by Huston, Judy
Dimity nodded demurely, resisting a strong temptation to snap to attention and bellow “Ma’am! Yes, Ma’am!” Gail stalked into her office. Melissa threw Dimity a sympathetic look and took off in her wake.
“Did you check that person’s credentials before you–”
The door closed on Gail’s voice. Dimity raised her eyes to the ceiling, thanking her lucky stars that she had kept to the truth in her CV and the intranet spiel. Otherwise Gail would probably be summoning the fraud squad.
Sitting down again, she blew out her cheeks in a sigh of regret for what had been, before thinking apprehensively of what was to come.
Well, she’d worked for pains in the past and survived. It was unfortunate, though, that Gail by association would be a constant reminder of Josh, just as Dimity was almost at the stage of being able to put him out of her thoughts for whole minutes at a time.
At a few seconds past two, following a rather depressing sandwich lunch in a nearby park while she kept a close eye on the time, she ventured into Gail’s inner sanctum. From an immaculate office Gail somehow managed to extract a mountain of documents requiring typing, filing, mailing and various other kinds of attention.
“Now,” she went on, while Dimity staggered under the weight of work in her arms, “is everything organised for the reception?”
“Reception?” Dimity racked her brains.
Gail clicked her tongue in irritation.
“I assume you’ve booked the hotel function room and organised the catering? I’ll need a confirmation. And please do something about your desk. Our policy is Clear Surfaces.”
Dismissing Dimity with an imperious wave of her hand she picked up her phone and began snapping orders at some unfortunate person on the other end of the line.
“Should we fasten our seatbelts or what?” Dimity whispered, passing Amanda’s desk. Amanda’s only reply was a wan smile.
After tidying her desk by the simple expedient of shoving everything into drawers, Dimity followed her instinct and tackled Gail’s work in reverse order. Her judgment proved right when Gail appeared an hour later, demanding to know the progress of the item that had been on the bottom of the pile.
“All finished,” Dimity told her with an angelic smile, her triumph sweetened by the flash of disappointment Gail couldn’t hide.
Keeping one step ahead wouldn’t be possible forever, of course, but it was one small victory to chalk up to herself.
It was almost four o’clock before she remembered to ask Amanda about the reception.
“It’s a cocktail party to welcome some overseas visitors to the region,” said Amanda. “The Mayor will be there, I think, and the hotel bosses. The marketing department people have to put in an appearance too.”
“When is it?”
“Two weeks from Friday night. It’s a lead-in to a big tourism convention that starts the following Monday. Gail’s chairing the organising committee for the convention, so she’ll be tied up with pre-convention stuff for the next two weeks, then with the thing itself for another week, thank goodness.”
Amanda raised her eyes in gratitude.
“Melissa’s going on leave at the end of this week, so we should have an easy time,” she added.
“Am I supposed to go to the reception?” asked Dimity, doing a mental check of her wardrobe. Cocktail parties weren’t usually on her agenda, but she did have one flirty little black number she’d bought for Sandy’s engagement party and had never worn since.
Amanda resumed typing furiously as Gail loomed on the horizon.
“Is there a problem?” Gail’s tone made it clear that an answer in the negative would be best for everyone.
“I was wondering if I’m expected to go to the reception,” Dimity said.
Gail made a sound suspiciously like a snort.
“Of course not!” Her eyes zoomed up and down Dimity’s unspectacular, well-fitting dark blue skirt and jacket, as if envisioning her in the hot pink suit and stilettos. “Temporary staff don’t go to these events!”
She walked out, shaking her head.
“Well, excuse me for breathing,” muttered Dimity. “So what’s it to do with me?” she asked Amanda.
“I think whoever’s doing your job is supposed to confirm our function room is available and organise the food and drinks,” Amanda said vaguely. “You’ll need to see Malcolm.”
That sounded simple enough, although the downside was that it meant bringing herself to Malcolm’s attention. Grabbing Shane’s CV, which had been on her desk since Monday, Dimity retraced her steps along the third floor corridor, thankful that this time at least she was wearing sensible shoes.
Malcolm had also returned from Melbourne and was in his office. As she had feared, he welcomed her rapturously, almost salivating at the news that she was temping in the marketing department, and promised to look at Shane’s CV. But he was suddenly all business when she explained the main reason for her visit.
“Sorry, darl,” he said, after checking his computer. “You should have confirmed by last Friday. The room’s been booked by another group for that date.”
So the girl who had walked out without any notice had been supposed to organise the venue. Gail had probably been aware of that, Dimity thought resentfully.
“Don’t you have another room they can use?” she asked, preferring to plead with Malcolm than to admit failure to Gail.
“Nothing available here, but there are plenty of other places in town. Want to check them out with me?” He leered suggestively.
Leaving the CV with him, Dimity spent a fruitless half hour on the phone calling some of the city’s better known function centres. All were annoyingly well organised, fully booked for the relevant date.
