CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

 

The New Year arrived with no word from head office regarding Jack’s status at Worldwide Shipping, and Oona did her best to relieve his flagging spirits.

‘If you weren’t being considered, wouldn’t they have sent a replacement by now?’

A few mornings later, a letter arrived with an English stamp. Brenda crossed her fingers before taking it to Jack. Moments later, Oona went into his office to get his signature on a missing consignment. The letter lay open on his desk.

‘Good news, I hope, Jack?’ She passed him the paperwork.

‘Well, it depends.’ He signed her document and handed it back.

‘Why?’ She sat down and crossed her ankles. ‘What do you mean?’

‘One of the directors, Mr. Peterson, is flying over from London on Friday to see the Kovacs before they leave, and he’s coming here first to interview me. He wants to see how the agency’s run and talk over some of the finer details.’

‘What time does he arrive?’

‘His flight gets in at noon. I’ll pick him up. Show some Irish hospitality.’

‘Will you take him for lunch?’

‘I guess his priority will be the interview, don’t you?’ Smiling, he said, ‘I’ll offer to take him for a Guinness later.’

‘This run-down tenement won’t impress him.’

‘Hardly!’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘The first day I arrived, I couldn’t wait to get outside again in the fresh air.’ He folded his arms.

Oona smiled. ‘I remember.’ She stood up. ‘I hope he realises how much we need you at the helm.’

‘You’re very kind, Oona. If the worst happens, you’ll cope admirably.’

‘Now you’re being kind,’ she said. All she could do was to pray that Mr. Peterson would see Jack’s potential.

Brenda walked in with an invoice Jack had asked for the previous day. She leaned across his desk, showing more thigh than usual in a white mini-skirt.

‘Thanks. Just about to come and ask you for that.’

The girl blushed and fluttered her eyelashes.

Oona shook her head slowly from side to side. She was beginning to weary of Brenda’s constant flirting with Jack. And that skirt was definitely a couple of inches shorter than the last time she’d worn it.

‘Is there anything else you want, Mr. Walsh?’ Brenda asked, lowering her gaze.

‘No. That’ll be all thanks, Brenda.’ He stood up and ran his hand through his hair. For the first time, Oona heard the tension in his voice and noticed a frown wrinkle his brow. Friday’s meeting meant a lot to him – and not just him.

‘Well, good luck with the interview, Jack,’ she said.

Nodding, he smiled and lowered his head over a stack of documents.

‘What interview?’ Brenda asked, when she came out. ‘Is someone taking over from Jack?’ Her eyes widened.

‘No, Mr. Peterson is coming over from London to interview him for the job.’

‘Well, in that case, I’m definitely going to St. Jude’s tonight. Do you ever go?’

‘No. I’m usually too tired when I get home from work. Connie and Dessie go every week. They’re praying for a baby.’

‘Sure, my ma was married two years before she conceived with me, so she was. She prayed to Him and now she’s got six of us.’ Brenda giggled.

Oona forced a smile. Strange how people’s lives turn out. Connie believed in the power of the saint of hopeless causes but, since the accident, Oona found it hard to believe in prayer.

‘Sure, why don’t you come and see for yourself? You might enjoy it.’

‘Thanks, but no thanks, Brenda. I don’t think St. Jude can do anything for me.’

 

***

 

That afternoon, Brenda picked her nails and stared into space. Oona bit her lip in an attempt to remain calm in spite of a growing mountain of paperwork. The girl was beginning to irritate her, continually talking about Jack. ‘How many girlfriends do you suppose Jack’s had?’ she asked dreamily.

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Brenda! There’s all this work to get through and I’m still waiting for these invoices.’ She threw a list of numbers across the desk.

‘What’s eatin’ you?’

‘You are! And if you choose to do nothing but ask stupid questions, you might as

well not be here.’

Brenda rustled a few papers and mumbled, ‘feck off’ under her breath.

Oona stared stonily. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard her use bad language, and by now despaired of her ever changing. ‘I’ve warned you before about using that word in the office.’

