From The Moment I Saw Him ....

by MacDonald, Catherine

  “I’m thirty two.”

  He refilled my glass. “And is there anyone special in your life, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “I don’t mind, and there isn’t.”

  I swirled the golden liquid around in my glass, wondering how much I should reveal.

  “I did have a very long affair with someone at Oxford, but he left to work in America after we graduated, and we couldn’t make it work long distance - so -”

  I felt disinclined to finish the tale.

  “Very fortunate for the rest of us,” he murmured.

  I debated as to whether I should ask him about his own life, but in view of what Janie had said about dumped girlfriends, I decided it was not appropriate.

  We chatted about more trivial matters. He was interested to hear about the flat in Wapping, although he lived in Chelsea, a far more glamorous location. I was enjoying the sophisticated surroundings of the hotel, and found him very easy to talk to once I had relaxed. Perhaps the champagne helped. After an hour, he looked across at a clock on the wall.

  “I would have loved to take you to dinner, but alas, I’m due to meet a potential client,” he said apologetically. “Maybe we can have dinner on another occasion?”

  I took the hint.

  “Yes, that would be nice. Anyway, it’s time I headed home. Thank you very much for the champagne.”

  I rose, he helped me on with my coat, and I was reminded of Nick, whose manners were always excellent. He walked to the entrance of the hotel with me.

  “Shall we call you a cab?” he enquired.

  “No - I’m going to walk for a bit. Thanks anyway.”

  I didn’t like to say that the cab fare to Wapping was more than I could afford.

  “Well, goodbye then, Eithne. See you tomorrow.”

  He stood there, smiling, as I walked away. I felt that, smooth operator or not, he would be a definite plus as far as agency life was concerned.

  Chapter 19

  Robin called me into his office the next day, to plan a forthcoming client meeting. As I was leaving, he said to me

  “The grapevine’s been humming since yesterday. I hear you went for a drink with our esteemed Mr Inglis.”

  I leaned against the doorpost, feeling irritated.

  “Honestly, haven’t people got anything better to do? I go for drinks with lots of people.”

  “Yes, but he’s known to be particularly discriminating.”

  He hesitated, as if calculating what to say next.

  “I think you’re well able to take care of yourself, Eithne, but please don’t fall for his personal brand of charm. He does have a reputation. Actually, I’ve always thought he was a bit of a shit.”

  “It’s Nick all over again,” I exclaimed with a smile.

  “Nick?”

  “My old boyfriend - people were always warning me off him to begin with. Don’t worry, I’ve had lots of practice since then.”

  I was beginning to make friends among the other staff now I was settling in. One person I liked very much was a young art director called Mia Brown. She reminded me of Sofia Kinski to look at, with tumbling black hair and an extravagant dress sense, but there the similarity ended. She was warm and friendly, we shared the same, slightly jaded outlook on things, and would often meet for lunch to discuss what was happening in our own lives, as well in as the agency.

  Mia had heard about my Savoy trip, and hastened to fill me in with some relevant background.

  “Do be careful there, Eithne,” she advised. “People like Ian Inglis should only be let out with a health warning - can cause cardiac problems.”

  “Tell me more,” I invited. We were sharing a pizza at a small cafe round the corner.

  “Well....” she frowned. “From what I can gather, he’s very attentive to start with, and gives his victim a great time, but then he quickly gets bored and walks away. Several girls in the agency have left because of him since I’ve been here. I just thought you should know.”

  I speared a tomato on my fork.

  “My old boyfriend Nick was like that at first,” I said. “After I’d slept with him, when we were at school, he was far less inclined to bother about my feelings and what I wanted. But later on, when we were at Oxford, he did change.”

  I thought with a pang of those happy days back at St Hugh’s. We chewed in silence for a bit.

  “Anyway, thanks for the advice. I’m not sure I’ll need it, I didn’t get the impression he was desperate to see me again.”

  “That’s all part of his strategy.”

  Perhaps it was. I saw Ian in the corridor once or twice, and he greeted me with his polite smile, but no dinner invitation was forthcoming, and I began to think that people were wrong about him. I wasn’t sure if I was glad or sorry - I didn’t want to end up as an Ian Inglis conquest, but I had enjoyed my glimpse of the good life.

  A week later, Ian’s secretary, Mara, rang to ask me to go to a meeting in his office that afternoon. When I got there, Richard May, the head of Planning, was also sitting at the coffee table.

  “Come in, Eithne,” said Ian, with his courteous smile. “We want to brief you about a potential new client. Have you heard of John Warrender and Company?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  I sat down, feeling embarrassed at my lack of knowledge.

  “Don’t worry, that’s one of the reasons that they’re talking to us.”

  Richard explained that the company manufactured a range of upmarket condiments of good quality. The company had the potential to grow substantially with a better marketing and advertising strategy in place, and Mackerras Mackay was one of three agencies being asked to pitch for their business in the coming month.

  “I’m going down to see them tomorrow afternoon. They’re based just outside Guildford,” Ian said. “I’d like you to come with me, to take some notes and put a few intelligent questions, generally make a good impression. Tell Robin you’ll be out of the Agency for the afternoon.”