Well, the reception was more than two weeks away. She made a mental note to ask Melissa for advice in the morning, then returned to floundering through the ocean of work from Gail that continued to arrive on her desk much faster than she could deal with it.
It was a relief to get home to an empty house. Shane and Leigh had gone out, leaving a mess in the kitchen, but she ignored it in favour of taking Bert for an evening walk. A good stress reliever for them both, she decided. But despite being glad to have the place to herself, she still felt perversely lonely on her return.
Never happy, she thought. Life, for some reason, seemed to have lost its zing.
Hearing her mobile beep in her handbag, she groaned. Probably Shane, wanting her to act as a taxi service.
It was, however, a text message from Sandra.
CHECK EMAILS!
Puzzled, she went through to the back room. Sandra didn’t have a home computer. Maybe she was still at work and had wanted to send Dimity a message that was too long for texting. But surely it would be quicker to phone than to send a long message.
She got the computer going, called up the emails and sat watching as the names popped into the “From” column.
Don Moreton.
Her former boss, the art gallery director. Good. Probably asking her to run one of the occasional weekend workshops the gallery organised for children. It was a low-paid job but one she enjoyed.
Two spam messages which she deleted without reading.
Josh Williams.
Josh Williams?
A few days ago, the thought of him had caused her heart to jump high enough to qualify for the Olympics. The sight of his name in her inbox now triggered a leap of the pure gold medal variety.
While she had been resigning herself to the fact that he had forgotten all about her, he had actually been sending her a message.
Of course it wasn’t necessarily something good.
Maybe the hotel’s sheet had fallen to pieces in the wash and he was sending her a bill for it.
But the subject line was a simple ‘Hi’. That sounded friendly enough.
As if acting of its own volition, her finger clicked the message open. It was short but cordial.
“Hi – thanks again for a great evening. Hope every
thing’s okay with you. If you find you need a lift on Friday after all, get in touch.”
Underneath his name he had put both his mobile phone number and work number.
She was reading the message for the third time when she heard the phone ringing in the kitchen, and dashed to answer it.
“Well?” demanded Sandra. “Are my psychic powers working?”
“I might have known.” Dimity perched on the edge of the table, trying to sound severe. But the warm flood of gladness sweeping through her wouldn’t allow it. “Did you slip him my email address?”
“I wouldn’t have given him your work details or home number,” said Sandra virtuously. “But when he rang and asked for an email address I couldn’t see the harm.”
“He rang you? How could he? I don’t think I even told him your surname!”
“He’s an enterprising chap. Looked up all the city hairdressing salons and rang around them until he found me.” Sandra sounded as smugly pleased as if she had engineered the whole thing.
“What did he say?” Realising she was clutching the phone far too tightly, Dimity tried to relax her fingers.
“Oh, just that he wanted to get a message to you but you kicked him out before he could get your phone number.”
“He didn’t!”
“Well, the first part’s true. So you’ve heard from him?”
Dimity repeated the message verbatim. Sandra whistled appreciatively.
“I feel rotten,” Dimity confessed. “I’m the one who should have got in touch with him to thank him for helping me.”
“He doesn’t seem worried about that,” Sandra pointed out. “The man’s giving you every opportunity to establish contact again short of breaking down your door and dragging you off by the hair.”
Dimity’s eyes narrowed as she visualised this interesting scenario. Then she shook her head.
“If I take up his offer it would probably mean letting him know where I work.”
“Well, do you want to be a woman of mystery for ever? If he’s going to be here on Friday there’s every chance you’ll run into him at the hotel anyway.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” Dimity enjoyed a heart-thumping rush of anticipation, then grimaced. “Talk about a tangled web. But we’re probably making a big deal out of nothing. It’s only an email.”
“Okay, go on kidding yourself.”
“The thing is, should I answer it?”
“If it’s not a big deal, why does it matter?” Sandra sounded exasperated. “For goodness sake, Dim! I don’t remember you shilly-shallying around like this with Ian or what’s-his-name – Tony, wasn’t it? You told them straight you didn’t want to take it further.”
“They were casual dates with guys from the tennis group,” Dimity said defensively. “I knew how I felt about them. This is different.”
“How?”
But even to Sandy it was impossible to explain the confusion of apprehension and hope that surged through her at the thought of contacting Josh. If a simple email from him did this to her, what would happen when she actually saw him?
Sandra was softly humming an old love song.
“No way,” Dimity said firmly. “Simply because a good-looking, attractive, intelligent man pays me some attention–”
“You’ve certainly paid him some attention too, by the sound of that description. Have you thought about him at all?”
“Maybe. A bit. Not much.”
“Liar.”
Dimity laughed.
“Okay, so I liked him. Note the past tense. It was nice, but now it’s a memory. I’ll use it to warm my hands some cold winter night when I’m old and doddering.”
“So you’re not going to answer his message? Or take up his offer of a date?”
Or leap off the edge of a cliff into the unknown? The prospect was both frightening and alluring.
“It wouldn’t be a date.”
