Читать книгу It Started With... Collection - Miranda Lee - Страница 29

‘THE phone’s ringing, Mummy.’ Emily tugged at Jessie’s jeans. ‘Mummy, are you listening to me? The phone’s ringing.’

‘What? Oh, yes. Thanks, sweetie.’

Jessie dropped the wet T-shirt she was holding back into the clothes basket and ran across the yard towards her back door.

Goodness knew who it would be. She’d already rung Jack first thing this morning to put in a verbal report about last night, petrified at the time that he’d know she was lying.

She’d made up her mind overnight to give Mr Marshall the benefit of the doubt and only tell Jack about the incident with the blonde, and not the conversation that had happened later. She’d already wiped that part off the video as well.

But no sooner had she told him that she’d witnessed the target turning down a proposition from an attractive blonde than Jack had stunned her by saying he wasn’t surprised, that the wife herself had rung that morning in a panic to say that he could keep the money she’d already paid, but that she didn’t want her husband followed any more. It had all been a mistake and a misunderstanding. He’d come home last night and explained everything and she was very happy.

At which point Jack had added smarmily that he could guess what had happened in the Marshall household last night.

‘I can always tell,’ he’d joked. ‘The wives’ voices have a certain sound about them. A combination of coyness and confidence. Our Mr Marshall really came good, I’d say. Like to have been a fly on their bedroom wall last night, I can tell you.’

That image had stayed with Jessie all morning—of her actually being a fly on that bedroom wall, watching whilst the man she’d danced with last night, the man who’d wanted her so desperately, was making love to his wife.

Jessie knew it was wicked of her to feel jealousy over a husband making love to his wife. Wicked to wish she’d been the one in his bed. Wicked, wicked, wicked!

But she couldn’t seem to stop her thoughts, or her feelings. She’d hardly slept a wink all night.

Now, as she dashed inside to the strident sound of the phone, she could still see the desire in his eyes, hear the passion in his voice, feel the need of his body pressed up against hers.

Had he been telling the truth when he said this was a one-off experience? That he’d never done or felt anything like that before?

She was inclined to believe him. Possibly, he’d been more intoxicated than he looked. Or he’d been too long without sex. Silly to believe that there’d been something special between them, right from the first moment their eyes had connected.

That was the romantic in her talking. Men thought differently to women, especially about sex. All she’d been to him was a potential one-night stand.

Maybe, after he discovered she’d done a flit, he’d been relieved. Maybe he’d rushed home in a fit of guilt and shame and genuinely made things up with his wife. Maybe he hadn’t simply used the desire Jessie had engendered in him to make love to a woman he didn’t feel excited by any more.

But why would he do that? For his children’s sake?

Perhaps. Christmas was coming up soon. A family should be together at Christmas. He did hate divorce. She’d heard him say so. And he’d toasted marriage.

Clearly, his marriage mattered to him.

She had to stop thinking about him, Jessie decided as she snatched the receiver down off the kitchen wall. Whatever happened last night, it was over and done with. She would never see the man again. End of story. Finis!

‘Yes,’ she answered breathlessly into the phone.

‘Jessie Denton?’

‘Speaking.’

‘It’s Nicholas Hanks here, Jessie, from Adstaff.’

‘Pardon? Who?’ And then the penny dropped. ‘Oh, yes, Adstaff. The employment agency. Sorry, it’s been a while since I heard from you.’

‘True, but, as I explained to you earlier this year, the market for graphic artists isn’t very buoyant at the moment. Still, something came up yesterday and I thought of you immediately.’

‘Really? Why me, especially?’ Any initial jolt of excitement was tempered by her experiences in the past. Recruitment people were, by nature, optimists. You had to take what they said with a grain of salt sometimes.

‘This particular advertising agency wants someone who can start straight away,’ the recruiter rattled on. ‘They don’t want to interview anyone who’s currently employed with another agency.’

Jessie’s heart sank. There had to be dozens of unemployed graphic artists in Sydney. Once again, the odds of her securing this much-sought-after job was minimal.

‘So which agency is it?’ she asked, refusing to get her hopes up.

‘Wild Ideas.’

‘Oh!’ Jessie groaned. ‘I’d love to work for them.’