  “All right.”

  They talked strategy briefly - I couldn’t contribute a lot to that - and then the meeting came to an end.

  “Eithne - Richard has his gnomes doing some background research. Make sure you read it before tomorrow,” Ian said.

  I took the information home with me, and studied it carefully before I went to bed.

  The next morning, I dressed smartly in a new wine coloured suit with a long tailored jacket. Worn with a white silk blouse, I thought it looked business-like and chic at the same time. Ian surveyed me carefully when we met in Reception at the appointed time.

  “You’ll do,” he said, smiling.

  I nearly felt affronted, but pushed the thought away.

  We drove down to the company in Ian’s car, a long, sleek BMW which smelled of leather and expensive aftershave. I couldn’t help but contrast it with Nick’s little black Mini, which had always reeked of cigarette smoke and pot. I was glad that Ian did not smoke, I had never much enjoyed the smell, and it was indelibly associated with Nick for me anyway.

  Ian did not appear to want to make much conversation on the way down. I looked on with interest as the suburbs gave way to more countrified surroundings, and was almost sorry when we arrived at the company headquarters - green fields were a nice change after weeks in town.

  We were due to meet with John Warrender himself. He was a sharp little man, in his late fifties, rather quaintly attired with a buttonhole in his tweedy lapel, but his eyes looked as though they did not miss a trick.

  Coffee was served in his office. Ian dealt very competently with his questions. I even managed to add some comments of my own, and John Warrender was delighted when I asked for more information about the history of the company. It had been started by his grandfather just after the First World War, and had grown very slowly ever since. Now it needed some professional assistance to help it become a bigger player in the market.

  He insisted that we take some jars of a new product in development to try, and
unscrewed one for me to smell and taste.

  “Damsons,” I said at once. My mother had been a great maker of damson pickle and jam when I was younger, and I recognised the distinctive flavour.

  “Well done. You’ve got a good palate,” he exclaimed, pleased.

  The meeting did not finish until nearly five, when we left, laden with information and jars and - I thought - a certain amount of goodwill.

  We drove in silence for a minute or two, while Ian negotiated a difficult piece of road. Then he turned and smiled at me.

  “Great,” he said. “It’s nice to know you’ve got a brain as well as looks. You had him eating out of your hand.”

  I found the first part of this remark extremely insulting.

  “I don’t think you’d say that to a male colleague,” I retorted stiffly. “And do you think I’d be working for Mackerras Mackay if I didn’t have a modicum of intelligence?”

  Ian shot a swift, shrewd glance at me.

  “You’re right. I apologise,” he said at once. “It wasn’t meant to be patronising or sexist, but it’s good to see people realising their potential.”

  There was another short silence, while I smoothed my ruffled feathers. Then Ian said,

  “Are you in a hurry to get back? Only I know a nice little pub on the way home. Perhaps we could have dinner there - and you’ll forgive my lack of tact?”

  It seemed churlish to refuse. Besides, I was hungry.

  The nice little pub turned out to be more of a hotel, and the manager greeted Ian with enthusiasm. I gathered that he was well known there, especially when we were given a very good table in the window. We were early, and the restaurant was quiet.

  “Shall I order for both of us?” Ian asked, as the menus were placed before us.

  “No thank you. I’d prefer to choose my own food,” I said with a polite smile - his earlier remark still rankled.

  He started to say something, but then thought better of it. I was quite enjoying playing him at this game. He did, however, order an excellent bottle of wine.

  “This is mainly for your benefit; I’m driving,” he added, as the waiter filled our glasses.

  A bright fire blazed across the room from us, and a hum of conversation and laughter wafted in from the bar. It was a relaxing scene, and I was happy to sit quietly for a time after the exertions of the afternoon. Ian’s gaze lingered on me across the table.

  “I can’t quite make you out, Eithne,” he said, after a while. “You seem very together on the surface, and yet underneath, I can sense all sorts of hidden depths and contradictions in you. I wonder why that is?”

  “I don’t know. Isn’t that true of everybody to some extent?”

  I took a gulp of wine.

  “I’ve had some very happy times, and some very sad ones too. I suppose I’m much more on the defensive against life than I ever used to be, and I certainly don’t intend to let my heart rule my head in the future. Perhaps that’s what you mean.”

  “One rotten apple shouldn’t spoil the whole barrel,” he murmured.

  “Well, if we’re going to converse in clichés, perhaps I should say that I’ll most definitely be looking before I leap.”

  We both laughed, and the atmosphere lightened. Then the first course arrived, and we talked about the afternoon’s meeting. Ian seemed to think we were in with a good chance.

  “It’ll probably come down to the creative work, but Charlie usually pulls it off,” he said. “We could do with another food account, so here’s hoping.”

  We chatted impersonally about agency matters as we ate our way through an excellent dinner. Neither of us could manage a pudding, but over coffee, he surprised me by saying

  “And what was the real reason you left Marsham and Hunter?”

  I hesitated for a moment. Why did he ask that?

  “I told you before - I wanted to experience life in a different type of agency. Lots of people move on after a couple of years.”

  “And? I don’t think that’s the whole story, is it?”

  “There was one other thing.”

