Chapter 8
2156 Words
“This will cheer you up.” Tanya’s voice breaks my thoughts. She pats the shopping bags with suppressed glee. “After your stunning performance at lunch … I’ve been shopping. And I’ve got a surprise for you! This will make your day!”
“A surprise?” I look up, bewildered, as Tanya starts producing packets from the bag.
“Foie gras … chickpeas … shoulder of lamb …” She hefts a joint of meat onto the table and looks at me expectantly. Then she clicks her tongue at my bewildered expression. “It’s ingredients! Your dinner-party menu! We’ll eat at eight, if that’s OK?”
It’ll be all right.
If I say it often enough to myself, it must be true.
I’ve opened my phone several times to call Guy. But each time, humiliation has stopped me. Even though he’s my friend, even though he’s the person closest to me in the company. I’m the one who’s fired. I’m the one in disgrace. And he’s not.
At last I sit up and rub my cheeks, trying to get my spirits back. Come on. This is Guy. He’ll want to hear from me. He’ll want to help. I flip open my phone and dial his direct line. A moment later I hear footsteps clopping along the wooden floor of the hall.
Tanya.
I shut the phone, pocket it, and reach for a clump of broccoli.
“How are you getting on?” Tanya’s voice greets me. “Making progress?”
As she enters the kitchen she looks a little surprised to see me still sitting in the exact same spot she left me. “Everything all right?”
“I’m just … assessing the ingredients,” I improvise. “Getting the feel of them.”
Just then a thin red-haired woman appears round the door, next to Tanya. She’s wearing diamanté sunglasses on her head and regards me with an avid interest.
“I’m Petula,” she announces. “How do you do.”
“Petula’s just eaten some of your sandwiches,” puts in Tanya. “She thought they were marvelous.”
“And I’ve heard about the foie gras with an apricot glaze!” Petula raises her eyebrows. “Very impressive!”
“Olivia can cook anything!” boasts Tanya, pink with pride. “She trained with Michel de la Roux de la Blanc! The master himself!”
“So how exactly will you be glazing the foie gras, Olivia?” asks Petula with interest.
The kitchen is silent. Both women are waiting, agog.
“Well.” I clear my throat several times. “I expect I’ll use the … usual method. The word glaze, obviously, comes from the transparent nature of the … er … finish … and complements the … gras. Foie,” I amend. “De gras. The … blend of the flavors.”
I am making absolutely no sense here, but neither Tanya nor Petula seems to have noticed. In fact they both seem totally impressed.
“Where on earth did you find her?” says Petula to Tanya in what she clearly imagines to be a discreet undertone. “My girl is hopeless. Can’t cook and doesn’t understand a word I say.”
“She just applied out of the blue!” Tanya murmurs back, still flushed with pleasure. “Cordon Bleu! English! We couldn’t believe it!”
They both eye me as though I’m some rare animal with horns sprouting out of my head. I can’t bear this anymore.
“Shall I make you some tea and bring it through to the conservatory?” I ask. Anything to get them out of the kitchen.
“No, we’re popping out to have our nails done,” says Tanya. “I’ll see you later, Olivia.”
There’s an expectant pause. Suddenly I realize Tanya is waiting for my curtsy. I start to prickle all over in embarrassment. Why did I curtsy? Why did I curtsy?
“Very good, Mrs. Geiger.” I bow my head and make an awkward bob. When I look up, Petula’s eyes are like saucers.
As the two women leave, I can hear Petula hissing, “She curtsies? She curtsies to you?”
“It’s a simple mark of respect,” I hear Tanya replying airily. “But very effective. You know, Petula, you should really try it with your girl.…”
Oh, God. What have I started?
I wait until the sound of tapping heels has completely disappeared. Then, moving into the larder to be on the safe side, I flip open my phone and redial Guy’s number. After three rings he answers.
“Olivia.” He sounds guarded. “Hi. Have you …”
“It’s OK, Guy. I’ve spoken to Ketterman. I know.”
“Oh, Christ, Olivia. I’m so sorry this has happened. So sorry …”
I cannot stand his pity. If he says anything else I’ll burst into tears.
“It’s fine,” I say, cutting him off. “Really. Let’s not talk about it. Let’s just … look forward. I have to get my life on track.”
“Jesus, you’re focused!” There’s a note of admiration in his voice. “You don’t let anything faze you, do you?”
I push my hair back off my face. “I just have to … get on with things.” Somehow I keep my voice even and steady. “I need to get back to London. But I can’t go home. Ketterman bought a flat in my building. He lives there.”
“Ouch. Yes, I heard about that.” There’s a wince in his voice. “That’s unfortunate.”
“I just can’t face him, Guy.” I feel the threat of tears again and force myself to hold them back. “So … I was wondering. Could I come and stay with you for a while? Just for a few days?”
There’s silence. I wasn’t expecting silence.
“Olivia … I’d love to help,” says Guy at last. “But I’ll have to check with Charlotte.”
“Of course,” I say, a little taken aback.
