by Rhoda Baxter
"I suppose."
"I know a novelist," said Priya, suddenly. "Used to be a student of mine. Shame she went into the novelist business really. She had the potential to be a brilliant historian."
"Is she famous?"
The lady named someone Stevie had never heard of. "Why don't you see if she'd like to come?" said Stevie. "And maybe she could talk about it on her website."
A few more suggestions were thrown in and various people tasked with acting on them.
"Next," said Stevie, bracing herself. "Catering."
"We've got to have a good caterer," said Lady Beryl. "We're not doing a main meal, just canapés and amuse-bouche. They've got to be excellent or else it looks awful."
"I see," said Stevie. "But there's a small problem."
"Which is?" Lady Beryl's eyebrows arched.
"We can't afford one. Also, all the ones recommended by my contacts are busy and can't fit us in at such short notice." She didn't have any contacts. She'd phoned everyone local she found on Google.
"Surely you're not suggesting we do without nibbles," said Lady Beryl. "Don't be ridiculous, girl. People will be drinking and they have to something to soak up the alcohol. Or else there'll be absolute mayhem." She fixed Stevie with a stern glare. "Don't you know anything?"
Stevie forced herself not to react to the criticism. "What I'm suggesting, Lady Beryl, is that we cater for the occasion ourselves."
There was a murmur of concern.
"Sounds risky," said Priya. "Don't you need all sorts of health and safety certificates before you do that. In case you poison someone."
"Exactly." Lady Beryl snorted. "Stupid idea."
Stevie glanced at Evelyn. They had discussed this beforehand.
Evelyn smiled, a little triumphantly. "Actually," she said. "We do have an accredited kitchen right here in the house."
Everyone turned to look at her.
"But there's only you who has any certification," said Lady Beryl. "You can't make canapés for a hundred and twenty people all on your own."
"Only one of us needs to be accredited," said Evelyn. "And I am, so we could, legally, cater for the ball ourselves."
"Making canapés for a hundred and twenty," said Priya thoughtfully. "Just us. Sounds like fun. Let's do it."
"But..." Lady Beryl sputtered.
"A vote?" suggested Evelyn. "All those in favour?"
Two hands went up. Lady's Beryl's stayed firmly in her lap.
"Well," said Lady Beryl. "Fine. I just hope we can come up with an acceptable menu with the so called budget."
"Actually." Stevie pulled out a wad of paper. "I've got some suggestions, with approximate costings." She handed them round.
There was a silence as everyone read the proposed menu.
"It's a bit...predictable," said Priya, after a moment.
"Is this really all the money we can spend?" Evelyn said. "Seriously?"
"I'm afraid so." Stevie scanned the list. She had done her best, looking up recipes and prices on the internet. She had been expecting some resistance, but not this level of disappointment. She bit her lip, then, remembering she had to look professional, took a small sip of tea in an attempt to seem nonchalant.
"This will never do," said Lady Beryl, frowning. "You haven't even got angels on horseback."
Stevie stared. She had no idea what the woman was talking about. Evelyn leaned forward. "Scallops. It's a sort of canapé," she whispered. Aloud she said, "We can't afford scallops, Beryl. You can see that."
"But we can't serve...this. This is the sort of thing the students would serve." She injected a huge amount of contempt into the word students.
Priya laughed. "No, they'd serve crisps and nuts."
"Graduate students then," Lady Beryl snapped.
"Perhaps, I could help," Priya said.
Everyone turned to her. "Since it's a Sri Lankan charity... How about Sri Lankan nibbles?"
Stevie perked up. "Is it likely to be expensive?"
"Not particularly," said Priya. "I have enough recipes and expertise. I can show you how."
"No offence, Priya," Lady Beryl said in a voice that suggested she was going to cause it anyway. "But isn't Sri Lankan food palate-searingly hot?"
Priya smiled. "Not if you don't put any chili in it."
Lady Beryl looked thoughtful. "I must admit," she said slowly. "It does have a certain...je ne se quoi to have Sri Lankan food at a ball for a Sri Lankan charity ball."