Her, and just about every other graphic artist in Sydney. Wild Ideas was only small compared to some advertising agencies. But it was innovative and very successful. Run by advertising pin-up boy Harry Wilde, it had a reputation for promoting any graphic artist with flair to the position of creative designer, rather than head-hunting them from other agencies.

‘Yes, I thought you might,’ came the drily amused reply. ‘You have an interview there at ten o’clock Monday morning.’

‘Gosh, that soon.’ She’d have to ring the restaurant. Fortunately, Monday was their least busy day; if she rang early, they’d be able to call in one of the casuals, no trouble.

‘Can you start straight away, if you have to?’

‘Too right I can. But let’s be honest…Nicholas, wasn’t it…what are the odds of that happening?’

‘Actually, you have an even-money chance. We sent over the CVs of several people on our books yesterday afternoon and they’ve already whittled them down to two. You’re one of those two. Apparently, they’re keen to fill this position, post-haste, and don’t want to waste time interviewing all the would-bes if there are could-bes. I remember your portfolio very well, Jessie, so I know you have the talent required. And you interview very well. Frankly, I was very surprised you weren’t snapped up for that art job I sent you along for earlier on in the year.’

Jessie sighed. ‘I wasn’t surprised. Regardless of what they say, some employers are dead against hiring a single mother. They don’t say so straight out, but underneath they worry that you’ll want time off when your kid’s sick or something. I’m sure that’s been part of my problem all along.’

‘Jessie, your single-mother status is clearly stated on your résumé, which Wild Ideas has already seen. Yet they still specifically asked for you. Clearly, your being a single mum didn’t deter them, did it? You do have your little girl in full-time care, don’t you?’

‘Yes. But…’

‘But nothing. Your circumstances are no different from those of any other working mum, be they single or married. What will count with Wild Ideas is your creative talent, your professional attitude and your reliability. Impress them on those three levels and I feel confident that this job will be yours.’

Jessie had to struggle to control the stirrings of excitement. No way could she afford to get carried away with false optimism. She’d been there, done that, and at the end of the day was always bitterly disappointed.

‘You talk as if I’m the only one going for this job,’ she pointed out. ‘There is another applicant, isn’t there?’

‘Er—yes,’ came the rather reluctant reply.

‘Well, presumably this person is just as well-qualified for this job as I am.’

‘Mmm. Yes. And no.’

‘Meaning what?’

‘Look, it would be very unprofessional of me to say anything negative about the other applicant. She is a client of our agency as well.’

She. It was a woman.

‘But let me give you a hint when it comes to what you wear for your interview. Nothing too bright or too way-out or too overtly sexy.’

Jessie was taken aback. ‘But I never dress like that. You’ve met me. I’m a very conservative dresser.’

‘Yes, but you might have thought that going for a job at Wild Ideas required you to present a certain…image. Trust me when I tell you that your chances of being employed there will be greatly enhanced if you dress very simply.’

‘You mean, in a suit or something?’

‘That might be overkill, under the circumstances. I would suggest something smart, but casual.’

‘Would jeans be too casual? I have some really nice jeans. Not ones with frayed holes in them. They’re dark blue and very smart. I could wear them with a white shirt and a jacket.’

‘Sounds perfect.’

‘And I’ll put my hair up. Down, it can look a bit wild. What about make-up? Should I wear make-up?’

‘Not too much.’

‘Right.’ Jessie speculated that the other applicant was possibly a flashy female, who tried to trade on her sex appeal. Not an uncommon event in the advertising world. Perhaps with Harry Wilde now being a married man instead of a playboy, he preferred to play it safe over who he hired these days. Maybe Nicholas was subtly advising her that the femme fatale type would not be looked upon favourably.

‘Is there anything else I should know?’ she asked.

‘No. Just be your usual honest and open self and I’m sure everything will work out.’

‘You’ve been very kind. Thank you.’

‘My pleasure. I’m only sorry I haven’t been able to find you a job sooner.’

‘I haven’t got this job yet.’

‘You will.’

Jessie wished she could share his supreme confidence, but life had taught her not to count her chickens before they hatched.

‘Have to go, Jessie. There’s someone else on the line. Good luck on Monday.’ And he hung up.

Jessie hung up as well, only then thinking of Emily still out in the back yard all by herself.

