She wasn’t sure what made him so attractive. His black hair was too wavy, and slightly too long as it curled around his neck. His face was creased with too many lines for his relatively young thirty-odd years. But beneath that olive skin he had a kind of sensual magnetism.
Violet, however, was beyond being flustered. She was humiliated. She didn’t know what to do. Or how to get out of there quickly. This was terrible. Awful. Her cheeks burned with mortification.
‘Look, sit down,’ he said, gesturing at the chair on the opposite side of the desk from him. ‘Please.’
She sank into a chair and stared down into the coffee. Beam me up, Scotty. If the ground could swallow her whole right now, that would be the answer to her prayers.
‘So, it says here you’re Violet Saunders,’ he said, looking at the paperwork in front of him. ‘Is that right?’
She nodded, still staring down at the coffee.
‘I just need to get it right for the police when they come.’
Violet whipped her head up and found his green eyes twinkling at her.
‘Well, at least I can see your face now,’ he told her. ‘I was only joking about the police, by the way. Shall we get on with the interview?’
She stared at him, trying to figure out what he had just said. He was joking about the police. He really did want to interview her. The agony would have to last a little longer. She simply needed to fluff the meeting, fail to get the job and get the hell out of there.
‘I’m sorry about the cake,’ said Violet, finally finding her voice.
‘PMT, was it? Least of my worries, to be honest.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Anyway, you did me a favour. It was a leaving present. But I’m not sure Felicity ever ate anything anyway so you saved me wasting a tenner.’
Violet didn’t reply. The humiliation was still rushing through her body.
‘So you’re out of work at the moment?’
She nodded.
‘It says here you got made redundant before Easter.’
She nodded again.
‘I don’t suppose you’ve got any IT experience, have you?’
This time she shook her head.
Mark Harris stared at her for a beat. ‘Are you always this quiet?’
She thought about it and nodded once more.
His rumpled face split into a warm smile. ‘Are you sure you’re going to be able to answer the hotline if you’re always this quiet?’
Violet blinked at him. ‘The what?’
‘You know, the job you applied for. The Hotline Assistant job.’
She had no idea what he was talking about but he didn’t seem to notice.
He leant back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head. ‘Basically, you’d be answering the phone to our sales force when they are having trouble with their computers,’ he told her. ‘You log the call on the computer and then field the calls on to the rest of the department. Not exactly a laugh a minute but that’s probably why the pay is so low.’
Violet finally plucked up the nerve to string a sentence together. ‘I was sent here for a secretarial position.’
‘You were?’ He frowned and picked up the phone. ‘Cecilia? Mark Harris here. I’ve got a Violet Saunders in front of me. Says she’s a secretary, nothing to do with IT. Right. God, they are useless. I see.’
He hung up and muttered a few words in a language Violet didn’t recognise.
Then he blew out a sigh. ‘Your agency is bloody hopeless. Turns out there’s a secretarial post in the marketing department that you should have been sent for. I should warn you, though. They’re not as much fun as us nerds. A right bunch of smarmy slimeballs.’
So the humiliation could have been avoided if her useless agency hadn’t messed up. Violet sighed and shook her head.
Mark Harris was watching her. ‘You should think about swapping agencies. They’re rubbish. You should have seen the bunch of weirdos they’ve already sent me today. All thought they were the next Bill Gates. Far too over-qualified for this role.’
So it had all been a complete waste of time. Like everything in her life. Except Sebastian.
Suddenly aware of a long silence, Violet looked up to find Mark Harris studying her. He stared at her for a long time until she was so uncomfortable that she shuffled in her seat.
He broke out of his reverie and smiled. ‘So? What about it?’ he said. ‘Think you can handle it?’
She was shocked. ‘You’re offering me the job?’
Despite the cake thing. And the complete lack of experience.
‘If only to keep you out of prison,’ he said, still smiling.
‘But I can’t do it,’ stammered Violet.
