by Sally Graham
“What was that all about? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Not a ghost, exactly. More like a flesh-and-blood idiot who thinks he can just throw money at problems to make them go away.”
“Anything you need?”
Tamara thought quickly. She needed wriggle room to extricate herself from Simon’s coils. “Give me a few moments, Donna - I need to make a call. Then we’ll work on that Barrier Reef project?”
“Sure - buzz me when you’re free.”
Tamara dialled Simon’s private number. He’d given it to her when he first entrusted her with organising his VIP trips. She bit her lip as the ring tone mocked her. He wasn’t going to answer her. And it did not switch to his message service. She rang off, counted to thirty, and tried again. Sometimes the magic worked, sometimes…….. It didn’t. Damn and damn…..
The longer she let the situation go without resolving matters, the more difficult she would find it to tell Simon to get lost. She didn’t believe he would pull the account, but his threat couldn’t have come at a more sensitive time for Square Circle Concierge Services. It was important that the company appeared as successful as possible to attract investors.
She remembered the honeyed voice from her boss in New York: “These are challenging times, Tamara, and the company is counting on you to make sure the Pacific region delivers. It’ll be worthwhile for you.”
God knows she needed the financial security which was taken away from her so cruelly when -
“Hello? Is this Simon’s PA? Julie? Hi, it’s Tamara. Yes, fine, thank you. Listen, I was talking with Simon a moment or so ago and we got cut off - could you put me through?”
There was a moment’s pause. “Hi, Tamara - I’m sorry, but Simon has just suddenly left for a meeting. Can I help?”
So that’s how it’s going to be, is it? Catch me if you can?”
“Thanks, Julie - I’ll call when it’s more convenient.”
But it seemed there was not going to be a convenient time for Tamara to talk to Simon Henty. His secretary was impeccably polite and apologetic, but Tamara recognised when she was being given the brush off. I’ve done it enough times myself to people when I didn’t want to talk with them: now it’s my turn.
The way her day suddenly changed stunned Tamara. One moment she had been trying to hide how satisfied she felt when a woman finally showed the common sense to walk away from Simon Henty and his many conquests, but the next she felt as trapped as a surfer who’d misjudged the force of a breaking roller.
The last thing she wanted to do was to go on a vacation with the man.
He was a serial monogamist, a heartbreaker and one-night player rolled into one. Tamara knew he only wanted her to accompany him because he felt piqued he had been stood up, and because he always tried to set up meetings with her. Now he had a way of punishing her for not doing his bidding, unlike other women who took advantage of his wealth.
Chapter 3
Tamara went through the next few days on auto-pilot, handling the routine tasks her job required. It always surprised her friends she never got excited about the exotic locations and events which were part and parcel of her work - extravagant parties in sought after resorts, extreme sporting experiences, underwater scuba safaris in the Caribbean, private tours of the Hermitage Museum in St Petersburg, even private audiences with religious leaders. “It’s not all glamour,” she’d reply. “Last week I had to arrange fish and chips for a homesick English rock star, and the next morning sort out the dry cleaning for a woman who was arriving home a day late.”
But Simon Henty’s vacation threat dominated her thinking.
“I’m sorry, Tamara, but his schedule has been hectic this week. He does know that you’ve been calling, I promise you.” His secretary was polite, but firm.
It’s hopeless, I’ve blown it.
Which made the email all the more unexpected.
To: Tamara Tremaine, Square Circle Concierge
From: Simon Henty
Re: Your calls
Hi, Tamara - I gather you've been trying to get hold of me. I must admit, Julie’s been very persuasive on your behalf! Listen, rather than have a boring telephone conversation, let’s have dinner. If any details need clearing up, we can sort them out then. I’ve booked a table at The Club. In fact, I believe your company booked it for me! I’ll meet you at 8. Wednesday. See you then - S.
Tamara groaned as she re-read the email. Why had he chosen The Club? Did that mean he knew about her past? She felt caught in a pincer. She didn’t like going out in public, and certainly not to The Club, not after what happened. For a moment her eyes filled with tears as she remembered all the good times she had there when she was younger, when her mother was still alive, and before her father -
“There’s a call for you, Tamara. It’s from New York.”
“Hi, honey.” It was her VP again. “I just wanted tell you I’ve received the warmest call from one of your clients. Simon Henty - what a guy, huh? He said you’ve arranged the most amazing vacation for him, down to the last personal touch. And - I can’t believe how these guys ferret out the details, and you haven’t told him? - He’s sniffed out our stock market valuation. He wants in. He’s prepared to buy stock. A lot!”
“I - I don’t know what you’re talking about, Harriet,” Tamara said weakly.
“Oh yes you do, honey,” gushed the Vice President of Square Circle. “I’ve always said you were a professional. I suspect I’m talking to Boardroom material. Just keep him sweet, huh? These are difficult market conditions and the company needs all the help it can get. Make sure his vacation is heaven, huh? Bye now.”
