Tonight, as I work, I have a different job on my mind. Somehow, I need to apply for the position of Julian Landon’s pa and it won’t be easy.
As I clean the offices belonging to the staff of the man himself, I try to build a picture of the company I seek to join.
Waste bins are usually good information dumps, and I make sure to sift through every one of them for something that may help me.
I’ve amassed quite the database over the past year and passwords, telephone numbers and juicy titbits of gossip, have found their way into my notebook one way or another. I’m always careful not to be discovered as I enter the security code to a filing cabinet, or a password to the computer system. I’m not sure why I started doing it; maybe subconsciously it was for this very reason — to ease my application in securing the job I desire more than anything right now.
The sky is dark outside and the strip lighting of the office reveals my sad reflection as I work in the empty space. Silence is all around me, unless you count the sirens and general traffic outside of the city that never sleeps.
I match up the photos on the desks with the customers in Barrington’s. For instance, Joey Matthews is seeing Katie Evans from accounting and I know she is married. I see the crumpled notes in the bins as they resort to the old-fashioned way of communicating, never dreaming for one moment that their rubbish would be so incriminating.
I know that Fenella Sullivan is planning on resigning because her boss is intimidating her and bullies her every hour of the day. I see the drafted letter detailing every conversation and reprimand given. They are then screwed into a ball and re-written as even more ammunition is added to the charge sheet.
Her boss, Miles Sinclair, is an oily piece of filth whose main ambition is to make it upstairs to the executive offices. He is currently pursuing Alice Vander Woods, who is the HR manager’s assistant. His own wife and baby beam proudly from the silver frame on his desk, but I hear the conversation the two of them share when they think no one is listening as they hide from view in the corner booth in Barrington’s.
Yes, I know everything about these people and could write a book on what goes on here. The trouble is, nobody would believe a word of it because it’s so explosive, even I would doubt its authenticity.
However, now I need to put my knowledge to the test and use it to get me what I want because I will only get one shot and I can’t afford to miss.
* * *
By the time I make it home, I’m exhausted. Ronnie left a couple of hours ago and I sigh as I re-heat the ready meal we appear to live on these days. I know Ronnie grabs something out most nights and I’m usually so tired, food is the last thing on my mind.
However, tonight I have an extra shot of adrenalin and as soon as I’ve eaten, open my notebook to plot my next move. I need to plan this operation with a military precision because I don’t have long. I want Claire Quinn’s job more than life itself, and if I fail, it won’t be through lack of trying.
Once I have my plan in place, I decide to grab half an hour of television before indulging in a long hot soak in the bath tub.
I make a mug of tea and settle down to watch the evening news and see the poor parents of the girl who went missing. My heart goes out to them as they plead once again for their daughter’s safe return. The police officer that accompanies them looks serious and I can tell by the look in his eye he doesn’t hold out much hope. I try to remember a positive outcome of one of these conferences and come up empty and my heart sinks as I picture their future and it’s not a pleasant one.
However, sleep soon beckons and I head off to bed. Maybe tomorrow will bring better news, I hope so, for their sakes.
* * *
The next day it’s obvious that word’s got out because there’s a buzz of excitement in Barrington’s. The secretaries, personal assistants and receptionists are unusually talkative and as I listen in, every conversation regards the newly vacant position. I hear the receptionist Fiona Matthews discussing it with Sarah Stammers the temp from ‘Hire it.’ “You should apply, Sarah. You’ve got shed loads of experience and quite frankly, who wouldn’t want to work for Julian Landon, the man’s a god among men.”
Sarah nods dreamily. “You can say that again. When are the applications closing?”
“Friday. It’s on the internal vacancies board. I think they’re opening it up to staff first and then a few agencies they use. Maybe yours is one of them.”
Sarah looks thoughtful. “I’ll call and see if they’ve heard anything. If they have, I’ll get them to push my CV their way. Oh, I’d love to work here permanently. There is so much opportunity in Crossline and to be honest, I’m bored with just being in a place a few weeks at a time. Maybe this was meant to be, you know, right place, right time.”
They drift away and I feel anxious. Sarah is good, she’s also already proved her worth and would probably stand a good chance. Like Claire, she is presentable, efficient and easy on the eye. I’m guessing Mr Landon would be pleased as punch to have her working under him.
I think I’m on tenterhooks all day and listen eagerly for any snippet of information that I can use to my gain.
Claire herself appears as usual at 1.05, and orders her usual Americano with half fat milk, and I look at her with interest, trying to imagine myself in her place.
A woman behind her in the queue taps her on the shoulder. “Hey, Claire.”
Turning around, she smiles. “Hey, Ally, I haven’t seen you for ages, where have you been?”
“Working in New York for Rufus Granger.”
Claire’s eyes widen. “I forgot you landed that one. Well, what was it like?”
The blush to her cheeks tells Claire what she wants to know, and she laughs softly. “I heard he was gorgeous. You didn’t um…”
Shaking her head, Ally says in a shocked voice, “Good God, no, but I wouldn’t have said no if he asked.”
They giggle like school girls, and I strain to hear every word. Ally sighs wistfully. “To be honest, I would have stayed if I could, but my visa ran out. You know, Claire, New York is such a vibrant place to work and the guys are well…”
She fans her face and Claire raises her eyes. “Go on.”
Ally giggles adorably. “Well, put it this way, I was in demand in more ways than one. Anyway, I’m back working on boring hedge funds and tearing my hair out, waiting until I can apply for my visa again. What about you, what’s going on, I heard you were leaving?”
By now they’ve reached the front of the line and I say brightly, “May I take your order?”
Claire orders her usual and says kindly, “And whatever my friend is having.”
“Oh, thanks, I’ll have a skinny latte please.”
I turn to make their drinks slowly, hoping they pick up where they left off and Ally says, “I heard you’re leaving, anywhere I should know about.”
Claire laughs. “Scott has a new job in Bermuda and we’re heading out there for six months. It’s all tax free and I don’t have to work. How that’s for a result?”
She grins and Ally looks green with envy. “You’re so lucky. Not only have you snagged the most eligible bachelor in Canary Wharf, he’s now whisking you away to paradise. Some girls have all the luck.”
Claire smiles smugly and then my blood runs cold as she says lightly, “If you like, I’ll put in a good word with Julian. He’s pissed I’m leaving and if I tell him I’ve found the perfect replacement, he may actually be civil to me for five minutes.”
Ally looks at her eagerly and my heart sinks. This is a disaster.
They move away and I feel agitated. What was I thinking? I’m no match for these women. They could do this job standing on the well-styled heads. I’m just a waitress and a cleaner. Why on earth would I be chosen above them?
Leah looks over and says with concern, “Are you ok, honey. You’ve turned a strange colour.”
“It’s fine, maybe I just need to eat something.” I smile quickly and try to bring my head back in the game and she shakes her head. “You’ve been working for hours. Go and grab five minutes, I can hold the fort. Hailey’s just arrived, so why don’t you take a break?”
I know it’s against the rules; none of us can skip the lunchtime rush, but I am grateful for five minutes to sort my head out, so I smile gratefully. “Thanks, I’ll just take a comfort break, I won’t be long.”
I head off and shut myself in the ladies and try to unscramble my brain. My heart starts to slow a little as I try to calm down. Taking a few deep breaths, I give myself a stern talking to and try to think of a way out of an increasingly bad situation. I need to be clever about this. I can do this; I just need to work out how.
Five minutes is all it takes to get my head back in the game. Yes, I can’t afford to falter because the stakes are too high. I will just need to rise above my competition, and I know just how I’m going to do it.