‘You can answer the phone, can’t you?’ He leaned forward on the desk, staring at her with his green eyes. ‘Look, I’m desperate. Felicity left yesterday. Gone to be a footballer’s wife or something. Vacant position for a vacant girl. She didn’t even pick up the phone when it rang. Too busy painting her nails. Surely you can improve on that?’
Violet didn’t know what to say. But she was desperate. She needed a job to pay the mortgage. And the food bill. And the giant credit-card bill for the stupid New You! diet club as well. Surely just sitting there answering the phone wouldn’t be too bad?
‘You want to start tomorrow?’
She looked up at him and, after a brief internal struggle, finally nodded.
‘Great. See you in the morning at nine o’clock sharp.’
And that was it. Interview over. Violet had a new job.
She just needed the new body to go with it.
Chapter Seven
KATHY WAS FED up. She’d had one shake for breakfast. Make that one disgusting, undrinkable diet shake for breakfast. Now it was mid-morning and she was desperate for something to eat with her coffee. Like a danish pastry. Followed by an iced bun. And a doughnut.
‘Was it one sugar?’ called Mavis from the kitchen.
Kathy rolled her eyes. ‘Two, please.’
She had worked in the shop for over a month and they had had coffee every morning. But then, Mavis was about one hundred years old, so perhaps she was entitled to be a little vague.
‘There you are,’ said Mavis, making her slow way back across the small shop.
Kathy took the mug from her. ‘Thanks.’
She took a sip and winced. There was no sugar in the drink. And it didn’t taste like coffee either. The fact that the charity shop raised funds for the Alzheimer’s Society was, perhaps, rather apt.
Luckily, it was a subject close to Kathy’s heart. Her mother had suffered from dementia for many years. Sadly the strain had got too much for her dad, who had passed away a few years previously from a heart attack.
In the end, Kathy had to move in with her mother and take charge. As the years passed, whole weeks went by when she didn’t recognise Kathy. Her mother lived in her own world, quite content.
But Kathy wasn’t. She was an only child and the strain of losing her dad and the slow decline of her mum was overwhelming. So she began to comfort eat – and had never stopped.
Not even when her mum had looked at her one day and said, ‘You’re a bit fat, aren’t you?’
Kathy had sobbed herself to sleep that night. And most nights since.
She had expected to feel a little relieved when her mum passed away from kidney complications at the end of the previous year. But the only relief was that her mother was no longer in pain. Now, the pain was all Kathy’s. There was no focus in her life. And no family either. In the end, she couldn’t bear the solitude and moved away. A new start and hopefully a new life.
She sold the family home and rented a cheap flat on the edge of town while she decided what to do with her life.
But she’d been in the area for a month and was desperately lonely. She thought the job would help her socially but Mavis wasn’t exactly party central. And the weight-loss club was terribly quiet too.
Now that she no longer had her mother to take care of, Kath
y’s life was empty. As empty as the shop she found herself working in. No company at home; no customers to chat to during the day. Some evenings, Kathy felt like screaming at the unfairness of it all. But instead she bottled up her desperation and found comfort in food. Glorious food, which was always available, always there to soothe her pain.
Kathy sighed and took another sip of her drink. The shop was too quiet to make any money. It needed a complete overhaul to drag it into the new century, let alone the new decade, but Mavis was apt to be offended by any suggestion of change. So Kathy turned up each day, smiled at the infrequent customers and then went home.
‘Would you like a chocolate digestive?’ asked Mavis, fishing a packet out of her handbag.
It was the first sensible thing she’d said all morning.
Maggie was bored as well. She’d opted for a cereal bar for breakfast. It had needed two cups of tea to wash away the taste and to get some moisture back into her mouth. And there was no way she could have a cup of tea without a little something on the side.
So it was only ten o’clock in the morning and she had already eaten her way through the packet of cake bars that she had bought earlier in the week.