"Excellent," said Evelyn. "That's settled then." She beamed. "I'm liking the sound of this already."
"Okay. I'll sort out a menu. We might have to go to London to buy some ingredients," said Priya.
"That's not a problem. I live in London." Stevie scribbled notes. "Shall we discuss prices and things?"
* * * *
From: Marjorie Verita
To: Tom Blackwood
Dierdre Smith
Dear Tom and Dierdre
I have arranged for a projection meeting with Pickering for Tuesday the 10th. I should inform you that Mathais will be attending the meeting in person.
Regards
Marjorie Verita, PA to Mathais Groenberger.
##
From: Human Resources
To: Tom Blackwood < Thomas.Blackwood@ Krantzsolutions.com >
Dear Thomas
Thank you for your interest in the position of Regional manager Doha office. We are pleased to invite you to a formal interview at 14.00 on Wednesday the 11th of July, please come prepared to give a 20 minute presentation on your ideas of how to set up and maintain the Doha office and how you would expand our footprint in the Middle East area.
Regards
Gillian Smythe
Human Resources
##
From: Tom Blackwood < Thomas.Blackwood@ Krantzsolutions.com>
To: Olivia Gornall
Help. I've got two major presentations in two days. One for phase two of the Pickering project and one for the Doha interview panel. One of the VPs is going to be there for the Pickering one.
##
From: Olivia Gornall
To: Tom Blackwood < Thomas.Blackwood@ Krantzsolutions.com>
Congratulations on getting an interview with the Doha thing. Why are you stressing? You've got stuff prepared for both, right? It'll be a walkover.
##
From: Tom Blackwood < Thomas.Blackwood@ Krantzsolutions.com>
To: Olivia Gornall
Yes, I have stuff prepared for both, but it's nowhere near ready. I'm still busy trouble-shooting the handover on part one of the project and I won't have everything until the day, pretty much. And I've got to keep all my slides and conclusions updated as we go. I haven't got enough time to cover it all as it is. Now I have to do a second presentation. I don't know where I'm going to find time to do that.
And my head feels like it's splitting, which isn't bloody helping. I'm off to buy more Nurofen.
##
From: Olivia Gornall
To: Tom Blackwood < Thomas.Blackwood@ Krantzsolutions.com>
How badly do you want this promotion? Are you sure you can handle it? You seem to be working yourself into an early grave as it is...
##
From: Tom Blackwood < Thomas.Blackwood@ Krantzsolutions.com>
To: Olivia Gornall
I WANT that promotion. What's more, I intend to get it. I'm certainly not letting Dierdre walk away with it.
Chapter 6
With Priya working on the catering, Stevie turned her attention to the rest of her list. Top of the list was advertising. She and Alice designed an advert to go in the local papers and information sheets. A slightly larger version was turned into flyers, which they perso
nally delivered to carefully selected bars, pubs and restaurants around the city. By the end of the day, both Stevie and Alice were exhausted.
"Do you think it'll bring in enough people?" said Alice, as they sat in the front room, each stretched out on a sofa. Evelyn had poured them glasses of cold apple juice and told them to go and relax after their endeavours.
"I don't know." That was an understatement. Stevie doubted they'd sell nearly as many tickets as they'd need to. She needed to think of another way to shift more tickets. She stared out of the sunlit window and let her mind wander. "If only there was a way to make it the event to be seen at."
Alice picked up a magazine and flicked through it. "Hmmm. Apparently Coldplay were at the St John's college ball this summer. I would have liked to have gone to that."
Stevie glanced across as her. "How did you know? About Coldplay, I mean?"
"There was a buzz about it on the forum." Alice didn't even look up from her magazine. Clearly a 'buzz on the forum' was a commonplace occurrence.
Stevie sat up, an idea coalescing in her head. "Which forum?"
