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“Sydney Harbor is gorgeous under starlight,” the woman said as she leaned toward me, “don’t you agree?” She tilted her beautiful (if perhaps Botoxed) face up at me, no doubt posing in the moonlight for me to admire.
“I’m sure it is. Though when I look at it spread out before me, what strikes me most is the prosperity, the perfect balance of commercial shipping and recreational boating. Cruise ships, super yachts right alongside shipping fleets.”
She made a face and took a sip of her martini. She got the message. I wasn’t romantic about the harbor or anything else. And this woman, well, she could be anyone as far as I was concerned.
“Big award tonight, eh?” she said.
“Yes. Matter of fact, I should head back there. Good to meet you,” I said, pausing because I’d forgotten her name.
I stood by while my mate Roger took the podium to introduce me. Bit of a joker at school, but he’d done well in life. It was his yacht we cruised on for the gala, a sleek 35 meters, strung with twinkle lights and playing host to a hundred of the wealthiest philanthropists in the hemisphere.
“Bastian and I went through school together. He got me out of more trouble than I’d care to admit, in fact. We all knew at Eton he’d grow up to have a good head on his shoulders and he’s made a great success of his shipping business. We’re here because he gives away a gorgeous amount of money to children’s charities and quite outdid himself this year. I reckon it’s safe to say that with both royal princes married off, the man I’m about to introduce is the most eligible bachelor in the world as well as the most charitable: Ladies and gentlemen, I give you my old mate, Andrew Bastian.”
I ducked my head, put on a good-natured smile and took the mike
“It’s an honor being here with you tonight. I’ll lead by apologizing for my shocking underachievement in the arena of marriages and divorces—I’m behind the curve on that one. I’ve put my energy into extending my family’s legacy in business and charitable giving. My goal isn’t to find a wife and have kids, but rather to leave a better world for the children who will come after we are gone. I’m filled with gratitude to be among you lot, so many of you giving of yourselves to those less fortunate. It’s a privilege to be here tonight and I thank you for the award. Cheers.”
I stepped down with the plaque in hand, shook Roger’s hand heartily and accepted the congratulations of several board members of the charity. I stepped away to answer my mobile, which was ringing furiously.
I ducked out of the ballroom and stood in a passage to answer the call.
“Andrew, darling, how is Australia?” my mum said.
“Quite well, thanks. I’ve just received the award. It’s back home to London tomorrow.”
“Really? So soon? You know your cousin Bridget on your dad’s side lives in Melbourne. You should pop over to see her. She knows a really nice girl you should meet. Did her degree in library science apparently, quite serious like you, but keen to start a family!”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and took a breath, reminding myself that I loved my mother and she deserved my patience. So I didn’t chuck my phone off the ship in a fury over another matchmaking attempt.
“That’s so kind of her, Mum, but I won’t make it round to Melbourne this trip. I’ve meetings in London before I head to Boston for the restructuring, remember?”
“Yes, of course, I do. I only wish you’d take a bit of time for yourself. You’re always whizzing here and there for meetings and charity parties, never stopping long enough to meet someone special.”
“I know you want that for me, Mum,” I said pinching my forehead, “I’m busy at the moment. I’ll see you and Dad tomorrow night I expect. Is he feeling all right?”
“He says he was, but he was huffing after climbing the stairs and he won’t see the doctor. I do wish you’d talk to him about it.”
“I will, Mum. Love to you and Dad.”
I stared blankly at the brass plaque on the award, marking years of tireless fundraising and donations, advocacy on the part of getting well-equipped pediatric surgeons into desperate regions. It seemed like nothing compared to the mountain of work left to do—work at my company and work for human rights foundations we sponsored as well.
I couldn’t face any more small talk, cocktails and flirting women. Women who took Roger’s jokey remark about my eligibility as a challenge. The trouble was, I had no interest in settling down, and if I did, it wouldn’t be with a woman whose main interest was trying to land an eligible billionaire. I said goodbye to the board of directors and headed out, making the excuse of an early flight home. They didn’t argue, didn’t mention that I had my own jet and could leave as early or late as I wished.