The television blared out from the corner of the lounge. There was nothing else for her to do. The house was immaculate and it was too early to attack the garden. Not that there was much weeding to be done there either. She had hoovered every room the previous day. There wasn’t an inch of dust anywhere in the house. Except in her brain.
Maggie felt like a prisoner in her own home. Gordon had never wanted her to go back to work when Lucy was growing up and Maggie had enjoyed spending the time with her daughter. But long gone were the days of gossiping with other mums outside the school gates. Lucy was all grown up and had left school two years ago. Whilst she was moving on with her life, Maggie’s had ground to a halt. She didn’t know what she wanted to do and so did nothing, day after day.
Not that Gordon had complained at all. As long as his dinner was on the table every night, he didn’t care. It wasn’t as if Maggie could even talk to him about it. They barely spoke at all about themselves these days. The topics of conversation rarely ventured beyond Gordon’s business and Lucy. Then, as soon as dinner was over, the television was switched back on and they settled down in front of the soaps with the biscuit tin.
Maggie crumpled up the cake packet and flicked channels. At least the Jeremy Kyle Show made her feel better. The day’s topic was, ‘He slept with my mother and now she’s pregnant!’
Those people had real problems, Maggie told herself as she reached for another packet of biscuits.
The classroom was quiet. Everyone was concentrating on their fashion designs.
The lecturer bent down to talk to Lucy. ‘Hi,’ she said in a low voice. ‘How’s it going?’
Lucy crumpled up her piece of paper. ‘Crap. I can’t get the sleeves right.’
She had been starving hungry after that ridiculous shake for breakfast and consequently pigged out on burger and chips at lunchtime in the college canteen. Now riddled with guilt, she couldn’t concentrate at all.
The lecturer smoothed out the paper. ‘Let’s have a look.’
Lucy shrugged her shoulders. The military jacket she had drawn was different but wearable. The design could grace any number of Top Shop stores.
‘It’s great,’ the lecturer told Lucy.
‘It’s not good enough,’ snapped Lucy, angry with herself.
‘For who?’
‘For me.’
The lecturer smiled. ‘You’re a perfectionist, Lucy. And that’s good. But you’ve also got to start believing in your work.’
Lucy shrugged her shoulders. What was the point?
‘Why else would I suggest you apply for Central Saint Martins?’
Lucy stared up at her, her blue eyes wide with shock. ‘You’re kidding, right?’
The lecturer shook her head. ‘You’re gonna walk your A levels in a month’s time. You’ll get top grades. Listen to me, you’ve got real potential. And I’m telling you to go for it.’
Lucy sat back in her chair. She couldn’t imagine it. Her at Central Saint Martins College of Art and Design? The same London design college where Stella McCartney went. And Matthew Williamson.
But she’d be like a baby elephant crashing around in such a trendy college where everyone was going to be thin and gorgeous.
‘It’s time to start believing in yourself,’ the lecturer told her.
Lucy sighed. If only it were that easy.
Wednesday night was practice night in the cricket nets. A two-hour session to get ready for the season ahead. Truth be told, practice night consisted of half an hour of bowling practice and two hours getting drunk in the clubhouse afterwards.
Edward was trying to nurse his pint through the evening to stop himself having more than one but the lads kept buying him one round after another.
There hadn’t been time to cook dinner between leaving work and heading out, so he had grabbed a cheeseburger, fries and onion rings on the way. But now that the baskets of chicken and chips had arrived at the table, he still couldn’t stop himself tucking into the food.
The practice session hadn’t been great. His energy levels had slumped and he had been barely able to make the run-up when bowling. Which was hardly surprising when he was so tired these days he drove everywhere, unable to walk any distance at all.
‘Come on, big guy,’ said Mike. ‘What’s wrong with you?’
‘Yeah, you big miserable bastard,’ said Pete, replacing the empty glass with a full one. ‘You been given six months to live?’