"There's a message board attached to the Triphoppers website," said Alice. "Someone on there was going to the ball." She smiled. "Actually, once she mentioned it, a couple of other people wanted to go as well. I couldn't afford it, of course. Besides, Mum and Dad would never have let me stay out all night like that."
Stevie knew a lot about Triphoppers. They had burst into the scene a few years back when they appeared on a TV talent show. They had been in the charts ever since. But more than that, Stevie's sister in law, Jane, was Ashby, the lead singer's, ex-girlfriend. Even though she and Ashby were no longer on speaking terms, Jane still kept in touch with the other band members. Especially the drummer, Pete. Stevie had met Pete at Jane and Marsh's wedding. She remembered him as being kind and down to earth, not at all like a popstar. She'd talked to him at length and even told him about her aspirations of being an event organiser.
"This buzz," said Stevie, carefully, her mind still thinking through the possibilities. "How does it start?"
Alice shrugged. "Dunno. I guess someone posts a message about it. You know, like 'I'm really excited about going to see Coldplay' or something and people get talking about it."
"Could you mention this ball on there?"
Alice pulled a face. "Well, it's not really the sort of thing people are into...you know. Charity balls. I mean, it's not as if someone famous was coming or anything."
"What if..." Stevie closed her eyes, an idea becoming more solid as she spoke. "What if I could persuade someone famous to come? Say, someone from Triphoppers."
Alice sat up, eyes shining. "Do you know someone from Triphoppers. It's not Ashby is it? Do you know Ashby?" She dropped her magazine. "He's so gorgeous. He's just...incredible."
"No," said Stevie quickly. "I don't know Ashby. I'm just thinking there might be a way to get someone from the band to come."
"Really?" said Alice. "That would be so cool! How are you going to do that?"
"I'm not sure yet." Stevie frowned and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I'm working on it."
Of course, getting in touch with Pete would mean contacting Jane. Which would mean making peace with Marsh. She wasn't sure she was up to that just yet.
***
It was Sunday and Stevie was at the house in Oxford again. She was standing in Evelyn's office, watching her rummaging around amongst the piles of paper on her desk.
Despite her increasing familiarity with the house, this was the first time Stevie had been in the office. It was a little room holding a desk, a phone/fax, a computer and several precarious looking stacks of paper. The room had once had a fireplace and still had a mantelpiece that now sheepishly framed the computer. On it were several photographs. The biggest was of a man, greying at the temples. He was shading his eyes and laughing into the sun. Stevie stepped closer to study it. He must have been Evelyn's husband. Next to it was a smaller photo of Evelyn, her late husband and her two sons. The resemblance between Tom and his father was unmistakeable.
"That's my Frank," said Evelyn, coming to stand next to her. The normal sparkle in her eyes dimmed a little. A small sigh escaped her.
Stevie recognised it. She felt something similar whenever she looked at the photo of herself, Marsh and her parents. "You must miss him."
"Every day." She sighed again. "This house..." She waved a hand to indicate the rooms and corridors. "It was his dream to rescue it and turn it into a place where people lived and moved again. He said it had seen too much to be allowed to live in its own echoes." She walked slowly back to her desk. "The boys think I should sell up and move to a small flat and maybe write text books, but...I don't know. Working on the house, I can almost imagine he's still here, you know. Working on a different room. Sometimes I feel I can almost hear him. I can't listen to Any Questions anymore. I keep thinking I'll hear him explode and shout at the radio." She smiled. "He did that. Every time. He used to get so cross." She stopped and looked out of the window, blinking.
Stevie felt tears threaten. "I...know what it's like."
Evelyn turned blue eyes toward her. "You do?" She gave Stevie a glance up and down. A glance that said "What can someone as young as you know about loss?"
"My parents died when I was thirteen." She'd said it so many times before that it no longer stung. What stung were the times when she forgot it and expected them to be waiting for her when she got home. Or when she opened her birthday cards and felt the lack of the one that was no longer there. "I still miss them. Even after all these years."
Evelyn looked away. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be."
