the sound of the rain battering the vaulted ceiling of the old stable block seemed to seal them into a safe and private place that felt like an exclusive refuge from a bad, bad world outside. This sense of security made Russ feel connected to his team in a way that reminded him that not everything had to be about family.

  Turning to Granger he said, ‘I’m almost afraid to ask, but where is my son?’

  Granger’s large, bearded face broke into a smile. ‘Don’t worry, he’s done you proud this afternoon, he was right on it with the National Trust gits – guys – and he didn’t mention a word to me about being paid.’

  Not entirely reassured, Russ said, ‘But you told him he will be, and how much?’

  ‘Sure and he fell silent.’

  After waiting for the laughter to die down, Russ said, ‘So, he knows he’s not going to get rich any time soon. Did he come back with you?’

  ‘Yep, but he’s gone over to the house. He wants to check his email, he said, in case some proper jobs have come up.’

  Russ’s face darkened. ‘Tell me he didn’t use those words.’

  ‘He didn’t use those words.’

  Knowing Oliver almost certainly had, Russ decided not to spoil the celebration by leaving right now, but his son had better still be in the house when he got there because grown man or not, he clearly still had a few lessons to learn.

  ‘No, Jerome, I haven’t worked out who the ruddy pussy belongs to yet,’ Oliver was saying into his mobile, as he opened the fridge door to take out a Coke. ‘Will you cut me a break for five minutes and stop going on about it?’

  ‘It’s all right for you, man, you’ve got Thea and all those other babes ...’

  ‘Jerome, Thea and I are not an item ... Oh, shit!’ he cried as a spray of Coke cascaded over the kitchen that had probably just been cleaned, and had supposedly won awards when it was first designed, thanks to its shape and glossy black units and surfaces.

  ‘Are you still there?’ Jerome demanded.

  ‘Course I am, but listen ...’

  ‘I am. I thought Thea was interested in your dad?’

  ‘You are such an asshole at times, do you know that? Don’t you get anything?’

  ‘That’s my point, man, I’m getting none, so if you can tell me who she is, the one who had the Brazilian ...’

  ‘I have to ring off now ...’

  ‘Don’t do that. I need to win this ...’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Jerome, no one’s ever going to work out who the pussy belongs to, it’s all a great big tease, you’ve got to see that.’

  ‘But they made a promise, and you’ve seen more of them than I have, so who would you reasonably match that one up with?’

  Laughing, in spite of himself, Oliver said, ‘I’ll look at it again, OK, and if I come up with anything ...’

  ‘Tell me you didn’t just say that. How can anything not come up?’

  Laughing again, Oliver said, ‘Mate, I’ve got your best interests at heart. I just want you to remember me when you’re down there in Durban raking in the mega-millions and looking for the best ad agency in the world, because that’s where I’ll be.’

  ‘You so have my business,’ Jerome assured him. ‘Now, getting back to ...’

  ‘Jerome, I have to go. My dad’s just come in,’ and without giving his friend a chance to speak again he clicked off the line and quickly scooped a cloth from the sink to start cleaning up the Coke.

  ‘What’s happened here?’ Russ wanted to know as he realised what Oliver was doing.

  ‘It was an accident, OK? I flipped the tab and it went everywhere. Now I’m cleaning it up. No need to get in a sweat.’

  Not rising to the belligerence, Russ went to pull a stool from under the breakfast bar and sat down heavily. This room with its octagonal shape and wall of windows looking out over the garden and acres of billowing countryside beyond was, quite literally, the very heart of the house. The entrance hall seemed to embrace it with huge double doors – never closed – opening into it, and the sitting room, grand as it was, couldn’t quite muster the same comfort or space.

  ‘So what happened with Paul this afternoon?’ Russ asked, starting to peel a clementine.

&n
bsp; Oliver shrugged. ‘I think it all went well,’ he answered, still sponging down the American fridge.

  ‘I’m not talking about the meeting, I’m talking about what he’s going to pay you. Are you happy with it?’

  Oliver didn’t even bother to turn round. ‘Yeah, sure, minimum wage is what I went to uni for. Great, bring it on.’

  Russ did not reply.

  Oliver was used to his father’s intimidation by silence, so he carried on with what he was doing, refusing to be cowed.

  More silence.

  More mopping.

  Longer silence.

  Careful mopping.

  ‘Oliver.’

  Wishing he felt as though he’d won while somehow knowing he hadn’t, Oliver turned around.

  ‘I want to help you, you understand that, don’t you?’ Russ said.

  Oliver nodded, because yeah, he guessed he did, it was just that they had different views on help.

  ‘My contacts in the advertising world are limited, I’ve already told you that ...’

  ‘We don’t have to go through this again, Dad.’

  ‘Would you rather not work with Paul?’

  ‘No, it’s cool.’

  ‘So what’s the problem?’

  ‘There isn’t one.’

  Another Dad silence.

  Oliver sipped from what was left in the can.

  ‘Do you have any interviews lined up?’ Russ asked.

  ‘Not right now, but I’m on it.’

  Russ nodded slowly. ‘I hope you’ve come to realise what screwing up your internship with McCanns has cost you.’

  Oliver’s face tightened with anger and embarrassment. ‘That wasn’t my fault,’ he cried. ‘I didn’t ask that stupid woman to come on to me ...’

  ‘Maybe not, but you could have backed away ...’

  ‘Like she gave me a chance. Anyway, yeah, if it satisfies you, I do realise what it’s cost me, OK? I could probably have a job there right now, working my way up, but I haven’t, because I gave some senior exec what she was begging for.’