Brenda lowered her head and a tear trickled down her face. In a short time her desk was tidy, her paperwork in neat piles. ‘I’ll make the tea now, if it’s all right with you!’

Left alone, Oona wondered if she had been too harsh. After all, Brenda was young and, at times, a bit naive. She could not help noticing the growing confidence in her recently, acting as if she was the boss’s girlfriend. It crossed Oona’s mind to speak to Jack, but he had enough on his plate right now. To Brenda, Jack was becoming more than just a fantasy that could soon get out of hand. Anyone other than Jack might have taken advantage of her by now, but she’d hate to see the girl get hurt.

Brenda carried the tea in on a tray and for the next hour concentrated on the filing. When Oona noticed the amount of work they had done without chatting, she gave Brenda an encouraging smile.

 

***

 

On Friday morning, Oona found Jack poring over the accounts.

‘Morning, Jack.’

He glanced up. ‘Morning, Oona.’

‘Is there anything I can do?’

‘Everything appears to be up to date,’ he said, closing the books.

‘Do you think Mr. Peterson will make his decision today?’

‘I don’t see why not. He’s a director and I’m hoping for some clear indication afterwards. Between you and me, if he turns me down it’ll leave me no choice but to return to Universal Shipping.’ He paused to glance at his watch.

She imagined him counting the hours to Mr. Peterson’s arrival.

‘At least Mr. Mountjoy has guaranteed me my job if . . .’

‘I’m sure that won’t happen. Stay positive, Jack. Brenda’s done the Novena to St. Jude.’

‘Really! I’m touched. I hope he listened.’

‘Well,’ she said, ‘if you think of anything I can help with . . . although, I’ve not been very successful lately with job interviews.’ She hadn’t meant to say that. It had just slipped out.

‘I didn’t know you were looking, Oona.’

‘I thought Mr. Kovac was coming back.’

‘I see,’ he said. ‘Are you still looking?’

‘That depends,’ she said, awkwardly.

‘On today’s outcome, you mean?’ He sighed. ‘That makes two of us, then.’

She felt awful now. ‘Well . . . I suppose . . . it would make my decision easier.’

‘Have you been offered another job?’

‘No.’

‘Good! Well, hang on, and wish me luck.’

‘Oh, I do. I’m keeping my fingers crossed.’

He glanced at his watch again, leaving Oona in no doubt how anxious he was not to be late arriving at the airport.

 

***

 

When Jack returned with the director, Oona was busy on the phone and Brenda dashed about looking for paperwork. Mr. Peterson paused inside the door and glanced around. His navy overcoat swung open to reveal a dark grey suit with matching waistcoat. His black, quality shoes shone as if for inspection. In spite of sporting a dark moustache, his grey wispy hair showed signs of thinning.

Oona replaced the receiver and scribbled numbers onto a notepad.

‘This is Mrs. Quinn, and our junior, Miss Byrne,’ Jack said.

‘How do you do, Mrs. Quinn? I trust you’re well.’

‘Very well thanks, Mr. Peterson,’ she said and shook his outstretched hand.

‘Good, good.’ He smiled warmly. Her phone rang again and she had to answer it. Jack steered him towards his office.

For the next hour the women worked diligently side by side, both with their own private thoughts, aware that the important interview taking place next door could well change their lives.

When the men finally emerged, Jack was smiling. He informed Oona that he would be out for a while and Mr. Peterson smiled and nodded. After they left, the phones rang continuously. With no time to dwell on what the two men had discussed, Oona could only trust the interview had gone well. She was desperate for Jack to return and put them out of their misery.

At four thirty, Brenda reluctantly gathered up the post. ‘Oh, do I have to go?’

‘I’m afraid so, Brenda. Jack might not come in again today.’

‘Do you think he’s got the job?’

‘I hope so. Mr. Peterson didn’t look like a man who’d just delivered bad news.’ Just the same, she hoped her observations proved right.