There was a moment of silence. Evelyn sniffed. "Oh dear me." She brushed a tear away with her palm. "Excuse me a second. If the doorbell rings, will you answer it? It'll be Tom. He usually comes to visit on a Sunday." With that, she scuttled out of the door.
Stevie stared after her. She hadn't meant to upset Evelyn. On the other hand, she knew it hadn't been her fault. Evelyn clearly missed her husband. She turned back to the mantelpiece and the photo of Tom. He hadn't made a very good impression on her the last time they met. He'd come across as arrogant and opinionated and he clearly didn't like her. On the other hand, he came to see his mother regularly and mowed the lawn for her. A man who did that couldn't be all bad, could he?
The doorbell rang. Should she answer the door? What if it wasn't Tom? It could be anyone. The bell rang again. She peered hopefully down the corridor. No sign of Evelyn.
The bell rang a third time, a little longer than before. The person outside was clearly getting impatient. Hesitantly Stevie trudged to the front, opened the door a crack and peered out.
It was Tom. Dressed in jeans and Rugby shirt, he looked casual and, frankly, gorgeous. "About time," he said. "I was starting to get..." He peered into the gap between the door and the frame. "Oh," he said. "It's you."
Stevie opened the door and let him in. "Nice to see you too, Tom."
"Where's my mother? And Alice?"
"Busy and out, respectively." Stevie caught a whiff of aftershave as he brushed past. Despite her dislike of Tom, she couldn't resist a quick glance at his behind as he strode past. Nice.
"Uhuh." He paused in the hallway, as though trying to decide what to do.
Stevie frowned. She didn't particularly want to be friends with Tom, even without his attitude, he was distractingly attractive and she knew that sort of thing only interfered with a good working relationship, but if she was to get this ball to turn some sort of a profit, she was going to need his help.
"Tom, wait a moment." She joined him. Her shadow fell across him as she got in the way of the light coming from the windows above the staircase. "I know you don't like me. I'm not sure why." She paused to see if he would reply to the implied question.
His eyes came up to her face briefly, then looked away. "It's complicated."
What kind of an answer was that? Stevie shrugged. "Fine. I know you think I'm t
oo young and inexperienced to do this job, but your mum hired me. You know as well as I do that I'm being paid well below the going rate, so I'm not trying to rip her off." She took a step closer to him. He took a small step back. He was still glaring at the floor.
"But, if I'm going to be helping with this ball, it would be really nice if we could at least be civil to each other."
Finally, he looked up. The corners of his mouth twitched. He thought she was funny? What a patronising git! Stevie swallowed her anger and offered him a hand. "So, friends?"
"OK." Tom shook her hand. His grip was firm and warm.
Evelyn came hurrying down the stairs. "Hello darling!"
"Hello Mother." He kissed her on the cheek.
"Come and have a cuppa. We're just going to discuss things about the ball."
Tom pulled a face, then glanced at Stevie and said, "Okay. Fine. Anything to help." He followed them meekly into the library.
The main thing Stevie needed from Tom, was help with the garden. She told him so.
He stared at her, frowning. "The garden?"
"Yes. It's in desperate need of attention. The flower bushes need trimming, the herb garden needs sorting out. It's the sort of thing that would only take a few days to do, but it makes sense to sort out who's going to do it." She looked expectantly at him.
"Me? I'm sorry Stevie, but I work. I can come and do bits for you on a Sunday, but that's as far as my commitment goes."
"What about Saturdays?" She hadn't meant to ask that question out loud. She had been wondering what he did with himself outside of work, and the words just came out.
"I work on Saturdays." He gave her a withering glare.
"What? Through choice?" Stevie couldn't believe anyone would do that.
Tom shrugged. "What can I say? Married to my job."
Stevie recovered her composure. Professional. She had to be professional. "I'm sure we can manage with just Sundays. We can all pitch in."
Tom didn't look pleased at the suggestion, but he sighed and agreed, in very bad grace, Stevie thought.
"Brilliant." She gave him her most radiant smile, it usually mellowed people. He looked away.
