It would be a relief to get back into a routine. Sam had arranged to see Ted Dempsey this Thursday again, and the Blairs were due back on the eighth. Sam had already sent an email to welcome them home and set up another appointment.
She had still had no luck contacting Mr Buchanan. She’d had to appeal to Sheila for help in the end.
‘I’ve emailed him repeatedly to introduce myself, but he hasn’t replied,’ Sam told her.
‘Then call him.’
‘I have, but I can’t get past his assistant. I leave messages with her, but he doesn’t answer those either.’ Sam paused. ‘The thing is, I don’t understand why he would subscribe to the service and then not take advantage of it.’
‘You have a point,’ Sheila muttered. ‘Let me just look at his file.’
Sam waited while she checked the details.
‘Oh well, this may explain it. Mr Buchanan’s subscription is paid by the company that contracted him. It’s part of his package. He either doesn’t realise, or he doesn’t understand what we’re all about. Have you sent him information about the kind of services we provide?’
‘Yes, I used the blurb you gave me. But I couldn’t tell you if he’s read it. Like I said, he hasn’t replied to anything.’
‘You’re going to have to get his attention somehow, Samantha,’ said Sheila. ‘Be creative. Think of it as a challenge. Once you have him on board, I have more clients for you.’
Sam knew she’d been half hoping Sheila would just fix the problem for her. But instead it had turned into some kind of test. If she didn’t get Mr Buchanan on board, she would not be given any more clients. As soon as Fiona heard of her conundrum she told Sam not to worry, she’d fix it. That was Fiona’s way. She had a degree in marketing and was responsible for public relations for what was, according to Fiona, the biggest accounting firm in the city. If she couldn’t get Mr Buchanan’s attention, it wasn’t worth getting, as far as she was concerned. She was coming over tonight to help Sam compose an email message for Mr Buchanan. Something he couldn’t ignore.
‘What about a singing telegram?’ said Liz.
Liz had tagged along with Fiona, for moral support, she claimed. The moral support had come in the shape of a bottle of nice merlot, and now they’d had too much to drink and had stopped making sense. Fiona was getting just a little impatient with the pair of them. She was taking the task quite seriously, but Sam was finding it hard to care any more.
‘Sorry Fiona, it’s just so frustrating,’ Sam sighed. ‘This guy either doesn’t read his emails or he just doesn’t bother answering them.’
‘People get a lot of junk email,’ said Fiona. ‘It’s easy to ignore something if you don’t know what it’s about. And Wife for Hire does sound a bit suss. Did you try calling him?’
Sam nodded. ‘A few times. His secretary or assistant or whoever didn’t seem that interested. Maybe she’s a bit suspicious too.’
Liz reached for the bottle and refilled her glass. She handed it to Sam. ‘I think you should pull out the big guns. Bombard him. Send him so many emails it clogs up his mailbox and causes a major glitch in the system, and he has to call the helpdesk.’
Fiona looked at her, frowning. ‘He’s an IT exec, Liz. I think he’d know how to dump the contents of his inbox.’
‘Mm.’ Liz took a swig from her glass. ‘What about a strippergram, then?’
‘Are you offering?’ Sam grinned.
‘No, really, you could show up at his office wearing nothing but a sandwich board with Wife for Hire written across it in big letters. That’d get his attention.’
Sam pulled a face. ‘I want him to hire me, I don’t want to make him ill.’
‘I thought we took a vow not to make derogatory comments about our bodies any more,’ Fiona reminded her.
‘Fine, if I went into his office wearing only a sandwich board,’ Sam paused, starting to giggle, ‘seeing as I’m so drop-dead gorgeous, he wouldn’t be able to resist me, and . . .’
‘What?’
‘He couldn’t afford me!’
Monday morning
Hal Buchanan stepped off the train at Martin Place Station and walked with the throng towards the exit. IGB had provided a car and a parking space in the basement, but he didn’t imagine he’d be using either in the foreseeable future. If he had more time he could probably walk, his apartment in Ultimo was not even half an hour away on foot. But he was not a morning person and he never had been. So he woke with only enough time to shower and dress. He’d grab a coffee at the café at the base of his apartment building before taking the subway uptown.
He arrived at the foyer of the IGB tower and passed through the security screens using his magnetic identity card.
‘Good morning Mr Buchanan.’
Hal smiled and nodded at the receptionist. He felt guilty that so many people seemed to know his name yet he couldn’t return the courtesy. But he was only one new person for them to remember, while he had to contend with a bewildering sea of names, faces and places. So he focused on work. That was why he was here after all.
He took the lift to the twenty-second floor and walked through a series of glass corridors to his office.
‘Hey Angie,’ he said, passing her desk.
