‘What’s wrong with you?’ she asked. ‘The shoes can’t be that uncomfortable, surely?’
Helen sighed. ‘My heel got caught in a grate in the carpark and I twisted my ankle, and dropped all my stuff . . .’
Gemma winced. ‘Are you okay? Was there anyone around to help you?’
‘Yeah, there was, in fact,’ she said. ‘This really lovely man got me unstuck, and stayed with me till I was okay.’
Gemma took her arm to give her some support. ‘The security guys are wonderful around here.’
‘No, he wasn’t security, he said he was in admin.’
‘Oh? What was his name?’
What was his name? Did he say? He must have said when he asked for her name. Whatever, she obviously didn’t remember it now. ‘I don’t know, I didn’t catch it.’
Gemma shrugged. ‘Well, the MD is waiting for you. He said to send you straight in as soon as you get here. Are you going to be all right?’
‘What choice do I have?’ said Helen. ‘You don’t think it’s a bad omen, do you?’
‘No,’ said Gemma firmly, ‘it’s just bad luck. It was an accident, Helen, you of all people should know that sometimes accidents just happen.’
‘Okay, you’re right.’
‘Besides, it might be a good omen.’
‘How is that?’
‘You met a cute guy from admin.’
Helen blushed, elbowing her as Gemma led her slowly down the hall past the executive offices and all the way around to the province of the managing director.
‘This is it,’ she announced. ‘What do you think?’
Helen gazed at the clean minimalist space, the white walls adorned with postmodern artworks, the intimidating glass and steel desk where she would be working, perhaps. ‘It’s very . . .’
‘It sure is,’ Gemma agreed. ‘They have an image to maintain. That’s what it’s all about, after all.’
Helen sighed. ‘Great, and I’m going to look like the maiden aunt come to mind the shop.’
‘Cut it out,’ Gemma chided, walking around the desk. ‘You look totally fabulous, the MD will be very impressed. I’m just going to buzz him now.’ She held a button down on the phone and a moment later a slightly hollow ‘Yes?’ came over the intercom.
‘Helen Chapman is here.’
‘Send her in,’ he said. ‘On her own, please, Gemma,’ he added in his best, ‘he who must be obeyed’ tone.
Gemma pulled a face at the phone. ‘Of course, MD,’ she said sweetly. She released the button and looked across at Helen. ‘Will you be all right?’
Helen took a deep breath and nodded. ‘Wish me luck.’
‘I won’t say break a leg,’ Gemma said wryly. ‘Let me walk you to the door at least –’
Helen shook her head. ‘No, stand there and tell me if I look like a freak when I walk.’
She headed towards the door to the MD’s office, taking slow, measured steps, trying not to wince as she took as much weight as she could handle on the affected ankle. As she reached the door she turned to look at Gemma, who gave her the thumbs-up. Helen smiled stoically and took a firm hold of the doorknob; then, after one more calming breath, she opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind her. She looked across the vast office as the MD got to his feet. Helen blinked, and her heart lurched in her chest.
‘What are you doing here?’ she breathed.
He looked awkward. ‘I didn’t get the chance to introduce myself.’
She stared at him. She couldn’t speak. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t be . . .
‘I made up an icepack for you.’
‘I’m going to be sick,’ she blurted.
‘Helen, it’s okay –’
‘No, really, I’m going to be sick,’ she insisted, a little frantic now. ‘It’s what I do.’
‘Okay,’ he said coming towards her, ‘there’s a bathroom through here.’
She began to hobble in that direction as he made it to her side, taking hold of her arm.
‘Don’t!’ she said, snatching it away.
‘Helen,’ he tried to placate her, ‘you can barely walk. Take those shoes off at least.’
He was right. She kicked them off, dropped her bag and folder on the spot, and hopped straight for the door he’d indicated, closing it firmly behind her. She looked around, breathing hard; it was a pretty bloody palatial bathroom for an office. For that matter, who had a bathroom in their office anyway? The managing director of an advertising agency, that’s who. Not some nice guy from admin.