“Just stay on the line for a sec. I’ll call her.”
The next moment I’ve been put on hold. I sit waiting, listening to the tinny harpsichord music, trying not to feel discomfited. It was unreasonable to expect him to say yes straightaway. Of course he has to clear it with his girlfriend.
At last Guy comes onto the line again. “Olivia, I’m not sure it’s possible.”
I feel slammed. “Right.” I try to sound natural, as though this is no big deal. “Well … never mind. It doesn’t matter …”
“Charlotte’s very busy right now … we’re having some work done to the bedrooms … it’s just not a good time.…”
He sounds halting, as if he wants to get off the line. And suddenly I realize. This isn’t about Charlotte. This is all about him. He doesn’t want to be near me. It’s as though my disgrace is contagious, as though his career might get blighted too.
Yesterday I was his best friend. Yesterday, when I was about to become a partner, he was hanging around my desk, full of smiles and quips. And today he doesn’t want to be associated with me at all.
I know I should stay quiet, keep my dignity, but I just can’t contain myself.
“You don’t want to be associated with me, do you?” I burst out.
“Olivia!” His voice is defensive. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m still the same person. I thought you were my friend—”
“I am your friend! But you can’t expect me to … I have Charlotte to consider … we don’t have that much space … Look, call me in a couple of days, maybe we can meet up for a drink—”
“Really, don’t worry.” I try to control my voice. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
“Wait!” he exclaims. “Don’t go! What are you going to do?”
“Oh, Guy.” I manage a little laugh.
I switch off my phone. Everything’s changed. Or maybe he hasn’t changed. Maybe this was what Guy was always like and I just never realized it.
I stare down at the tiny display of my phone, watching the seconds of each minute tick by. Wondering what to do next. When it suddenly vibrates in my hand, I nearly jump out of my skin. Tennyson, my display reads.
Mum.
I feel a clutch of dread. She can only be ringing for one thing. She’s heard the news. I guess I should have known this was coming. I could go and stay with her, it occurs to me. How weird. I didn’t even think of that before. I open up the phone and steel myself.
“Hi, Mum.”
“Olivia.” Her voice pierces my ear with no preamble. “Exactly how long were you going to wait before you told me about your debacle? I have to find out about my own daughter’s disgrace from an Internet joke.” She utters the words with revulsion.
“An … Internet joke?” I echo faintly. “What do you mean?”
“You didn’t know? Apparently in certain legal circles the new term for fifty million pounds is ‘a Olivia.’ Take it from me, I was not amused.”
“Mum, I’m so sorry—”
“At least the story has been contained within the legal world. I’ve spoken to Steve Spink and they assure me that it won’t be going further. You should be grateful for that.”
“I … I suppose so …”
“Where are you?” she cuts across my faltering words. “Where are you right now?”
I’m standing in a larder, surrounded by packets of cereal.
“I’m … at someone’s house. Out of London.”
“And what are your plans?”
“I don’t know.” I rub my face. “I need to … get myself together. Find a job.”
“A job,” she says scathingly. “You think any top law firm is going to touch you now?”
I flinch at her tone. “I … I don’t know. Mum, I’ve only just heard about being fired. I can’t just—”
“You can. Thankfully, I have acted for you.”
She’s acted for me?
“What do you—”
“I’ve called in all my favors. It wasn’t an easy job. But the senior partner at Fortescues will see you tomorrow at ten.”
I’m almost too stupefied to reply. “You’ve … organized me a job interview?”
“Assuming all goes well, you will enter at senior associate level.” Her voice is crisp. “You’re being given this chance as a personal favor to me. As you can imagine, there are … reservations. So if you want to progress, Olivia, you are going to have to perform. You’re going to have to give this job every hour you have.”
“Right.” I shut my eyes, my thoughts whirling. I have a job interview. A fresh start. It’s the solution to my nightmare.
Why don’t I feel more relieved?
“You will have to give more than you did at Steve Spink,” Mum continues in my ear. “No slacking. No complacency. You will have to prove yourself doubly. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I say automatically.
More hours. More work. More late nights.
It’s almost as if I can feel the concrete blocks being loaded onto me again. More and more of them. Heavier and heavier.
“I mean … no,” I hear myself saying. “No. It’s too much. I … don’t want that now. I need some time.”
The words come out of my mouth all by themselves. I wasn’t planning them; I’ve never even thought them before. But now that they’re out in the air they somehow feel … true.
“I’m sorry?” Mum’s voice is sharp. “Olivia, what on earth are you saying?”
“I don’t know.” I’m kneading my forehead, trying to make sense of my own confusion. “I was thinking … I could take a break, maybe.”
“A break would finish your legal career.” Her voice snaps dismissively. “Finish it.”
“I could … do something else.”
“You wouldn’t last more than two minutes in anything else!” She sounds affronted. “Olivia, you’re a lawyer. You’ve been trained as a lawyer.”
“There are other things in the world than being a lawyer!” I cry, rattled.
- Writer
