‘There is one thing, and you’d be perfect for it,’ Rose said, a note of possibility in her voice. ‘It would mean you’d have to travel, but it’s very short term and the money is amazing. I need a personal assistant for a very, very – let me say this again – very high-profile client.’
I looked out of the window at the stone-clad buildings opposite, almost the exact same shade of grey as the sky above them.
‘How short term and how much money?’
‘Not even a week, it’s five days. All your expenses would be covered, and the salary is very generous. Extremely generous. And the money isn’t even the best part.’
I wound the cord from my earbuds around my finger and squeezed it tightly. Curiosity might have killed the cat but perhaps I could get away with only being lightly maimed.
‘OK,’ I said, breathing out slowly. ‘What’s the catch?’
Rose gave a slightly maniacal laugh down the line. ‘Don’t let this put you off, but I can’t say. Fran, it is VV VIP. You’ll have to sign a non-disclosure agreement before I can even send the job description over, and I’ll need you down in London to interview ASAP, but if I were you, I would seriously consider this one. It could be a huge break. This is a life-changing opportunity.’
A powerful rush of adrenaline shot through my body and I glanced at my cup to make sure it was definitely full of coffee and not rocket fuel.
‘It’s been a while since I did any top-level stuff,’ I admitted, clenching hard. ‘The last couple of years I’ve mostly been at smaller, local companies. Are you sure I’d be a good fit?’
‘Positive. It’s a PA role, not a corporate job, so you’re not going to be making PowerPoints and pivot tables, no one’s expecting you to be up on EU regulations or lack thereof. Plus you’ve got all the extras they’re looking for, multiple languages, first aid qualifications, and the sailing experience is just mwah, chef’s kiss. Puts you right over the edge.’
Ahh yes, the summer I’d spent working in the café on the Newcastle to Amsterdam ferry after my A levels. Truly invaluable sailing experience. Thankfully, I really did have a degree in French and Italian, even if I hadn’t used either for anything more advanced than ordering a lasagne from Nonna’s on Ecclesall Road in the last three years.
‘I can’t tell you anything else until you sign the NDA but, Fran, I cannot stress enough what a one-of-a-kind opportunity this is. If they’d let me, I’d quit and do it myself.’
‘If it’s that amazing, why hasn’t it been filled already?’ I asked, suddenly wary. Rose was altogether too excited for my liking and I knew from personal experience nothing in life was ever too good to be true.
‘It came up quite last minute,’ she replied with no small degree of hesitancy. ‘And the person in charge of hiring on their end is quite particular. She knows what she doesn’t want even if she doesn’t seem to have a very clear picture of what she does want.’
So it was a she. I wondered who it could be. You heard all kinds of stories in the temp community. A friend of mine in London once did a stint at a fancy estate agents for a fortnight and ended up selling a house to George and Amal. Well, she was fairly sure she saw the back of George’s head from her car when she went to drop off the spare keys, but when I thought about a choice between scheduling appointments for Gavin the epileptic guinea pig or potentially spotting the back of George Clooney’s head, it wasn’t going to be too difficult a decision to make.
‘I’m going to call them right now,’ Rose said, the sound of her keyboard clacking decisively in the background. ‘Don’t go anywhere, I’ll bell you back in a sec.’
‘OK, sounds good,’ I confirmed. ‘I’ll be right here.’
She hung up, leaving me staring at my laptop screen, slightly out of breath and, I realized as I caught sight of my reflection in the window of the café, absolutely beaming. It was so long since I’d been excited about a job prospect, I’d forgotten how good it felt. The prickling nerves, the anticipation. I didn’t have the interview yet, but I was already planning my first day outfit. And it was just five days, Stew wouldn’t mind my being away for five days. Before, in my old assistant jobs, I was away all the time, traipsing up and down the country, nipping off to deeply exotic locations like Belgium for a convention or a trade show. I was practically never home. But it had been so long since I’d been anywhere, and things were so much better than they were last time. He wouldn’t mind. He definitely wouldn’t mind.
Leaning back in my chair, I stared past my reflection, out into the street. The pub on the corner was already busy with old boy regulars, and next door, the Be Beautiful salon was packed to the rafters with shadowy figures moving around behind the frosted windows. The door opened and the owner herself stepped out onto the street, vape pen in hand. I slouched down in my chair and wrapped both hands around my coffee mug. Lifting it to my mouth was as close as I would come to an upper body workout today.
Bryony looked beautiful, of course: blonde hair wrapped around her head in a braid crown, makeup perfectly applied and, even from across the road, I could see her perfect nails shone a rich ruby red. My own hair was full of half a can of dry shampoo, my makeup non-existent, and my nails were short and bare. Not painting them was the only way I could guarantee I wouldn’t chip them. You weren’t supposed to like your partner’s ex, I reminded myself as I continued to watch her with my standard level of morbid fascination, and at least Bryony had the decency to be deeply unpleasant whenever we were forced to interact, which was all too often since she was still Stew’s sister’s best friend. It would have been much worse if she was a wonderful person and I was just a jealous arse, pouting over the fact a woman much more beautiful than me had also once been engaged to Stew Bingham. But Stew didn’t care about things like elaborate hair and shiny nails, I reminded myself, reflexively touching my diamond ring. Stew cared about me.
It was a fact that might have been more reassuring if the door hadn’t opened for a second time, my fiancé walking right out of the salon behind Bryony. He was wearing the Bingham & Son overalls he’d left the house in that morning, and had an adorable smudge of something on his snub nose. Sinking lower, I pressed myself against the wall as I tried to come up with a reasonable explanation as to what he might be doing in the Be Beautiful salon, when he was supposed to be fitting a cast-iron claw-foot bath with his dad. Eyelash extensions? Colouring that flash of grey that had recently appeared at his temples? Or simply engaging in a good old-fashioned affair? Before my brain could completely spin off out of control, my phone vibrated into life with Rose’s name and number lighting up the screen.
‘Hello?’ I answered, eyes still fixed on the scene outside the salon.
‘Fran-it’s-Rose-I’ve-got-good-news,’ she said all at once, without pausing for breath,
‘Good news as in I’ve got the interview good news?’
‘Exactly like that! I’m sending everything over to you right now, you just need to whizz the NDA back to me and I’ll send you a train ticket for tomorrow morning.’
‘Tomorrow as in the day after today?’ I asked, my heart pounding against my ribs. One eye on Stew, one on my phone. ‘You didn’t say I’d have to interview tomorrow?’