Helen went and leaned over the toilet, but her nausea seemed to be subsiding. She still felt hot, clammy, breathless, embarrassed, mortified, betrayed, tricked and misled. What kind of a show was he running here? Pouncing on unsuspecting job applicants in the basement carpark and tricking them into giving up personal secrets?
Shit! She’d told him what Gemma had said about him. If he used his ill-gotten gains to threaten Gem, or worse, fire her, well, Helen was going to . . . well, she was going to do something. She’d take it to the union, if there was one in this industry. If not, she’d go to one of those shoddy current affairs shows and expose him. See how far his threats and deception got him then.
Helen closed the lid of the toilet and sat down on it. An overwhelming sense of disappointment was creeping up on her. For a brief moment she had ventured out into the big wide world, where no one knew her circumstances, where no one would have to feel sorry for her, where she could stand on her own two feet . . . perhaps she hadn’t managed that part so well, but . . .
She hadn’t even wanted this job in the first place, and now she felt strangely sad that she wouldn’t get the chance to work here, with all the happy security men, and the nice guy from admin. Or rather, the big fraud who ran the place. Gemma had been right about him all along. And now Helen had probably completely screwed things for her as well. A quick, sharp pain suddenly shot through her ankle, as if to remind her she also had that to deal with. Helen peered down at her foot. The swelling was quite obvious now. She really should put some ice on it as soon as possible, get it elevated, but first she had to get back down to the garage and drive herself home. And she wasn’t exactly sure how she was going to manage that.
A light tap sounded on the door. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Yes,’ she said curtly. ‘I’ll be right out.’ Helen stood up on one leg and hopped to the basin. She turned on the tap and splashed a little water on her face. There was a stack of cotton handtowels on a shelf to her right, and she took one, dabbing her face and hands dry before tossing it into a wicker basket under the bench. What a ludicrous waste of resources. Fair enough, at least he wasn’t using paper, but who washed his precious handtowels? And pressed and folded them and put them back on the shelf? That kind of conspicuous opulence sickened Helen. It was just as well she wouldn’t be working here. She wouldn’t have been able to stomach it.
When Helen opened the door a moment later, the MD was standing with his hands in his pockets, looking out through the wall of glass across the city. He came to attention when she appeared, taking a few tentative steps towards her.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked, doing a pretty good job of sounding sincere. ‘Were you sick?’
‘No, it passed,’ Helen said gruffly. ‘Where are my things? Please.’
‘Um, well, they’re right over here,’ he said, crossing to a sitting area on the other side of the office.
Helen followed, half hopping, half hobbling, towards a long, low, brown suede couch, the kind she’d seen in ads for European furniture that cost about the same as a small Korean car. It was flanked by two matching armchairs that sat like sentinels either end of an enormous glass and steel coffee table. Helen had only ever seen offices like this in the movies, where they were inhabited by business barons played by Alec Baldwin or Andy Garcia. She hadn’t thought they existed in the real world.
Helen spotted her bag and folder on one of the armchairs, her shoes placed neatly together on t
he floor. On the coffee table was a tray with a jug of water and a glass, as well as a small bottle of soda water, and an ice bucket with what looked like a tea towel draped over its side.
‘I thought you might need a glass of water,’ he was saying. ‘I didn’t know if you’d prefer soda water if your stomach’s upset. But I can get you some tea, whatever . . .’
Helen looked at him, frowning. ‘Thank you, but I’m leaving now.’
‘You can’t,’ he said. ‘What about the interview?’
‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’
‘No, I’m not,’ he said seriously.
‘I think I’ll pass all the same,’ she said. ‘I’ve had enough humiliation for one day.’
‘Helen, stop,’ he said. ‘You need to get off that ankle for a while. I’ve got some ice here.’ He gathered together the ends of the tea towel and lifted it out of the ice bucket.
‘This is ridiculous,’ she muttered.
‘No, it’s actually the sensible thing to do.’
‘And I will do it, when I get home.’
