Читать книгу The Chic Boutique On Baker Street - Rachel Dove - Страница 11

Four months earlier

London

Stepping down onto the platform, Amanda juggled her leather briefcase, black wool coat and Grande Caramel Macchiato. She felt grotty, despite the flesh-grating power shower she had subjected her skin to only hours before. The fetid stench of the rat race seemingly clung to her clothes. The memory of the sweaty bloke’s armpit she’d travelled pressed up against on the train was still fresh in her memory, and the smell still lingered in her nostrils. She took a gulp of her strong caffeine and sugar fix and fumbled for her ticket, swiping it as she went past the ticket barrier, a single body in the herd of office workers walking stridently towards the various workplaces in the city centre. Feeling a buzz from her handbag, she tapped on her Bluetooth earpiece, barking, ‘Perry!’ into the busy atmosphere.

‘Miss Perry, it’s Elaine. I just wanted to go over your schedule for today. You haven’t left any time for lunch again. Do you want me to rearrange anything?’

Angela rolled her eyes, almost tipping her coffee over herself as she flicked her wrist to check her watch. ‘No, Elaine, it’s fine. I will send out for something, and have a working lunch.’ She walked out of the station, click-clacking in her high heels along the pavement towards her office, law firm Stokes Partners at Law. She could hear her long-suffering assistant sighing down the line.

‘No problem, Miss Perry, shall I ring Antony’s?’ Antony’s was the deli round the corner from the office, and they delivered. Pasta, salads, breads and cheeses to die for. Amanda’s stomach growled, betraying the yoghurt and blueberries she had gulped down this morning. Amanda smiled at her assistant’s fussy care of her.

‘Yes, please, Elaine, my usual. Thanks, I’ll be there in ten.’

Elaine said goodbye and the line clicked off. Passing the newsagent stand, Amanda’s eye was distracted from her fast walk to the office when she spied the latest craft magazines on the stands. Striding up, she smiled at the stallholder, then picked up half a dozen of her coveted magazines and passed the armful to him.

‘Wrap them up please, Terry,’ she said, handing over the cash.

‘I know, I know, can’t have those fancy lawyers knowing about your secret knitting habit, eh?’ he teased, as he wrapped up the magazines in brown paper and then sheathed them into a large carrier bag.

Amanda laughed. ‘Something like that, Terry.’

Moments later, she entered her office on the fourth floor, coffee still warm in her hand, fired up her computer and walked over to her filing cabinet. Opening the bottom drawer with a small key from her bag, she stashed the package of magazines inside, relocked the cabinet and double-checked it was locked. Relieved to have once again smuggled them in undetected, she walked across the plush grey carpet, her tiny stiletto heels leaving small dents in the thick floor covering. At the large low window, she reached across with a manicured hand and drew back the fabric blinds, letting the early morning London sun dance across her workspace. Amanda loved her office, with its stark white walls, huge cherry-red desk and a small seating area, complete with table and elegant carved chairs. Although the decor was a little too bland for her personal tastes, it was perfect for meeting clients in comfort. She preferred to work this way, rather than using the impersonal and imposing meeting rooms on the first floor. In fact, other than being in court, Amanda would be quite happy to spend all of her working hours in her office. She liked the logical side of the law, seeing through a project from start to finish, undertaking each stage, piece by piece, layering the work needed to be done in neat piles, all in colour-coded trays on top of the large mahogany surface she slaved at. The cut-throat side of the business always left her cold. She was tough, and fierce in the courtroom, but she had no passion for it. She always felt like her mother when she turned on the ball-breaker side of herself, and her grandma’s voice would ring in her head: You are not like them, my little duck, their world is not for you. She still wondered from time to time whether her grandmother was right. There must be more to life than feeling the need to conceal half of your personality every day. Did anyone know the real her? Didn’t anyone notice how conflicted she was? She sighed to herself. They don’t know, because you don’t show them. She knew what they thought of her.

Amanda was well liked in the office; in fact she was pretty much considered a maverick in the law firm of Stokes Partners at Law. She was a shark; an organised, keen-eyed, methodical-minded shark and her billable hours were always stellar, month on month. Even when she had been knocked down with the flu, she had worked from her couch, sending in dictation via email to her disbelieving PA Elaine.