Tamara groaned. This was not what she needed – an obvious push from head office to keep Simon Henty on side and happy and encourage him to invest in the company. What would have happened if she had told Harriet he was considering removing the account?
Her thoughts returned to her meeting with Simon at The Club - one of the most exclusive, private members clubs in Sydney. Founded over a hundred years ago as a watering hole for the early traders, the imposing building held meeting rooms for the early Australians who built the country, and had now become home to the richest, brightest and best of the country’s business and political leaders. Tamara treasured happy memories of barbecues and dances when the members’ children played and fooled around under the watchful, proud, eyes of their parents.
She imagined those friendships would never end, but after the scandal Tamara discovered you cannot never take things for granted.
She would never make the same mistake again. Nowadays she suffered nothing but bitterness and disdain for the people who frequented The Club, people who turned their backs on her mother when she needed them most.
In fact, Tamara hadn’t been back to The Club ever since her father’s trial, but it was only eight years ago, and she couldn’t be sure there wouldn’t be anyone who would recognise her. But if she didn’t show up she wouldn’t be able to tell Simon she wouldn’t be travelling anywhere with him. To hell with the company’s plans for a stock market debut.
She sighed, and turned to her computer.
To: Simon Henty
From: Tamara Tremaine
Re: Dinner
Thanks for the invite. I’ll see you at The Club. T
Across town, Simon looked up as his email program pinged to tell he’d got a new message. He sensed instinctively who it would be from, and smiled to himself. His smile broadened and then he laughed out loud when he read Tamara’s message. Ungrateful minx, he thought. Brief and to the point.
He had no illusions about the consequences of his call to New York. His broker always alerted him to new stock market offerings and he couldn’t believe it when he was told Square Circle Concierge were finally being placed. The timing couldn’t be more fortuitous.
He had no intention of buying shares, of course, the investment would be too small for his portfolio, but, on the other hand, there was nothing like whetting people’s
appetite. And if her head office had confirmed to Tamara Tremaine his status as a valued client, so much the better. He clapped his hands. “Out of evil cometh good,” he said suddenly to himself, remembering one of his grandmother’s favourite sayings. “Who would have thought the brush off from that Brazilian model would have turned out so well?”
Across town, Tamara’s phone buzzed. “The TV crew are in the lobby.”
“Damn - where’s the morning gone?” Tamara checked her watch. “That’s fine, Lucy. Send them straight in.” She turned to Donna, “Is there any angle we haven’t covered for this interview?”
“They only want simple background stuff on what we do - blah, blah,” Donna replied. “I think it is part of a series she’s doing.
“Still going to be Sandi what’s-her-name?”
“Don’t you ever watch morning TV? Sandi Stone - ‘The People’s Presenter’. I’ve gone over other interviews she’s done. You’ll be great. No worries.”
Half an hour later the office floor was strewn with cables, the sunlight looking pale compared to the temporary studio lighting. Tamara was sitting opposite one of Australia’s best known anchor women.
“Okay, shall we start?” The eyes weren’t friendly.
“Ready when you are,” smiled Tamara.
“Three..two…on.. We’re live,” came a muffled voice in her ear-piece.
“Good morning everyone from the nineteenth floor of one of Sydney's most exclusive office towers……”
Standing to one side, Donna winced. Uh oh - we’re being set up. I can see how this is going. We’re going to be portrayed as parasites feeding off the rich.”
“So can you explain to our viewers exactly what you do, Ms Tremaine? Given the current economic climate, many of our viewers will see the corporate concierge service you offer as an expensive frivolity. How do you justify it? Do your clients have more money than sense?””
“Well, everyone welcomes a helping hand, whoever you are. Imagine having someone to help you with every travel need you have? Or shopping need? It’s like having your own magic genie.”
Tamara came over strongly, Donna thought. Many people didn’t do television well, but she was a natural. The camera worked for her, and her answers were crisp and professional.
“But it is exclusive, isn’t it?’ pressed the interviewer.
“Well, yes. We pay for what we can afford, don’t we? Our company caters for extremely wealthy people. But they’re the busy ones. They’re creating wealth for our country. Many of them are drive-hard entrepreneurs who lead thirty-six hours days but only have twenty-four hours in their diaries. That’s how concierge companies like us can help.”
They finished the interview half an hour later. The lights were switched off and the production team unclipped microphones and shifted the cameras.
“How did it go?” whispered Tamara.
“You were great. Truthfully.” Donna answered. “The homework paid dividends. Viewers will get what this business is about - concierge services aren't a rip-off. We provide value. We save people time. And we know where to find the best for people who are prepared to pay for it.”
“Wow - you were listening hard!” Tamara laughed, grateful for the feedback.