“Could lead to one.”
“Maybe I’ll answer him. But that’s all. Why do I need another male in my life? Shane and Bert are enough for now!”
“I don’t think this one’s the clinging type,” said Sandra.
True, thought Dimity later, sketching out ideas for a painting. She was just dithering, scared to take that leap.
Well, she didn’t have to if she didn’t want to.
For the sake of politeness, however, she could send a reply, a friendly but cool email, declining his offer again. That would make things easier if they did happen to meet during his visit on Friday.
And that fleeting electronic connection with him might help to take some edge off the indefinable ache that had been growing inside her during the evening.
She would think about the wording tomorrow, to make sure there would be no ambiguities in her message, and send it tomorrow evening.
Or would she?
Once again she tossed and turned for half the night.
****
Usually Josh liked the view from his office window. By lunchtime Thursday, however, he had to admit it was losing its attraction.
Located in the business centre of Sydney, the hotel offered panoramic views of the city’s spectacular harbour and surrounds including the landmark Harbour Bridge and the iconic Sydney Opera House, its white sails glinting in the sun. From their top floor position, the administrative offices also provided a bird’s eye view of the nearby Royal Botanic Gardens on the harbour’s edge and the bustling streets, shops and buildings of the sprawling metropolis with which Josh was becoming more familiar every day. Standing at the large expanse of glass that formed almost one wall of his office, he had to admit it was a stunning view.
But all it did today was remind him of another harbour in another city.
And a girl with raccoon eyes who was no longer in his mind occasionally.
She was there almost all the time, a disturbing presence that had grown rather than receded since their unsatisfactory parting.
She hadn’t bothered answering his email yet, and time was running out for her to take him up on his offer, although he’d left his work options open in case she did.
Assuming she’d received the email. He would have liked to send a copy to wherever she worked as well, but Sandra had been understandably cagey about giving out details. He was lucky she’d told him as much as she had.
For all the good it had done him.
Well, it made no sense to trespass where he wasn’t wanted. It was time to give up and get over it. He had more than enough on his plate career-wise without getting involved in something with the potential to louse up his life.
Although in the past few days that life seemed to have lost quite a lot of its relish.
Returning to his desk, he checked his emails again. Plenty of business stuff, but the only personal one, if it could be called that, was from Gail Addison, once more urging him to base himself in Newcastle for the two weeks of pre-convention activities and then the convention week itself. The hotel could provide him with a suite, she said. Even if he couldn’t relocate for the three weeks, she hoped he would attend a black tie reception for delegates a fortnight from Friday.
A bit of a piranha, that woman. Not that he would mind spending a few weeks in Newcastle. He liked what he had seen of the place and the convention was going to be a major event. He would certainly need to be there for the main week.
The only fly in the ointment was the possibility of coming face to face with Dimity somewhere along the way. He’d looked up Newcastle’s population and learned it was about 150,000 so a chance encounter was a remote possibility, but strange things happened. Under the circumstances, the prospect of such a meeting was disquieting. It made better sense to stay off her territory until the thought of her had stopped preoccupying him so much.
Until he could say “Dimity who?” and mean it.
Time for some fresh air, he decided and was on his way out of the office when he heard a low whistle from his deputy, Paul Sanders, whose room was next to his.
�
��Nice new talent in the Newcastle office. Have you seen the intranet, Josh?”
“Not today.” Josh hardly broke stride. Paul’s love of everything female was legendary.
“Cute name, too.” Paul’s voice followed him. “Dimity.”
Josh spun on his heel, almost meeting himself coming. Without quite knowing how he got there, he found himself looking over Paul’s shoulder at a picture of Dimity wearing a fixed smile like a model in a toothpaste commercial.
Unaware of the somewhat goofy smile on his own face, he read that she had been appointed to a temporary position in the marketing section of Global Homes, Newcastle. There was also a vague, potted history of her office work experience.
“Not bad, hey?” demanded Paul.
“Not bad at all.”
“There’s another one in Brisbane–”
Paul started to scroll down the page. Josh patted his shoulder.
“One at a time’s enough for me, buddy.”
He escaped back to his office, called up the intranet page and found Dimity’s picture again. The large green eyes in the delicate, heart-shaped face stared back at him. The photo was too small to reveal the fading bruises but there was a vulnerability in her expression that belied the bravado of the bright, toothpaste smile.
It seemed barely credible that even as he stared at the picture she was working at the Newcastle hotel, not far from the third floor corridor where they had met. It seemed even less credible, once she knew he also worked for the organisation, that she hadn’t told him.
Thinking back, however, he could understand why.
“Hey there, Miss Incompetence,” he whispered.
This new information might also put a different spin on the relief she had expressed at the fact he was based in Sydney.
The grin broadened on his face before it faded. All this could be wishful thinking, of course. If he had any brains he’d follow Plan A, forget her and keep his life on the sane, sensible course it had followed since he returned from Newcastle.
And why would you want to do that? the green eyes seemed to ask him.