Her heart started thudding as a mother’s heart always did when she realised she’d taken her eyes off her child for a few seconds too long.

Not that Emily was the sort of child who got herself into trouble. She was careful, and a thinker. Her pleasures were quiet ones. She wasn’t a climber. Neither did she do silly things. She was absolutely nothing like her father. She was a hundred per cent smarter, for starters.

Still, when Jessie hurried back outside into the yard, she was very relieved to see Emily was where she spent most of her time, playing under the large fig tree in the corner. It was her cubby house, with the sections between the huge roots making perfect pretend rooms. Emily could happily play there for hours.

Her daughter had a wonderful imagination. Jessie had been the same as a child. Maybe it was an only-child thing. Or an inherited talent. Or a bit of both.

Whatever, the Denton girls loved being creative.

Jessie realised then that she wanted that job at Wild Ideas, not just for the money, but also for herself. Being a waitress had been a good stopgap, but she didn’t want to do it for the rest of her life. She wanted to use her mind. She wanted the challenges—and the excitement—of the advertising world.

‘Mummy, who rang our phone? Was it Dora?’

Jessie, who’d finished hanging out the washing, bent down and swept her daughter up into her arms. It was time for lunch.

‘No, sweetie, not Dora. It was a man.’

Emily blinked. ‘A nice man?’

‘Very nice.’

‘Is he going to be your boyfriend, Mummy?’

‘What? Oh, no. Heavens, no! He’s just a man who finds people jobs. It looks as if he might have found Mummy a job as a graphic artist. I have to go for an interview on Monday. If I get it, I’ll earn a lot more money and I’ll be able to buy you lots of pretty things.’

Emily didn’t seem as impressed with this news as Jessie would have expected. She was frowning.

‘Why don’t you have a boyfriend, Mummy? You’re very pretty.’

Jessie felt herself blushing. ‘I…I just haven’t met any man I liked enough to have as a boyfriend.’

Even as she said the words, a pair of ice-blue eyes popped into her mind, along with a charismatic smile. Her heart lurched at the memory of how close she’d come to making the same mistake her mother had made. Brother, she’d got out of that bar just in time.

‘I have you, sweetie,’ Jessie said, giving her daughter a squeeze. ‘I don’t need anyone or anything else.’

Which was the biggest lie Jessie had told her daughter since she’d said she liked being a waitress. Because last night’s experience showed her she did need something else sometimes, didn’t she? She needed to feel like a woman occasionally, not just a mother. She needed to have a man’s arms around her once more. She needed some release from the frustration she could feel building up inside her.

Some day, she would have to find an outlet for those needs. A man, obviously. A boyfriend, as Emily suggested.

But who?

Those blue eyes jumped back into her mind.

Well, obviously not him. He was off limits. A married man.

If only she could get this job. That would bring a whole new circle of males into her world.

OK, so lots of guys in the advertising world were gay. But some weren’t. Surely there had to be the right kind of boyfriend out there for her. Someone attractive and intelligent. Someone single—and a good lover.

Of course, attractive, intelligent single men who were good lovers were invariably full of themselves, and unwilling to commit. There would be no real future in such a relationship. She’d have to be careful not to fall for the guy. Or to start hoping for more than such a man could give.

Jessie sighed. Did she honestly need such complications in her life? Wouldn’t it be better if she just went along the way she was, being a celibate single mum?

Men were trouble. Always had been. Always would be. She was much better off without one in her life. Emily was happy. She was happy. She’d be even happier if she got this job on Monday.

Feeling frustrated was just a temporary thing. She’d get over it. One day.

Jessie sighed again.

‘Why are you always sighing today, Mummy?’ Emily asked. ‘Are you tired?’

‘A little, sweetie.’

‘Why don’t you have a cup of coffee? You always do that when you’re tired.’

Jessie looked into her daughter’s beautiful brown eyes and laughed. ‘You know me very well, don’t you?’

‘Yes, Mummy,’ she said in that strangely grownup voice she used sometimes. ‘I do. Oh, I can hear Dora’s car! Let’s go and tell her about your new job.’

‘I haven’t got it yet, Emily. It’s only an interview.’

‘You’ll get it, Mummy,’ she said with all the naïve confidence of a four-year-old. ‘You will get the job.’