‘Morning Hal,’ she returned with a dazzling smile. The company had also provided him with an assistant. A young, ambitious, attractive assistant. He wished they could have picked someone older and a little less attractive. He had become wary of women like Angie. Perhaps he was being unfair, perhaps in fact he was cutting off his nose to spite his own face. Angie was very attractive, and she had that look in her eyes which stated plainly that he only had to ask. He’d seen it before often enough and he couldn’t deny it was more than a little tempting. But he had a new rule – no affairs in the workplace. He hadn’t come here looking for someone. Just the opposite.
He walked into his office and set his briefcase down beside the desk, turning on the computer. He sat down, keyed in his password and started checking his emails. Scrolling through the inbox, he came to an abrupt halt.
Angie appeared in the doorway to his office. ‘I have your mail, Hal,’ she announced. She could have handed it to him as he passed her desk, but this was her ritual every morning. Now she would ask him if he wanted coffee, even though he had told her quite clearly from the start that he didn’t expect her to make him coffee.
‘Can I get you a cup of coffee?’ she asked.
‘No, thank you,’ he muttered automatically, frowning at the screen.
Angie couldn’t help herself. She edged around the desk and placed one hand on the back of his chair, leaning forward. If he turned his head now he’d be eye level with her breasts, and she knew it.
‘Hey, that’s clever,’ she remarked, pointing at the screen. She read the subject lines out loud.
From Sent Subject
Samantha Holmes Friday 10:22PM Would you
Samantha Holmes Friday 10:22PM PLEASE!!!!
Samantha Holmes Friday 10:22PM Open This
Samantha Holmes Friday 10:21PM Bloody Email!!
Samantha Holmes Friday 10:21PM This is NOT an ad
Samantha Holmes Friday 10:21PM OR junk mail
Samantha Holmes Friday 10:21PM I WORK FOR YOU!
‘What do you suppose that’s all about?’ she asked.
‘Obviously someone’s trying to get my attention,’ said Hal, stroking his chin. ‘I guess they’ve succeeded.’
‘Fiona, you won’t believe it,’ said Sam breathlessly down the phone. ‘Mystery Man finally made contact!’
‘Fantastic! What did he say?’
‘Well, I haven’t spoken to him. He emailed.’
‘Okay, so what did he email?’
‘“You’re not serious?”’
‘Go on.’
‘That’s it.’
‘That’s it?’
‘At least it’s something,’ Sam insisted. ‘Until now, I wasn’t even sure he existed.’
‘True,’ Fio
na murmured thoughtfully. ‘So what are you going to do now?’
‘I replied of course. I said I wasn’t sure if he meant was I serious that he’s already a client, or serious about the service. And I asked him to call to set up an appointment.’
‘Well, good luck.’
‘Thanks for your help, Fiona, you know, with the email and everything.’
‘So you’re glad you didn’t go with the sandwich board?’
Sam laughed. ‘Just slightly.’
‘It might have been quite effective.’
‘Mm, I guess that’s something we’ll never know.’
Tuesday morning
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Answer to your Query
dear ms holmes
i meant are u serious about your *service*? are there really grown adults who need someone to make their appointments for them or book them into restaurants? i think i can do that for myself. thanks anyway
yours truly
hal buchanan
Tuesday afternoon
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Our Services
Dear Mr Buchanan
There are many other services we could provide. I would be happy to discuss the possibilities with you at a meeting at your earliest convenience. My number is 9555 5940.
Kind regards,
Samantha Holmes
Wednesday morning
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Our Services
dear ms holmes
can u give me a hint? i really dont understand what u could do for me
hal b
‘hal b’ was giving Sam the shits. She had the feeling he was taking the Mickey. She needed him as a client, but he obviously thought he was above this. She couldn’t force it on him, but maybe she could give him a little serve in return.
Wednesday afternoon
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: For example
Dear Mr Buchanan
Perhaps I could teach you some basic punctuation, or at least edit your emails for you, so that you’re not mistaken for a teenage boy in a chat room.
Yours sincerely
Samantha Holmes
Thursday
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: For example
nobody likes a smart ass
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: No subject
Ass?
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Ass?
not familiar with the term ms holmes? i find it hard to believe you havent been called a *smart ass* before
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Ass?
Smart ARSE maybe, but not smart ASS. The Yanks have taken over just about everything else in our culture, let’s try to preserve a little of our own language.
Friday
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Ass?
sorry, i wasnt aware of the distinction. you see i happen to be a *yank*
Shit! said Sam out loud, staring at the computer screen. How was she supposed to know he was American?
God, what was she going to do? She had no hope of getting him as a client now. She wondered what to say to Sheila. Could she lie about it? What if he ended up making a complaint? Bugger! If only she hadn’t been a smart arse he wouldn’t have called her a smart ass and none of this would have happened. She had to learn to keep her comments to herself.
Sam heard the phone ring once and then stop. Jess would have pounced on it straightaway.
‘Mu-um! Telephone!’ she called from downstairs.
Sam picked up the receiver, hearing the clunk as Jess hung up. ‘Hello?’
‘Hello, Ms Holmes?’
‘Speaking.’
‘It’s Hal Buchanan.’
Sam’s heart missed a beat and she sat up straight in her chair. Goodness knows why.
