Street.”
They continue talking until they reach the lifts, and I pray desperately that they’ll all get inside one and disappear. But as the lift doors ping open, only the familiar-looking man gets in — and a moment later, Alicia and Ben are heading back toward Luke’s office.
“I’ll just get those files,” says Alicia, and goes back into Luke’s office, leaving the door open. Meanwhile, Ben is lolling against the water dispenser, pressing the buttons on his watch and staring intently at the tiny screen.
This is horrendous! I’m trapped until they leave. My knees are starting to hurt and I’ve got an awful feeling that if I move an inch, one of them will crack. What if Ben and Alicia stay here all night? What if they come over to Mel’s desk? What if they decide to make love on Mel’s desk?
“OK,” says Alicia, suddenly appearing at the door. “I think that’s it. Good meeting, I thought.”
“I suppose.” Ben looks up from his watch. “Do you think Frank’s right? Do you think he might sue?”
Frank! Of course. That other man was Frank Harper. The publicity guy from Bank of London. I used to see him at press conferences.
“He won’t sue,” says Alicia calmly. “He’s got too much face to lose.”
“He’s lost a fair amount already,” says Ben, raising his eyebrows. “He’ll be the invisible man before too long.”
“True,” says Alicia, and smirks back at him. She looks at the pile of folders in her arms. “Have I got everything? I think so. Right, I’m off. Ed will be waiting for me. See you tomorrow.”
They both disappear down the corridor and this time, thank God, they get into a lift. When I’m quite sure they’ve gone, I sit back on my heels with a puzzled frown. What’s going on? Why were they talking about suing? Suing who? And how come Bank of London was here?
Is Bank of London going to sue Luke? It sounds like everything’s a complete mess! I thought Alicia was supposed to have everything under control.
For a while I just sit still, trying to work it all out. But I’m not really getting anywhere — and suddenly it occurs to me that I ought to get out while the going’s good. I get up, wincing at the cramp in my foot, and shake out my legs as the circulation returns to them. Then I pick up my parcel, shake back my head, and as nonchalantly as possible, walk down the corridor toward the lifts. Just as I’m pressing the “Summon” button, my mobile phone rings inside my bag, and I give a startled jump. Shit, my phone! Thank God that didn’t happen while I was hiding behind Mel’s desk!
“Hello?” I say, as I get into the lift.
“Bex! It’s Suze.”
“Suze!” I say, and give a shaky giggle. “You have no idea how you nearly just got me in trouble! If you’d rung like, five minutes ago, you would have completely…”
“Bex, listen,” says Suze urgently. “You’ve just had a call.”
“Oh right?” I press the ground-floor button. “From who?”
“From Zelda at Morning Coffee! She wants to talk to you! She said, do you want to meet for a quick lunch tomorrow?”
That night, I barely get an hour’s sleep. Suze and I stay up till late, deciding on what I should wear — and when I’ve gone to bed, I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, feeling my mind flip around like a fish. Will they offer my old job back after all? Will they offer me a different job? Maybe they’ll upgrade me! Maybe they’ll give me my own show!
But by the early hours of the morning, all my wild fantasies have faded away, leaving the simple truth. The truth is, all I really want is my old job back. I want to be able to tell Mum to start watching again, and to start paying off my overdraft… and to start my life all over again. Another chance. That’s all I want.
“You see?” says Suze the next morning as I’m getting ready. “You see? I knew they’d want you back. That Clare Edwards is crap! Completely and utterly—”
“Suze,” I interrupt. “How do I look?”
“Very good,” says Suze, looking me up and down approvingly. I’m wearing my black Banana Republic trousers and a pale fitted jacket over a white shirt, and a dark green scarf round my neck.
I would have worn my Denny and George scarf — in fact, I even picked it up from the dressing table. But then, almost immediately, I put it down again. I don’t quite know why.
“Very kick-ass,” adds Suze. “Where are you having lunch?”
“Lorenzo’s.”
“San Lorenzo?” Her eyes widen impressively.
“No, I don’t think so. Just… Lorenzo’s. I’ve never been there before.”
“Well, you make sure you order champagne,” says Suze. “And tell them you’re fighting off loads of other offers, so if they want you to come back, they’re going to have to pay big bucks. That’s the deal, take it or leave it.”
“Right,” I say, unscrewing my mascara.
“If their margins suffer, then so be it,” says Suze emphatically. “For a quality product you have to pay quality prices. You want to close the deal at your price, on your terms.”
“Suze…” I stop, mascara wand on my lashes. “Where are you getting all this stuff?”
“What stuff?”
“All this… margins and close the deal stuff.”
“Oh, that! From the Hadleys conference. We had a seminar from one of the top salespeople in the U.S.! It was great! You know, a product is only as good as the person selling it.”
“If you say so.” I pick up my bag and check that I’ve got everything — then look up and take a deep breath. “Right, I’m going.”
“Good luck!” says Suze. “Except you know, there is no luck in business. There’s only drive, determination, and more drive.”
“OK,” I say dubiously. “I’ll try to remember that.”
The address I’ve been given for Lorenzo’s is a street in Soho — and as I turn into it, I can’t see anything that looks obviously like a restaurant. It’s mostly just office blocks, with a few little newsagenty-type shops, and a coffee shop, and a…
Hang on. I stop still and stare at the sign above the coffee shop. “Lorenzo’s coffee shop and sandwich bar.”
But surely… this can’t be where we’re meeting?
“Becky!” My head jerks up, and I see Zelda walking along the street toward me, in jeans and a Puffa. “You found it all right!”
“Yes,” I say, trying not to look discomfited. “Yes, I found it.”
“You don’t mind just a quick sandwich, do you?” she says, sweeping me inside. “It’s just that this place is quite convenient for me.”
“No! I mean… a sandwich would be great!”
“Good! I recommend the Italian chicken!” She eyes me up and down. “You look very smart. Off somewhere nice?”
I stare at her, feeling a pang of mortification. I can’t admit I dressed up specially to see her.
“Erm… yes.” I clear my throat. “A… a meeting I’ve got later.”
“Oh well, I won’t keep you long. Just a little proposition we wanted to put to you.” She shoots me a quick smile. “We thought it would be nicer to do it face to face.”
This isn’t exactly what I imagined for our power lunch. But as I watch the sandwich guy smoothing Italian chicken onto our bread, adding salad, and slicing each sandwich into four quarters, I start to feel more positive. OK, maybe this isn’t a grand place with tablecloths and champagne. Maybe they aren’t pushing the boat out. But then, that’s probably good! It shows they still think of me as part of the team, doesn’t it? Someone to have a relaxed sandwich with, and thrash out ideas for the forthcoming season.
Maybe they want to take me on board as a features consultant. Or train me to become a producer!
“We all felt for you dreadfully, Becky,” says Zelda as we make our way to a tiny wooden table, balancing our trays of sandwiches and drinks. “How are things going? Have you got a job lined up in New York?”
