As she leaves the bar I catch Nadine in the doorway, beckoning me over. She’s wearing a purple dress with a homemade macramé belt. I gather my notes and touch my locket, whispering, ‘Wish me luck.’
‘Jeremy was a ray of sunshine,’ I say to a sea of faces, my throat already dry, my sheets of paper shaking like jelly and my knees about to give way. I pick up my glass of water. ‘Only rarely was he angry.’ I spot Jeremy’s wife, Emma, near the front, standing next to Graham who shares an office with me. Emma is on the plump side with a warm, open face, and though only in her fifties, she’s not afraid of going grey. ‘I didn’t enjoy working for him the day Emma put diesel into the car instead of unleaded…’ I get a few laughs for that which gives me a boost. ‘He was old-fashioned in many ways; he hated mobile phones in meetings; he hates them full stop.’ Jeremy, standing by my side, claps. ‘In fact he is the opposite of how I used to imagine estate agents.’ Lots of laughs as I catch Spencer’s eye. He’s standing near the back, talking to the blonde who was in the bar. Unbelievable. How many women can he chat up in a week? Hang on. I think of all the things I said to her. Who is she?
‘I can safely say on behalf of everyone here you’ll be missed,’ I continue, my mind still wandering. ‘Thank you for being the best boss and friend.’ Relief overwhelms me as I hand him a rectangular package wrapped in brown parcel paper. It’s awatercolour of Jeremy’s favourite fishing spot on the Brora: a fisherman casting.
As Jeremy goes on to thank the entire team, making a special mention of Nadine who has been the face of our London office for many years, I notice Ward edging towards the front, talking to a dark-haired woman in an orange dress who must be his wife.
‘Jeremy!’ I grab him the moment the applause has died down. ‘Who’s that woman over…?’ I stop. She’s gone.
‘January.’ He takes my arm, leads me away. ‘Can I say, in private, you have made my last three years so very special.’
‘That’s lovely.’ Out of the corner of my eye I catch Ward speaking to Spencer.
‘Your interview was… let’s say it was one of the most memorable I’ve ever had in my career, but I knew the moment you walked through that door that I’d be a fool not to hire you. It’s about trust and integrity.’
‘Really?’ Where has she gone?
‘Your parents would be proud and so would your granny.’
‘What?’
‘You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?’
‘I’m sorry, so sorry.’ I turn towards him, kissing his cheek and clutching his hand. ‘Thank you.’
‘I promise I’ve left you in good hands,’ Jeremy says, before being distracted by another well-wisher patting him on the back.
Alone, I notice Ward approaching me. Like Spencer he’s tall and slim and models a suit and tie, but he appears older than his age – Jeremy told me he’s forty-one. ‘Good speech.’ He runs a hand through his thick dark hair.
‘Thanks.’
‘I gather you were rather nervous beforehand.’
‘Public speaking was never my strong point.’
I stop smiling abruptly, wondering how he knew.
Ward scans the crowd. ‘Darling, this way.’ He turns back to me. ‘I’d like you to meet my wife, Marina. She was keen to meet my new PA tonight.’
I take another glass of champagne from the waiter and knock it back in one go. It really would be colossally unlucky if the one person I happened to talk to in the bar was… She’s now standing in front of me. Please don’t stop here. Move on. Go on, off you go.
But of course she stops, placing a hand on Ward’s arm and looking me in the eye, clearly sensing my discomfort.
‘I gather you’ve already met,’ Ward says, ‘and had a good oldchat.’
For a moment everything in the room stops. I can’t breathe.
Ward appears completely unruffled, as does Marina. ‘It’s lovely to meet you,’ she says with unblinking eyes as she shakes my hand. I have lost my voice.
‘I’ll see you in the office tomorrow,’ Ward says. My skin burns as I watch them leave, Marina glancing over her shoulder at me, her gaze cold.
‘I can’t believe how stupid I am.’ I’m on the mobile to Grandad on the way home in the cab.
Already I’ve called Lizzie, but she was out, so I left a garbled message asking her to call me back. ‘That is if I’m not busy digging my own grave.’
‘What if Ward sacks me?’
‘He won’t do that. Calm down.’