‘How are you going to make it home on that ankle?’
‘That’s not your problem.’
‘It is, in fact. You injured yourself on the premises. I want to make sure you’re okay before you leave.’
‘I’m not going to sue you if that’s what you’re worried about.’
‘No, I’m worried about you,’ he said loudly. Helen blinked. He took a breath. ‘Are you always this stubborn?’
‘I’m not stubborn,’ she protested. ‘I’m never stubborn. No one’s ever called me stubborn in my life.’
‘Then prove it.’
The fact was, her ankle was killing her. The pressure was building painfully, it felt like it was about to burst. She had to get it elevated.
‘Fine, if you insist.’ She limped around the coffee table and sat down on the couch.
‘Put your foot up here.’ He patted the seat further along.
Helen raised her leg and swung it around to rest on the couch. He gently lifted her foot and propped a loose cushion underneath, then arranged the makeshift ice pack over the site of the swelling. ‘Does that feel about right?’
She nodded. The relief was immediate, the pain recoiling at once on contact with the ice.
‘Now, would you like plain water or soda?’
‘Nothing, thanks,’ she mumbled.
He shook his head and poured water into the glass anyway, before pulling the coffee table over closer so she could reach it. Then he sat back in an armchair, shifting it slightly so that he was facing her directly.
‘There’s no need to nursemaid me,’ Helen said irritably. ‘You can go back to your work. I won’t make a sound, and I’ll be out of your way in ten minutes. Fifteen, tops.’
‘We might as well do the interview while you’re sitting there.’
She glared at him. ‘Why are you doing this? Haven’t you had enough fun at my expense yet?’
He was clearly bewildered. ‘I didn’t find what happened to you funny, Helen, and I don’t know what I did to give you that impression. I was only trying to help.’
He looked almost wounded. Helen felt bad: of course he’d helped her, she’d thought he was lovely till she’d realised he’d hoodwinked her.
‘Look, I am grateful, you were very kind, but . . .’
‘But what?’
‘You lied to me. You took advantage of the situation to get me to tell you things I never would have said if I’d known who you were. And you knew that.’
He nodded. ‘Okay, I can understand how you might see it that way. But I didn’t mean to take advantage, and I won’t use anything you said against you.’
‘Or Gemma? The things I told you that she said –’
‘You don’t think I’m aware that the staff say negative things about me behind my back? When you’re in my position it’s par for the course. I’ve whinged about bosses behind their backs, everybody does. People say things all the time they never expect to get back to the person. My ego is not so great that I’d penalise someone for it.’
Helen considered him, still guarded. ‘So you’re not going to sack Gemma?’
‘Of course not.’
She wasn’t convinced.
‘I told you that anything you said would stay in the garage,’ he said, placing a hand to his heart as he had earlier. ‘You have my word.’
‘I don’t know if your word is worth all that much,’ Helen countered. ‘You lied to me. You should have told me who you were.’
‘I didn’t know who you were till I was crouched on the floor at your feet,’ he reminded her. ‘Tell me how you would have handled it if I’d suddenly said, “Oh, hey, I’m the MD, by the way. I’ll be doing your interview today.”’
Helen imagined the scene. She probably would have thrown up all over him.
‘You were shaken, and hurt,’ he went on. ‘I wasn’t going to make it any worse for you.’
‘Then you shouldn’t have grilled me for information afterwards.’
‘I didn’t grill you –’
She looked at him dubiously. ‘Come on, “Get it off your chest,”’ she mimicked. ‘“You’ll feel better.”’
He sighed, sitting forward in his chair as he clasped his hands together. He met her eyes directly. ‘Let me explain something to you, Helen. Ever since I started here, people have been lying to me, left, right and every place in between, keeping things from me, picking and choosing what they tell me. Gemma’s a prime offender. I don’t know if there’s anyone I can trust around here. At best they just tell me what they think I want to hear, which isn’t any good to me either. As soon as people know who I am, straightaway they start treating me differently. You don’t know what that’s like, Helen.’