  I decided I might as well tell him - it might have been the wine loosening my tongue.

  “I was at a Sales Conference with my boss and he tried to force his way into my hotel room. He was drunk, but I don’t know what would have happened if I hadn’t managed to shove him out. It was a really horrible experience,” I said, shuddering. “He apologised afterwards, but I couldn’t forget it, more to the point, I really detested him for trying it on. He was married, with kids too...”

  Ian listened in silence. He said gently

  “Did you tell anyone else at the agency? His boss, for example?”

  “No. I didn’t think they’d give a damn. You know what agencies are like, half the staff are shagging the other half anyway. They’d probably have told me not to be a silly little girl.”

  He frowned, his eyes were thoughtful.

  “Yes, but the office stuff usually implies consent between both parties. You shouldn’t have to put up with anything unwanted.” As he finished his coffee, he added “I’m glad you’re out of there. You’ll find things are different in future.”

  He called to the waiter for the bill.

  “Time to get you home, it’s been a long day.”

  Neither of us spoke much in the car, but it was not an awkward silence, more a comfortable one, as if we were older acquaintances than we really were. Ian insisted on driving me back to Wapping, and came round to open the door for me when we arrived.

  “Goodnight, Eithne.”

  He surveyed me solemnly for a moment, and then pulled me towards him. I hadn’t been expecting him to kiss me, but his lips were soft and gentle, there was nothing forceful or threatening, and it didn’t seem out of place. He patted me on the back, and went back round to his side of the car.

  “And just for the record - I’m not married, with kids,” he said with a smile. “Enjoy your weekend.”

  Chapter 20

  Jo was at home when I got in. I was surprised to see her. She was now very happy in a steady relationship with Simon, a lawyer who was in Chambers in the City, and they usually spent the weekends together.

  “Wow! Who was that I saw you kissing goodbye?” she demanded, eyes gleaming. “Don’t tell me you’ve found a replacement for Nick at last?”

  I put my briefcase down with a thump.

  “That’s one of my bosses. It wasn’t much of a kiss, and it was appropriate in the circumstances, so don’t go getting any ideas.”

  “Nice car, too.” She reflected for a moment. “You looked good together, hang on in there, Eithne.”

  I shook my head at her, and went to change into pyjamas and dressing gown, while she made a cup of tea.

  “Where’s Simon?” I queried, as she returned with two mugs and a pack of biscuits. She made a face.

  “His mother’s dog died, so he’s gone up to Norfolk to provide some consolation. He’ll be back tomorrow, though.”

  She fidgeted a bit with her mug, and twiddled a lock of her dark hair.

  “Anyway, I’ve been wanting to talk to you, and this seems a good time. Would you be awfully upset if I moved out? Simon is talking about us living together, there’s the chance of a flat in Belsize Park. I feel bad about letting you down, but....”

  “For heaven’s sake, I won’t mind.”

  I was pleased for her; I took heart from the fact that she had found happiness again after a couple of lonely years.

  In many ways, I would be happy to have the flat to myself. I loved to sit watching the water, there was something uplifting and moving about the Thames in its changing moods. Sometimes, I would daydream, and fancy myself back in older times, when the river was the important hub of a growing city. After the hustle and bustle of agency life, solitude could be very restorative.

  “Are you sure you won’t be lonely?”

  “Well, you know what long hours I work. If I do find it’s a problem, I’ll advertise for a flatmate, but I shall
quite look forward to having the kitchen and bathroom just for me.”

  She made a face, and we both laughed.

  “When were you thinking of leaving?” I said.

  “Not until Christmas. I hope that’s okay.”

  “That’s fine by me.”

  I thought about Ian Inglis over the weekend. It was strange, he reminded me of Nick in small ways, yet in others they were poles apart. Was he interested in me, or was I just another new girl to impress? I would have to wait to see what his next move was; I was far from convinced that I should become any more involved with him.

  With the planning required for the Warrender pitch, my workload, never light, took a turn for the heavier. However, I found it very stimulating. Unlike Marsham and Hunter, where the major decisions had been out of my hands, I was pleased to be consulted and included in every aspect of our work at Mackerras Mackay.

  This was not to say that I was always right - but no-one made you feel a fool if something went belly up, provided you’d done your best along the way. It was a great way to learn.

  A small team of us worked on the Warrender campaign. We only had a month to prepare our strategies and creative work, so there were many late meetings and last minute changes to our plans. Ian made no further move to invite me out - I was half disappointed about this - but I was grateful to him for arranging transport at the agency’s expense to take me back to Wapping if we had been working late. I really couldn’t have faced the tube after such long and hectic days.

  The pitch to the client was on a Thursday towards the end of November, when John Warrender and his fellow directors came to the agency for a marketing and creative presentation. I had a very peripheral role, but was delighted when John made a point of talking to me for a long time afterwards over coffee. My mother had made some suggestions regarding the damson formula, and he was interested in what I had to say, almost to the point of ignoring anybody else.

  When he and his fellow directors were finally ushered out, I started to collect together the layouts and storyboard we had used. Then I heard laughter along the passage, as Ian, Charlie and Rob Mackerras returned to the board room.