‘Mr Buchanan, hello, um, sorry, about the email. I didn’t realise . . .’
‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘Your accent. It’s not very strong. You don’t sound that American.’
There was a momentary pause. ‘I take it that’s your idea of a compliment?’
Shit. What was the matter with her? She swallowed. ‘Sorry.’
‘Look, I’m calling about this service of yours.’
‘Oh?’ Sam couldn’t believe he was still interested.
‘Maybe there is something you can do for me after all.’
‘There is?’ She was prepared to do anything. Well, within reason.
‘I have to attend a function next Thursday evening –’
‘Look, I think you might have the wrong idea,’ Sam sighed, interrupting. ‘This is not an escort service.’
‘I realise that, Ms Holmes. I’m talking about a business function.’
‘Still, it’s not normally the kind of thing we do.’
‘I thought you’d do anything?’
What was he, a mind reader? ‘Well, within reason.’
‘This is within reason.’ He sighed loudly. ‘Look, I’m not hitting on you. I don’t even know what you look like.’
‘What’s that got to do with it?’ Sam said indignantly.
‘Plenty, if I was hitting on you!’
She didn’t know what to say to that. She supposed he had a point.
‘Here’s the thing, I’ve only been in Australia a couple of months,’ he explained. ‘I don’t know anybody, so I don’t go out, and as a result I haven’t met anyone I can ask when I do get an invitation.’
Sam hesitated. He sounded like a bit of a loser but she needed him as a client. ‘Okay, I’ll do it,’ she relented. ‘Let’s call it a one-time-only special opening offer, and we’ll never mention my earlier faux pas again. Deal?’
He laughed. ‘Deal, Ms Holmes.’
‘You’d better call me Samantha.’
‘Oh, like the witch on TV,’ he commented.
She groaned inwardly. What was it with Americans? They acted like the entire universe had its reference point in Hollywood.
‘I’m going to have to ask you to meet me there,’ he continued. ‘I haven’t really mastered the roads yet. I hope that’s not too much trouble?’
Good, she’d be able to get away when she’d had enough.
‘Not a problem at all, Mr Buchanan,’ she said, resuming a businesslike tone.
‘Please, call me Hal.’
‘Okay Hal, let me take down the details. Next Thursday evening, you said?’
Wednesday
‘Hi, it’s me, are you home?’
‘No, I’m at the movies. This is my answering service. Pretty lifelike, isn’t it?’ said Max in a droll tone.
‘Okay,’ Sam said briskly, ignoring her. ‘I’m coming round to borrow your pashmina.’
‘My what?’
‘Your pashmina. You know, the emerald-coloured shawl,’ she explained impatiently. ‘With the silk fringing.’
‘Oh, is that what you call it? It should be around somewhere. I haven’t worn it for a while. It might need cleaning.’
‘I figured that, that’s why I’m coming tonight.’
‘What do you want it for?’
‘The thing, tomorrow night.’
‘Oh, the thing! That’s right, I nearly forgot. With the mysterious Americano.’
‘I’ll be there in about an hour, okay? I just have to wait for Jeff to collect the kids.’
‘Oh? He’s taking them in the middle of the week?’
‘Well, I needed them minded and he was going to have them from tomorrow night anyway, s
o he offered to pick them up a day earlier.’
‘He’s turning into a regular Superdad,’ remarked Max. ‘Even taking time off work? Wonders never cease.’
‘Mm,’ Sam grunted. ‘At least it means I can use the voucher Alex gave me for the day spa.’
‘Jeez, talk about overkill.’
‘Do you think? It’s just that this is freaking me out. It feels like a blind date.’
‘It’s not a blind date. It’s work, isn’t it?’
‘I know, but I can’t help feeling selfconscious. Especially since I tried on my black dress.’
‘Which one?’
‘The sleeveless one.’
‘That’s why you want my shawl?’
Sam sighed heavily. ‘I feel like a package of meat you get from the butchers, you know how they use those dark plastic bags? And they’re all lumpy and misshapen? And my arms look like cocktail sausages dangling through the handles.’
Max laughed. ‘How’d you come up with that?’
‘I looked in the mirror,’ she sighed. ‘Oh Max, what if he expects me to be twenty with long blonde hair, a flat stomach and slim arms?’
‘So you’re not twenty and you’re not blonde, you’re a beautiful, thirtysomething brunette, and you’re going to wear my pashma thingy so he won’t see your cocktail sausages.’
Sam groaned.
‘You realise he’s probably middle-aged, fat and balding.’
‘I should be so lucky.’
Thursday
Hal Buchanan had arranged to meet Sam at the entrance to the Inter-Continental Hotel at seven. She was ten minutes early, precisely as planned. Sam hated rushing, and she did not want to arrive red-faced and flustered because she’d been caught in traffic. Though now, standing here in the path of a fairly robust breeze, she wondered if she oughtn’t go inside and wait in the foyer before her hairstyle was ruined.
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