As much as I disliked going to America for a week, it was necessary. And once I’d committed to going, I hated delays. This one, however, was necessary. We’d hired a board member’s relative for an entry-level position and his only interest seemed to be lurking in the copy room to corner the female interns. Technically, it was a HR issue, but it was my company and my board, my family’s reputation.
The head of HR was in my office, quaking in her Louboutins because I’d called her in, and she was trying to make excuses for the entitled little shit who was trying to feel up the Bastian interns.
“Listen, Charlene, I don’t care if his dad’s on the board of directors. I don’t care if his dad is Jesus Christ. If HR gets one more complaint of him groping the interns, he’s out on his arse.”
“Sir, I think it’s a bit sticky to sack a director’s son who’s only just started in marketing. I’ve assigned him some sensitivity training,” she said carefully.
“Rubbish. I’ll be the one to tell his dad what a wanker his son is, not your department. Once more and he gets the sack.”
“Yes, sir,” she said and left my office.
Sylvia, my secretary—about one hundred years old and my father’s secretary before she was mine—rang my office, “Helicopter’s on the roof, Andy.”
“Thanks. And you’re meant to call me Mr. Bastian, you know,” I said sarcastically.
“Yes, I know, but I used to put plasters on your scraped knees, so I’ll not be calling you Mr. anything,” she said crisply.
I took my suitcase and headed for the helipad on the roof. The whip of the blades as they slowly ruffled my hair, blew back my red Hermes tie. A week in Boston seemed deadly boring, but if I wasn’t there to supervise the restructuring, I’d only have to make a trip later to set things right. I stepped in and settled in my seat, watching my city grow smaller as I swooped above the skyscrapers toward the airfield.
2
Lucy
“Yes, I got the taffy and the kettle chips. It’s so sweet of you, but I’m not in a wasteland, Nana. It’s Boston. Boston has food, grocery stores and everything!” I said, suppressing a giggle. My grandmother wouldn’t stop sending me care packages even though I was out of college and working at my internship in Boston.
“I know it, I just don’t trust those city people with their no gluten and their low carb and eating sushi all the time. Act like they haven’t got any sense at all. And if I want to send you a care package, I’m going to do it. Don’t you act like silly old nana thinks there’s no food in Boston. There’s food all right, it’s just not the kind you’re used to back home in Seaver’s Ridge. I bet you can’t even get a decent fried egg there.”
“I haven’t ordered one. Or cooked one either. I had some hard-boiled for lunch the other day. I thought once I was away from Liz and her awesome lemon cake I’d lose a few pounds, but I promise I’m not starving. Look,” I pivoted my phone so Nana could see the waistband of my jeans digging in on Skype, “I’ve been eating leftovers at work, and let me tell you, these people know how to cook for a banquet. The other night there was an avocado and quail’s egg on toast, just an appetizer, and I ate four. They were so good!”
“Sounds like something I’d scrape off my sandwich if it was served to me. But you know all that fancy food better than I do. I’ve got to go feed Rosie’s cats now. She’s out of town this week and you know those cats will be the terror of the town if they’re not fed on time.”
I laughed. Rosie’s cats could yowl like they were being murdered if dinner was ten minutes late. One of them even used to hurl his body against the screen door when he was hungry. Nothing like a fat tabby flinging himself at your door to give you a shock.
“You go rescue those poor starving cats. I love you. I’ll talk to you on Saturday,” I said.
I sighed.
I loved Boston and my internship, but Nana wouldn’t be convinced that it was where I belonged. She wanted me back home where she could watch over me and feed me pot roast and remind me to keep my knees together if I didn’t want to end up like my mama.