The partners were considering a new addition to the partnership in the next few months, as Mr Ford, one of the oldest and most senior members of the firm, was retiring, much to his neglected (and at the moment, very insistent) wife’s delight.

Amanda, as oblivious as she was to such things as office gossip and the buzz around the water cooler, was the clear front-runner, and tipped to be the first ever female partner at the firm. The other contenders were few and far between, and it was widely accepted that the partnership spot was between Amanda and Marcus Beresford, a guy with more years at the firm under his designer belt.

Amanda wasn’t even sure how she felt about the partnership. After all, what was the point of more money if you never left the office to spend it? And who would she spend it with? Other than her work colleagues, she didn’t even speak to anyone, let alone socialise. Last Saturday night, whilst her colleagues were all with their families, or knocking back overpriced drinks in loud sweaty clubs, she had been sat in her flat, knocking back wine, flicking through Plenty of Fish for a possible date and screening calls from her parents, both eager to give her pep talks about ‘the last push for partner’. Her mother had even taken to sending her daily emails, suggesting ways of clinching the partnership, whilst simultaneously disparaging her for not cutting her hair short or returning their calls.

As though summoned by Amanda’s mind, Elaine buzzed through.

‘Miss Perry, I have your mother on line one.’

Amanda rolled her eyes, groaning.

‘Tell her I am in a meeting please, Elaine.’

‘Er …’ Elaine’s hesistant voice came through the speaker. ‘I have told her that excuse the last five times, and she says if you don’t speak to her now, she will come to the office.’

Amanda grimaced. ‘Well played, Mother,’ she said under her breath. ‘Fine, put her through please, and hold my calls.’ She knew this would take a while, like root canal treatment and about as pleasant.

‘Hello, Mother,’ she sighed into the line.

‘Hello, darling, meeting go well?’ She didn’t wait for an answer, knowing full well there was no meeting. ‘Did you get my email this morning, with the picture?’ Amanda fired up her email, putting the phone receiver between her cheek and shoulder.

‘Do you see it?’ her mother pestered.

‘Yes,’ Amanda said, looking at the woman clad in an astronaut suit, minus a helmet, that now filled her email screen. ‘I like my hair though,’ she said, running her fingers through the ends of her hair as though to comfort the strands under threat.

‘No, no, it’s too girly, too feminine. Think Anne Hathaway in Interstellar, elfin like, efficient. Would save you valuable billable time too, dear. How much money must you lose every month just by straightening that mop of yours?’

‘Well, if I stopped going to that overpriced muscle gym you made me sign up to, I would save even more,’ she retorted like a sulky teen being made to take French for her options against her will.

‘The gym is not a waste of time, it’s an investment. Trust me, when you get to my age, you will be thanking me for making you exercise. Now, have they made an announcement about the partnership yet? My sources tell me it is due any time. Kimberley is threatening divorce if he doesn’t step down soon,’ her mother declared, referring to Mr Ford’s wife. Sometimes, it felt like Amanda was still at school, getting regular reports from her teachers and having to sit through parents’ evenings with her mother and father barraging her poor subject teachers on every aspect of her education. She half expected her mother to check her homework too. Amanda deleted the email and short hair Hathaway disappeared from the screen.

‘Look, Mum, I have to go, I am busy,’ she said, bringing up her schedule on the screen.

‘That’s fine, Amanda dear, go get some work done, get this partnership nailed down. Think about the hair, OK?’

Amanda strangled the receiver a little between her fingers, before putting it back to her ear. Marcus sidled into the room and she pointed a finger at him to stay silent. The fact that she was sleeping with her colleague and partnership rival was something for another day. Like the twelfth of never.

‘I have thought about it, and the answer is still no. Bye.’

Celine Perry let out an elaborate sigh designed to guilt trip her spawn, and hung on the line, her disapproval making the phone lines jangle. Amanda put down the receiver like a woman handling a live grenade, staring at it ticking away in its cradle. Marcus cleared his throat, and she jumped at the noise, turning her gaze to her visitor, her demeanour tightening further.

‘Marcus, what do you want? I am busy today.’

Marcus Beresford grinned from the corner of Amanda’s office, clearly amused by her terse welcome.

‘Why, Miss Perry, anyone would think you weren’t pleased to see me?’

Amanda’s frown deepened as she eyed him from the top of her computer monitor.

‘I’m not pleased to see you, and I am busy—what is it?’

