Alexandra inspected the card and her spirits lifted. ‘He’s a count! My relations will love that. If I get the job, I’ll have to send them details.’
‘Of course! Now, what are you going to wear for the interview?’
This did give Alexandra pause. She had very few clothes with her. ‘I don’t have a lot of choice. Most of my things are probably already in Switzerland. They were sent ahead so I wouldn’t have heavy luggage to deal with on the train. I have some pyjamas, a change of underwear, this dress, a pair of slacks and a cardigan. That’s it, more or less.’
‘And your Hermès scarf.’
‘Yes, but while it may be useful, it’s not a whole outfit.’ Alexandra looked down at her dress, which was fitted, sleeveless and knee-length. It was a ‘meet your relations dress’ and it would have to do for an interview. ‘I think this is fine. It may smell slightly of cooking but perhaps, being a Frenchman, he won’t mind that. He’s not judging me for my clothes, after all; he wants to know if I’m suitable for the job.’ She paused. ‘Are you sure he didn’t mention what sort of job it was?’
‘No, but don’t worry. He didn’t mention any secretarial skills or accountancy, and surely he would have done if he’d wanted those?’
‘I’d be much keener on going to Switzerland if I thought they were going to teach me things like that. Although I’m sure they’re awfully boring, secretarial skills and grown-up arithmetic would be useful.’
Donna patted Alexandra’s knee. ‘I’m sure you’ll be fine. And it’ll be so cool having you in Paris. I’ll have a friend!’
‘Oh, I know! I would love that.’
‘Are you absolutely sure about that dress? We could look in my closet – I could lend you something? You are a bit taller so my clothes would be short on you, but that may not be a bad thing.’
Alexandra smiled. ‘I think this dress will be fine. I wore an apron when I cooked in it yesterday. Though if you have some lovely scent I could spray on myself, I’d be delighted. To disguise the faint eau d’oignon.
‘Perfume!’ Donna cried out. ‘I have so much I could take a bath in it. Now, I thought we’d have an early lunch, no wine, and then after your interview we can celebrate.’
‘I may not get the job,’ said Alexandra. ‘I’ve never actually been to an interview before. Have you got any tips?’
Donna shook her head. ‘I’ve never had a job.’
‘I’ve done lots of catering jobs, and I used to deal in antiques. But I’ve never had a nine-to-five sort of job.’
‘Antiques? How exciting!’
‘A friend of mine has a stall on the Portobello Road market. He let me put my things with his. He taught me all I know.’
Alexandra allowed herself a moment’s reflection. Her life had been very good in London, sharing a large house with friends, earning money cooking or waitressing with one of the friends and doing the antiques stall with another one at weekends. She was a person who made the best of things, but life in Switzerland was going to feel lonely and confined. At home she’d be stuck with her boring, formal relations and at finishing school she’d be surrounded by girls she’d probably have nothing in common with.
‘At least let me do your make-up,’ said Donna. ‘All my spare time was spent practising how to put on eyeliner without smudging it. You have such lovely eyes; it will be such fun emphasising their beauty. He’ll have to give you the job!’
Chapter Three
As Alexandra walked through the doors of the tall, elegant building for her interview that afternoon, she was more nervous than she’d expected to be. Usually she had a lot of confidence, and it didn’t matter if she didn’t get the job. She hadn’t planned to have one, after all. She could have a few days in Paris and then hop on the train to Switzerland having had an enjoyable holiday.
But she found her lips were dry as she asked for directions at Reception and hesitated before knocking on the door of the office. She took a couple of deep breaths and told herself she was ready.
Having been asked to enter she found herself in a room with two grand desks in it. At one, by the window, a man was writing, and at the one directly in front of her was the sort of woman who might well be described as a dragon.
She was wearing a very smart black suit which could easily have been Chanel, had perfectly groomed hair, two rows of pearls, a too-white face and thin lips. Alexandra got the impression she avoided smiling to hold back the formation of wrinkles. It was only partially successful.
Alexandra now wished she’d borrowed something to wear from Donna’s extensive wardrobe. Her own outfit had travelled from London to Paris and witnessed a lot of rather desperate cooking involving onions, garlic and cream – the apron may not have been adequate.
As there was no point in regretting her clothes, Alexandra put on her best French accent, greeted the woman as politely and formally as she could manage and gave her name.
She received a nod of the head and a return of the greeting and an invitation to sit down at the chair in front of the desk.
‘I am Mme Dubois; I will be conducting this interview.’ Then she handed Alexandra a form. ‘Please complete this, mademoiselle. Here is a pen.’
On impulse, Alexandra added five years to her age and then completed the form in her best handwriting. She described her last position as ‘company chef’, although she wasn’t quite sure if chef d’entreprise quite described cooking lunch for board members of City banks. But it was the best she could come up with.
As she handed back the completed form, she consoled herself that as a first job interview it was already pretty tough. This meant that future interviews, where the result was more important, would probably seem easier. Being interviewed by a terrifying Parisienne looking at her disdainfully was surely a baptism of fire which would strengthen her for the future.