The timer pinged and I took the cupcakes out of the oven. My roommate Sarah’s birthday was yesterday, and she was at work already by the time I got home, so she was getting belated cupcakes. I whipped up some strawberry buttercream while the cupcakes cooled enough to frost. I liked baking, but in my heart, I wanted to see a row of tiered servers loaded with gorgeous cupcakes, waiters hurrying them to each waiting table—an entire banquet of diners thrilled with their pretty and delicious treats.
The truth is I loved my internship at Gustav’s Catering and Events. I’d be thrilled to get a full-time job there, save some money and then open my own catering business in a few years. I’m working towards my dream every day, even when it’s just figuring out the number of cake pops we need for some upscale kid’s birthday party.
So when I got to work and Bernadette told me I was going to help her oversee a major event at the Bastian Building, I was excited. It was a welcome luncheon for some bigwig and although it was only a buffet lunch for thirty-five, it was a new and exclusive client, the gateway to a lot of events for the corporation if we were successful. I hadn’t known I’d be on-site so I’d dressed down for work, assuming I’d be with my clipboard or iPad in the kitchens and loading racks into the vans. What mattered was my skill and professionalism, I reminded myself, not my ponytail or my plain V-neck tee.
I checked the quantities, packed up some extra rosemary focaccia in case it was needed—the corporate events I’d worked had nearly run out of bread and desserts every time—and went over the arrangements with the set-up workers while Bernadette was on the phone. Satisfied that everything was in order for success, I hopped in the van and rode to the site. Once I was inside the cavernous lobby of the Bastian Building with its gleaming black marble, my confidence took a hit. I wasn’t dressed to even walk into that place. The receptionist who buzzed us in was wearing a designer jacket. I, on the other hand, had just wiped my hands on my jeans.
We wheeled carts into the elevators and made our way to the staging room. I sent set-up in with linens and dishes and waited for Bernadette to give me directions. When she continued to talk on the phone, more agitated than before, I started getting concerned. I touched her arm and she looked up to meet my eyes. She looked troubled, almost tearful. She told the caller to hold on and whispered to me, “Can you do this, Lucy? I’m waiting to talk to a doctor—my mom’s been taken to the emergency room and they think it could be her heart.”
I patted her shoulder and told her I’d take care of everything. I double-checked my list and the time, confident that we were right on schedule. Until a man charged in, “You’re the caterers? Good. He’s early. You’ll have to start at 12:30.”
“It’s scheduled for one,” I said, “You booked the event for one. Not 12:30. We’ll be ready at one, and it will be perfect.”
“I don’t need perfect at one, I need good enough in ten minutes. Unless you want to forfeit the contract with Bastian,” he said, running a hand over his thinning hair in agitation. I stared at him in disbelief. I’d told Bernadette I’d take care of everything, not that I’d lose us the whole job and the potential for more work with Bastian.
“Fine,” I said, “give me fifteen minutes.”
“Ok,” he said grudgingly.
I went to tell Bernadette about the change and mobilize the servers, but she was putting on her coat, “I have to go. I’m sorry about this,” she said, “I’ll call you later.”
“Okay. Don’t worry about a thing,” I said with false brightness. I hoped her mom would be okay and she didn’t need me to stress her out about a glitch with the job. I announced the time change into my headset and went towards the elevator. They’d need my help with setup.
This wasn’t the time to panic. This was the time to prove what I was made of, an opportunity to convince Gustav’s that I was catering management material.
I hurried into the conference room where we were serving. Two of the chafing dishes hadn’t been brought up yet, the coffee urn was empty, and none of the Sterno flames were lit. I shooed the two set-up guys downstairs to get the chicken marsala and asparagus and bring the coffee. I lit the flames and arranged sugar cubes in a dish at the coffee station. Putting the anise biscotti in a big glass jar, I nervously glanced at my watch, praying that we could get everything ready in time. I was polishing a smudge off a chafing lid with the hem of my shirt when a man walked in.
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