Page 35 of Who’s That Girl?

‘Thanks.’ I turn back to my inbox. Sipping my water, I start reading an email from a magazine editor about some press for one of our clients.

‘Everything fine?’

I glance up to see Beatrice still hovering around my desk.

‘Yes, fine. Thanks.’ I smile.

‘Super.’ She smiles back and begins fiddling with the photo frames on my desk. ‘So,’ she says, trying to sound casual and failing horribly, ‘is there anything else you want to tell me?’

‘Um … no, I think that’s everything,’ I say, shaking my head and turning back to my emails.

She doesn’t budge. ‘About what happened yesterday,’ she says pointedly.

Apprehension prickles. ‘Yesterday?’ I repeat, a little nervously.

‘Your meeting with Larry Thompson!’ she gasps finally, unable to keep her cool any longer.

‘Oh, of course … right,’ I fluster, my mind rapidly changing gear. With everything that’s been going on the meeting had totally slipped my mind, which is ridiculous as it’s the only thing that’s been on my mind for weeks.

‘I’ve been on tenterhooks ever since, but I didn’t dare call, and then I didn’t hear from you until this morning, when you were at the doctor’s.’

‘It went really, really well,’ I reassure her quickly. ‘In fact,’ I smile, then blurt simply, ‘we got it.’

Her jaw drops and her eyes goggle at me. ‘Oh my gosh, that’s just …’ She trails off, words failing her momentarily, before coming alive again. ‘Splendid!’ she gushes finally. ‘Simply splendid!’ She beams at me, almost trembling with excitement.

Watching her reaction, it suddenly throws my own into contrast. She’s absolutely right. It is splendid, though I’d probably choose to describe it as fantastic, I think, bemused by Beatrice’s choice of adjective. And yet …

A flashback of Larry Thompson smiling smoothly at me across the restaurant table stirs a sense of unease. I dismiss it. Firmly. Like I said, nothing happened. It’s me and my overactive imagination again.

‘I know, isn’t it?’ I enthuse, mirroring her excitement.

‘Absolutely. It’s amazing,’ she whoops, and then fixes me with a stern look. ‘I just can’t believe you kept this from me,’ she clucks scoldingly. ‘When I didn’t hear from you …’ She arches an eyebrow and pouts. ‘Well, you can imagine.’

I swear, Beatrice has this knack of making me feel like a naughty schoolgirl sometimes.

‘I know, and I’m sorry,’ I apologise swiftly. ‘I did pop back to the office later but you’d already left on an appointment, and then last night I didn’t feel well—’ I stop myself before I even go there. ‘And anyway, as you and I both know, until the deal’s actually signed and we’ve made our press announcement …’

I’m referring to an incident that happened last year in which we thought we’d won a big contract with a hotel chain, only to discover they’d changed their minds and gone with a rival PR company, just as Beatrice was cracking open a vintage bottle of Bollinger she’d had ‘lying around’ at home.

As compared to normal people, who have things like coffee cups and loose change lying around.

‘Ah, yes, that was rather a waste of good champagne,’ she concedes, frowning. ‘Well, we’ll keep it on ice this time, shall we?’ She smiles cheerfully, before adding, ‘So when do you want to schedule your next meeting? I’ll need to check the diary and make sure you’re free.’

The diary is our bible. We don’t do anything unless it’s in the diary, the keeper of which is Beatrice, who takes her job very seriously. Screwing up her forehead, she returns to her desk and begins jabbing at her keyboard. The calendar opens up on her computer and she peers at it intently. ‘What day were you thinking? You’ve got a window at eleven o’clock next Tuesday.’

‘Actually, we need to announce on Tuesday, so we’ve arranged to meet up on Thursday.’

‘Thursday next week? Yes, I think that will be fine if I just juggle a few things …’ She starts typing.

‘No, this Thursday. Tomorrow.’

She gives a sharp intake of breath.

‘Well, it’s important to get the ball rolling. We don’t have much time.’

‘Gosh, yes, absolutely.’ She nods, her face serious. ‘Well, it’s not going to be easy as it’s pretty solid, but I’ll do it – you can rely on me.’ She turns back to the keyboard, a look of determination on her face. ‘Now, let me see, you’ve got a meeting at ten o’clock with Ginny from the press agency, at lunchtime you’re seeing the house with Miles, and in the afternoon you’ve got meetings with some journalists from a new lifestyle magazine, but if you’d like, I can rearrange that for—’

‘Actually, it’s tomorrow evening.’