Marcus smiled, now appearing contrite. ‘Is this about last night?’

Amanda angrily motioned him to come in and shut the door, aware that Elaine was sitting outside, probably earwigging every word.

Marcus stepped in, closing the door behind him, and sat on one of the meeting chairs. Despite herself, Amanda found herself gazing at him. His hair was freshly cut and still slightly damp, and the edges curled slightly at the nape of his neck, showing the grey flecks in his black hair against the dazzling white of his shirt. He was dressed impeccably as always—crisp dark grey suit, cream striped tie and polished-to-perfection black loafers. Even his hands were immaculate, with manicured short nails, and wisps of coarse dark hair peeked from his cuffs, licking around his designer watch. Amanda turned her admiring gaze swiftly back into a glare and she returned to the commercial lease she had been poring over for the last two days. She felt his eyes on her. Sighing, she met his eyes, anger fuelling the feeling in her gut.

‘Marcus, I have said this before, our personal life does not come into this office, ever! I don’t want to talk about last night. You stood me up, again. Remember Saturday? You are a git. End of conversation. Now, I am busy, so, please, close the door after you.’

Marcus stood up, walked over to the side of the desk and knelt down beside her. Amanda flushed at his proximity, and willed her cheeks not to betray the fluttering in her chest. ‘Marcus …’

‘Amanda, I am so sorry. It just got too late to call, we had the Japanese clients fly in unexpectedly, I couldn’t just blow them off. I am so sorry! It was a late one and, when I did get a chance to call, your phone was off. And I explained about Saturday, my mother was in town. Did you really want me to not see my mother when she had come to London to see me?’

Amanda paused. She liked how attentive to his mother he was, always on the phone to her, spending time with her when she came into town. Last night she was furious, but she did turn her phone off in anger before she went to bed, having waited for two hours, dressed up to go to a dinner that never happened. Again. Softening slightly, she nodded slowly.

‘OK, fair point, but I have a busy life too, Marcus. A call or even a text earlier would have been nice. I could have worked late.’

Marcus stuck his bottom lip out, pouting like a child at the girl he was dating.

‘I know, pookie, I am sorry.’

Amanda rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t call me “pookie”, I am not a bimbo. Now let me get to work, I have lots to do today and you dribbling on my desk is counterproductive.’

Marcus grinned then, bouncing back upright. ‘Thanks, babe, I mean Amanda. I will make it up to you, I promise.’

Amanda raised her eyebrows at him and pointed to the door, before returning to her work, feeling slightly better about her morning. Marcus swaggered to the door and paused with the handle in his hand, a gap showing the offices outside.

‘Oh and, Miss Perry, I emailed you a contract to look over, for the Kamimura account. Would you give it a look?’

Amanda’s fingers stilled on her keyboard. She had a busy workload, and that account was not hers to work on, it was his!

‘Why can’t you attend to that, Mr Beresford? It is your account,’ she retorted, trying to keep the indignation out of her voice, aware that they once again had an audience. Marcus pursed his lips sheepishly.

‘Ah, well, the clients have booked a golf session for this afternoon, so I am leaving the office now till tomorrow.’

Amanda’s jaw dropped, and her mouth flapped as she struggled to form coherent words. Sighing, she gritted her teeth and nodded.

‘Fine, Mr Beresford, I will take a look. If I get time.’

Marcus winked at her, smirking.

‘Why, thank you, Miss Perry. I will need it by five.’ Before she could answer, he swiftly pulled the door to and she heard Elaine gushing over his attentions outside her office. She ran her hands over her tight ponytail and then pushed away from her desk sharply, swivel chair barrelling in the wall behind her. She reached into her bag and pulled out her little key. She then buzzed her secretary, who could be heard outside giggling.

‘Elaine, I am not to be disturbed for the next hour, hold all calls, and get me the Kamimura files. Please,’ she added as an afterthought.

She locked her office door and opened the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet. Running her fingers along the brown paper, her stress started to melt away. She selected a magazine and sat behind her desk, pulling her legs up on the chair. After pulling up her Pinterest account, she started to read the magazine, adding ideas to boards as she went along, sighing contentedly, whilst outside her sanctuary, the legal world forged on. At least in here, she could be herself. If the week went on like this, she would be spending her free time making voodoo dolls to stick pins into.