Edward rubbed his chest but smiled back at his friends. If only they knew.
Chapter Eight
VIOLET WAS QUAKING as she got dressed into the same black trouser suit as the previous day. She hadn’t worn a skirt since school. And there were no high heels in her closet. No skinny stiletto was going to support her tree-trunk legs. Just sensible black shoes.
She paired her suit with yet another black top. All her tops were black. Apparently, black was slimming. But nothing hid her double chin. Or her nerves.
She’d scoffed half a loaf of bread that morning, just to steady herself. The diet would have to wait for another day. Friday would be diet day. Thursday was going to be stressful enough without having to worry about food.
Sebastian had stayed over the previous night but had left before seven o’clock. He liked to hit the gym before starting work at some investment bank in the town. She’d never quite understood what his job entailed. His work parties were a complete nightmare, full of braying men and skinny women all talking about their iPads and flash cars.
Violet lived only a couple of miles from the office but hadn’t contemplated walking. She never walked anywhere. It was far too exhausting. So she inched her way into town in the rush-hour traffic. Car-parking spaces were a duel to the death at ten to nine in the morning but she finally found one and headed towards Mason & Mason.
She was quaking at the thought of the new job. New people to talk to. New people to stare at her and think she was some kind of fat freak. And as for Mark Harris … her stomach churned just thinking about seeing him every day.
She took a deep breath and went in. She was just about to step up to the receptionist when a familiar voice spoke behind her.
‘So you decided to come back, I see.’
She turned round to face her new manager. He was grinning at her. Violet felt her cheeks grow warm as she flushed pink.
‘Come on then,’ he said.
She followed him as he walked towards the lift with a swagger in his step. She stayed silent in the lift, not wanting to say anything wrong.
Once on the third floor, she followed Mark to the department. This was her new workplace. There was a group of four desks, one of which was empty. The desks were divided with a low partition.
Mark gestured at the only empty desk. ‘This is you. Feel welcome to get rid of anything personal
that Felicity left behind. Rest assured, she took all her Peter Andre photos with her.’
Violet looked down at the desk. There was a huge sheaf of papers pinned to the two walls of the partition. Most of them seemed to be photos of cute cats wearing bows. And naked firemen with strategically placed helmets.
‘Right,’ hollered Mark above the hubbub of conversation. ‘This is Violet. She’s taking over from Felicity. All right?’
A few nods in reply but everyone stayed silent.
Violet was embarrassed at the attention. She glanced at the three people who were seated around her. One of them was the grumpy woman whom she had met the previous day.
‘This is Julie,’ said Mark. ‘She’s our database manager. Don’t ask her about her kids ’cos she’ll tell you. And don’t try to take any of her Maltesers if she’s having a bad morning. You two should get on famously.’
His eyes twinkled at her and Violet found herself blushing even more at his hint of chocolate theft. She looked at Julie and tried to smile, but Julie didn’t smile back.
‘This is Wendy,’ Mark carried on, indicating the dark-haired girl sitting next to her. ‘She’s good at emails and all things to do with the internet. Just back after giving birth to her very own Messiah six months ago.’
Wendy gave them a weary smile. ‘I’ve also got a toddler. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep for two years.’
‘And this is Anthony,’ Mark said, pointing at the young guy who had been playing on his BlackBerry until that point. ‘Fresh out of university, thought he’d gain valuable experience in IT before hitting the big time in the City of London. Poor sod is only now finding out what he’s let himself in for. He covers all the hardware stuff.’
Anthony nodded in greeting before hiding back behind his screen.
‘So?’ carried on Mark. ‘Everything OK this morning?’
‘Corum is up and running again,’ said Julie.
‘Corum is the sales reps’ database,’ Mark told Violet. ‘So no more problems?’
Julie shrugged her shoulders. ‘Probably but that’s what you get for buying a piece of shit software.’
The Desperate Bride’s Diet Club Page 5