Oh yes she did. She knew exactly what that was like.
‘So I admit, I enjoyed being incognito for a while, hearing what you really had to say, instead of answers you were probably coached to say.’
How did he know that?
‘But I wasn’t lying in wait to snare you, Helen. Call it coincidence, or call it fate, but I think it just may have given us a golden opportunity to have an honest working relationship,’ he said. ‘And I can’t tell you how invaluable that would be to me right now.’
Helen regarded him curiously. ‘Despite the fact that you know I detest advertising?’
He shrugged. ‘Well, you know what they say – “Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.” Not that I consider you an enemy,’ he added quickly. ‘But I think you might bring an interesting perspective to the job. That’s if you’ll consider taking it.’
Helen’s head was spinning. This was all getting a bit much. This whole scenario was nothing like she’d expected. The MD was far from being a pig, and he certainly wasn’t coming across as some kind of evil captain of industry. Sure, the office was over the top, but Helen was beginning to feel rather naïve, and very unworldly.
He was watching her closely. ‘Do you need some time to think about it, Helen?’
She nodded. ‘Maybe, yes.’
‘Why don’t you sleep on it over the weekend? See how you feel then.’
‘Thanks . . .’ Helen realised she still didn’t know his name. ‘I don’t know what I’m supposed to call you,’ she said tentatively.
‘Everyone around here calls me MD.’
She hesitated. ‘You meant it when you said you wanted me to be honest?’
He nodded. ‘Absolutely.’
‘Well, truth is, I’d feel a bit silly calling you MD.’
He sighed with obvious relief. ‘Good, because I feel pretty silly being called MD. I promise you it wasn’t my idea. Makes me feel like a position, not a person. Somehow I think that’s the way they like it.’ He stood up and held his hand out to her. ‘Myles Davenport, but please call me Myles. It would be a welcome change to have someone around here call me by my name.’
Helen shook his hand a little shyly. ‘Okay, Myles.’
He smiled. ‘Good.’ He released her hand and walked over to the main door, opening it. ‘Gemma, could you come in here, please?’ He waited by the door till she walked through. She looked surprised when she saw Helen reclining on the couch.
‘Are you all right, Helen?’
Helen was nodding, but the MD answered the question for her.
‘She’s probably sprained her ankle. She won’t be able to get home on her own, so I’d like you to go with her, please. Take a taxi voucher.’
‘My car’s down in the garage,’ Helen piped up.
‘Oh, fine then. Can you drive her car?’ he asked Gemma.
‘Can I?’ Gemma asked Helen in turn.
‘Sure, thanks, if you don’t mind.’
Gemma turned back to look at the MD. ‘So, will I come back to work afterwards?’
He was shaking his head. ‘No, take the afternoon off. Besides, I guess you’ll need someone to pick up your little boy later, Helen?’
‘How do you know I have a little boy?’
Gemma flinched, but the MD didn’t miss a beat.
‘Gemma told me,’ he said, matter-of-factly. ‘You’re available to work the days he’s at preschool, right?’
Helen nodded. ‘Right.’
Gemma could only assume the interview had gone well, but she’d like some confirmation. She caught Helen’s eye, gesticulating wildly using only the features on her face, which was not an easy thing to do.
‘Gemma,’ the MD interrupted, watching her, ‘in case you’re wondering, I’ve offered Helen the job, and she’s going to think about it over the weekend.’ He was at the end of the couch now, carefully lifting the ice pack off Helen’s ankle. ‘How does that feel?’
‘A lot better,’ she said. ‘Thanks, Myles.’
What did she just call him? Gemma felt as if she were on that TV show where the actor walks through the door and has no idea of the scenario on the other side, or the role they have to play. She’d suddenly become driver to the Queen of Sheba who was on a first name basis with the MD. It was bizarre.
Helen was gingerly getting to her feet, with the attentive assistance of the MD.
‘Grab her bag and things there, will you, Gemma?’ he ordered. ‘You’re not putting those shoes back on, okay, Helen?’
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