“Excuse me, Ms Tremaine?” It was Sandi Stone. “Thanks for the interview - it went well. And, I have to say, you put up a good fight. I was hoping for a different outcome!”
“Sandi - you were the professional,” Tamara schmoozed.
The platinum haired interviewer leaned towards her conspiratorially as she walked towards the door and touched Tamara’s arm. “You won’t let on that I’m one of Square Circle’s clients, will you?”
“You can count on me, Sandi. You know that. And - the rock concert in New York? We’ve got you the tickets. I’ll courier them over.”
As the door closed, Tamara turned to Donna. They both laughed. “Honestly, she’s got a nerve, hasn’t she? Wanting to shaft us in public but desperate for our help in private! When is the program going out?”
“I checked. Tomorrow morning - probably the 9.30 slot. Peak time for advertisers, and mums are back from school runs and haven’t thought about doing the shopping.”
“Thank God - none of our clients will be watching!” Tamara said.
The rest of the day was filled with the predictable problem-solving that characterised much of Tamara’s work.It wasn’t until towards the end of the afternoon that she realised that she needed to plan her meeting with Simon Henty.
“What the hell am I going to wear?” Tamara thought angrily. While she had business suits for work, she hardly every socialised or went out in the evenings, apart from workouts at the gym. It wasn’t as though she had a rack of snappy little black dresses that she could choose from.
Hold it - I’m in the concierge business. It’s my job to sort out clients’ problems, and right now, I’m my most important client!
Moments later, Tamara had riffled though a notebook and was dialling a contact.
“Tamara, darling, how love-lee to hear from you!”
She smiled at the faux Italian accent that Lombardi Benelli breathed into her ear from his exclusive boutique in Double Bay.
“I’ve got an exceptional client for you, Lombardi. You’ll love her!”
“Bellissima, anyone you send me is special.” He laughed engagingly, “Ezpecially eef they ‘ave lots money?”
“This one is certainly special, Lombardi. What time can I send her. How would the end of the day suit?”
“Eet eez not a problem. I will expect her. Myself. Personally. Ciao, Tamara!”
Tamara was counting on a payback for the wife of the Russian oligarch that she had introduced to Lombardi last summer. The woman had cleaned his salon out, and he’d confided to Tamara that he hadn’t needed to work for the rest of the year.
It was five minutes to closing time when her taxi pulled outside Milano, Lombardi’s stylish boutique. She waited patiently while the glamorous female security guard looked at her appraisingly before pressing a button and opening the door.
“Tamara, Tamara - you are here. How lovely to see you.” Lombardi looked over her shoulder as the cab pulled away. “And your client? Is she coming? I have great creations for her to look at.”
“Your client is here, Lombardi, she’s me!”
He took it well, she thought afterwards, carefully unpacking the fantastic black cocktail dress wrapped in scented tissue paper. At first he had laughed and shaken his head.
“Lombardi - you owe me! I’ve got a really difficult meeting tomorrow with a key client. I’ve got to look DDG - “
“Dee dee gee?” he asked uncertainly.
“Drop dead gorgeous. And I’m not buying, Lombardi. I want you to lend me a frock. Your best. And I’ll thank you for ever.”
He stepped back and looked at her speculatively. Tamara suddenly felt gawky and worried her curves were in the wrong places as Lombardi’s eyes travelled up and down her body.
“You ‘ave a tremendous figure, Tamara. And, you are right - you are a good girl, and you ‘ave ‘elped me. So - it is a pleasure to help you.” He clicked his fingers and a walking mannequin appeared. “Get me that dress we have waiting to be collected. Yes, the black one. Quickly.”
The mannequin looked at Tamara jealously, but returned a few moments later with a garment wrapped in tissue over her arm.
“This is due to be collected tomorrow, but we can say that there has been a problem and it will be two days late. Here - try it on. The changing room is over there.”
When Tamara walked back into the salon she felt as though she was a different person. The woman looking at her from the mirror was womanly, and attractive, and radiated a sexual aura.
Lombardi looked at her appreciatively. “I thought eet was the right dress for you, Tamara. It hugs your body, like any man would want to do, eh?”
Tamara was speechless. “I can’t believe it,” she managed to gasp.
“You don’t ‘ave to bel
ieve it, carissime - you just ‘ave to enjoy eet,” the designer laughed. “I don’t ‘ave to do any alterations. Francesca will pack eet for you. You take eet - but I make you sign. Just a precaution, of course, and then you breeng eet back the next day. Or my ‘ed will be on the block as the Chinese lady who has brought eet takes no preezoners!”
Tamara carried the slim box back to her apartment as though it might explode at any moment if she wasn’t careful. She couldn’t help laughing though - the dress made her look like dynamite! Simon would find out exactly what he was going to be missing.
“You’ve been in a good mood today,” Donna laughed as she cleared her desk. “What’s going on?”
