Читать книгу The Women's Club - Abusive partners are winding up dead… Criminals who target women are the victims of nasty accidents… Pretend it's not happening, you might live longer - Michael Crawley - Страница 11

Viola Ramjit swung her portfolio up onto her desk with a clunk. Marnie Robins, in the next cubicle, stood up to peer over the top of their shared divider.

Marnie asked, ‘That’s the work you took home to do over the weekend?’

‘That’s it.’

‘Ever hear of time off?’

Viola grinned. ‘I’ve heard of it but can’t remember seeing it. Does it really exist?’

‘For some of us it does.’

‘Maybe I’ll try some, some day.’

‘Before you grow old and die, do you think?’

Viola mused. ‘Hmm? Rest before I die? Now there’s a concept to ponder.’

‘Seriously, Viola, do you really think you’re going to get any credit for your slave labour? All the kudos will go to Bernie Avondale. No one but me will ever know about all the extra hours you put in. He’ll see to that, the bastard!’

‘We’ll see.’

‘You got a hot date after work?’ Marnie asked.

‘Me? No. Why?’

‘New suit. Lovely! More make-up – subtle but definitely more. Your hair looks like you took more trouble with it than usual, as well.’

‘Are you saying that I usually come to work looking a mess?’

‘No, of course not, but today you’ve gilded the lily, for sure, two coats. What’s the big occasion?’

‘Important presentation today, in the boardroom. Old Mr Richter himself will be there, and management from all across the country.’

‘And Bernie is letting you serve the coffee and doughnuts?’

‘No.’

‘So who’s going to see you all primped up and purty, except for me and the pizza-faced kid from the mailroom?’

Viola said, ‘You never know what might happen,’ and sat down to end the conversation.

Marnie’s voice, over the divider, continued. ‘It should be you giving that presentation, Vi. It’s all your ideas and all your work. I’ve heard you explaining your ideas to Big Shot Bernie. There ain’t no justice.’

Viola ignored her. If you took no notice of Marnie’s chatter for long enough, eventually she wound down.

At ten-thirty Viola left her desk and went to the coffee room. Bernie was very particular about his morning coffee. He trusted no one but her to make it for him. The beans had to be dark blend Arabica. It had to be brewed extra strong. Viola stirred in two packets of raw Jamaican sugar, just the way he liked it. She added two drops from the little unmarked vial that she’d found in the middle drawer of her desk that morning. She’d been told that two drops would make sure Bernie would be confined to the men’s room for at least four hours. Just for luck, she added a third before spooning whipped cream to float on the steaming black liquid below and adding a sprinkle of cinnamon. There. Perfect.

What Marnie failed to understand about life was simply this: if, every day, every little person in every little job did her very best at every little thing she did, well, great things could and would happen, all around the world.

The senior managers should be arriving any minute. Best to get this special coffee to Bernie pronto. Someone would have to make the presentation. It wouldn’t be Bernie, so that left…