FOUR
‘Come on in!’ Amanda’s posh British accent bellows in my ears as I struggle to open the heavy door. Turning my back to it, I push it open with a jut of my backside. Once inside her minimalist office, the familiar smell of sandalwood and highly polished publishing awards hits me. Amanda, in her late fifties, lean and taut, is panting heavily as she runs on her treadmill by the floor-to-ceiling windows that look down over Manhattan. Although Amanda has been my boss for seven years, I barely know this woman.
Starting as I mean to go on, walking confidently towards her. ‘Good morni—’
But Amanda cuts me off, perspiration pouring off her as she jerks her head towards her low slung, white velvet couch. ‘F-five minutes left! C-can’t t-talk, s-sit.’
I sit and clutch my lookbook to me like a life vest. The couch is low and uncomfortable and, despite my motivational monologue, I feel ungainly and awkward. I cross my legs, then uncross them again. Eliza always jokes that when she’s sitting beside Amanda, she feels like a heavy chocolate cake while Amanda is a light lemon sorbet. Anxiety knocks but I try hard to control it. I get up and lay my lookbook down on her table.
Untying the delicate, long, thin white ribbon, I open thedouble spread of Jill and Max’s barn wedding. I’m insanely proud of this piece, because I also planned and designed the entire two-day celebration. I loved every second of it. My article tells the story of this barn in Boston, sitting on a few acres of land. The barn had been converted into a ballroom at some point in the 1920’s, with a proper floating wooden floor, and I’d transformed it into a stunning wedding venue – outhouse and all. Jill had posted her wedding on her Instagram and the barn had consequently been booked out for years in advance. She had been inundated with followers asking her who the wedding planner was. She’d kept my privacy, obviously, as I just did it as a one-off. But I was flattered nonetheless, and it had triggered the idea for my lookbook.
‘Done!’ The whizz of the machine slows as Amanda wipes her shiny face with a towel. I sit down again and watch her get off the bike, unzip her Lycra top and replace it with a towelling one. On the edge of the table, a tiny grey slate of less-than-fresh fruit and a single glass of water is laid out. Well, three grapes, two mushed strawberries and a withered slice of melon, to be precise. Surreptitiously, I glance around for coffee and fresh pastries? Or muffins? Or even granola? Nothing catches my eye. Perhaps Amanda has ordered hot breakfasts for us. Scrambled eggs and crispy bacon, maybe? Cream cheese bagels? My tummy rumbles again, I slide my hand across to silence it.
‘Need to take a shower down in the locker rooms so this won’t take long. I hear you are quite the wedding location sniffer dog? A great snooper? Kept that one under your hat,’ she says, dismantling the top knot on her head and shaking her voluminous honey hair extensions around her face.
‘A snooper? Me?’ What is she talking about, I’m thinking.
‘Yes, Ben Laird was telling myself and Frederick last night about this lookbook of yours, the locations you’ve been snooping around New York to find?’ Amanda gives me the once over, asthough she’s suddenly seeing me in a new light.
‘Oh, Ben? Really? Has he? That was sweet of him. Right, so yes, there it is,’ I stutter, pointing to the table. ‘I have actually mentioned it to you before, Amanda when we discussed my promo—’
‘Did you? Well, enjoy your breakfast while I flick through. I practise intermittent fasting. Don’t eat until lunchtime.’ Amanda stretches to one side, bending until her hand is flat on the floor, then repeats the action on the other side.
‘Oh.’ Politely, I nibble on the piece of wilted melon. I never skip breakfast and I’m more of a cream cheese bagel than an açaí bowl type of girl. I shift my position to stop my stomach rumbling, eyeing up Amanda bent over the table.
‘These are good alright .?.?.’ She dances a long, slate grey nail across Jill’s barn wedding pictures. Then, rather dismissively, without checking any of the other locations, she slams the book shut.
My heart drops.
‘Th-there are more if options are .?.?.’ I try.
‘I’ve seen enough. Maggie, I have a challenging proposition for you this morning.’ I swallow too fast and nearly choke on my fruit. I cough, hold my hand to my throat then swallow again taking a sip of water this time.
‘A ch-challenging proposition? I-I’m not sure what that means exactly? I was hoping we could talk about me being moved up .?.?. Um, no I mean, more money.?.?. I mean, need .?.?. promoted to feature writer?’ I’m blurting everything out now, my well-practised pitch well and truly forgotten.
‘That’s what this is about,’ Amanda props her hands on her jutting hipbones, ‘if you’d kindly let me finish?’ Her sharp tone puts me back in my box, insecurities flying around my head like falling confetti. Amanda struts across the light floorboards to the roller blinds. She closes them and the office falls darker,the lights of the Manhattan skyscrapers opposite, dimmed. She turns the controls down on the stark white wall and the lighting evaporates completely.
‘Oh, that’s dark! Okay, um, what are you .?.?.’ I’m completely out of sorts now. Is this another lost opportunity I wonder? Is Salma in line for my promotion? I feel my throat tighten and I fight back tears. This is not what I manifested! Speak up, I shout internally. But nothing comes out of my mouth. Amanda flips open her laptop. I blink to adjust to the light as she hits some keys.
‘This is why I called you in early.’ A projected light glitches, dims, then comes into focus on the wall.
It’s a castle.
A magnificent castle.
‘Woah! Oh! Oh, wow! Oh, my goodness.’ I gasp at its beauty. Lit up brightly under the twinkling stars of the black night sky, the perfectly squared sandstone medieval castle stands majestically. With two towering turrets and oversized Venetian windows, it emanates strength and almost takes my breath away. Standing on magnificent grounds, it is surrounded by green pastures and a lake. ‘W-where is this? What is this?’ I perch on the edge of the couch, lean forward to get a closer look at the castle
‘This is why you’re here. This is Castlemoon, in Ireland,’ Amanda informs me matter-of-factly, as though I should have some clue what this is all about.
‘Castlemoon,’ I repeat in a low whisper.
‘The castle is an eighteenth-century, authentic hotel nestled in the Irish village of Heartwell, in County Galway. By all accounts it’s an absolute gem. It sits on the edge of the wild Atlantic coast of Ireland in Connemara. A picture-perfect place to have your wedding,’ Amanda’s silhouette says.
‘It’s breathtaking.’ A shiver runs down my spine.
‘Breathtaking indeed. As it happens, I’ve been searching for a wedding location in Ireland to feature in the magazine forever. As soon as Frederick showed this to me, well, I knew that Castlemoon was going to feature in our June edition,’ Amanda informs me.
Then, the office falls silent.
