“What?” I demanded in annoyance, just like the sulky teenager might have. He seemed to hesitate, but then deigned to reply with an icy chill, in an almost perfect headmasterish tone of voice.
“You want brandy? Surely it’s a bit early, even for the Irish.”
In spite of my disgust at the Irish bit, I had to laugh. “No, grand as in ok, as in I don’t want anything. Aw, what the hell, I might as well go and get one.” It was easier to concede than argue with him. It was the first of many times I would bend to his will. To my amazement, he sat down with me.
“What brings you to England?” I tried to break the ice.
“I am English; it’s my stepfather who’s French. What brings you here, the brandy?” he quickly countered.
“I’m Irish; it’s almost mandatory for us. Like a rite of passage.” I grinned at his sharp quip. “My aunt lives here and I came as often as I could. I used to come to work in the summer holidays; I had to make beer money for college. I couldn’t afford brandy then.”
Michael managed a small laugh and, taking this as an ice-breaker, I asked about the store. He had a two-week head start on me, so I was trying to get the lowdown on everyone. But dragging information from him was like pulling teeth. Maybe he wanted to make a distinction between me, a lowly assistant and him, a department head. But one thing was clear—we weren’t two newbies in this together.
“What’s James Banbury like? Is he as personable as he seems?”
“James, yes, I suppose,” he answered vacantly, looking at his watch. “Oh, dear, is that the time? Myra’ll be here any moment.”
God, he was a funny one; he should have left me in the corridor if he didn’t want my company, or gotten his coffee and left. I didn’t ask him to stay; he was doing me no favours. He held the door for me as we left the canteen and coolly took his leave at his office. I continued on to the personnel department three doors down. It was still only 8.50 a.m. and there was no sign of Myra. I wondered what his sudden hurry had been.
Once I had settled at my desk, the morning flew by in a muddle of names and paperwork. Myra took me on a tour of the offices and shop floor immediately after lunch and I was pleased to be able to associate some of the faces with the names I had been looking at all morning. Our last port of call was James’s office and I saw Michael sitting opposite him, relaxed and laughing. They seemed to be very familiar with each other, considering Michael had only started two weeks ago.
“Myra, Miss Brennan, come on in,” James invited as he saw us waiting at the open door. “Good to have you on board, how is your first day?” There was that Miss Brennan again. Just how long was it going to take them to get to grips with Siobhan, I wondered, smiling. Michael left hurriedly, making some excuse about work.
“Shove-on,” I reminded him. “It’s been great, thanks, James. So far, so good.”
We chatted pleasantly for a few minutes more before moving along. Myra spent the afternoon showing me the filing system and before I knew it, home time had arrived. All in all, it had been a good first day.
* * *
The rest of the week followed a fairly similar pattern: work, home, sleep. They were a nice bunch and seemed friendly enough. I didn’t see much of Michael for the rest of the week, but when I did, he had that same annoying habit of watching me. He appeared to mix very little with the other staff—it was as if he didn’t want to get to know them. I began to wonder if he thought he was too good for the rest of us. In spite of my promise not to be sucked in, I spent a lot of time thinking about him and I wasn’t too happy about it. When Friday evening came, I was disappointed that there was no mention of drinks. There were quite a few young people working in the offices and the store and I had thought that there might have been a fairly active social network, but it seemed I was wrong.
On Sunday morning Tara and I went to the Covent Garden markets. They were a great place for getting vintage clothes and I loved the street artists and the liveliness of the district. We split up to do our shopping and we agreed to meet up at the pub for lunch and a quick drink after our bank balances had been suitably hammered. I wasn’t much of a shopper and was first to arrive at the pub. I pushed my way through to the bar, got a cold beer, and went to sit outside. I could see the covered markets from where I was sitting and people were strolling around, enjoying the welcome sunshine. There was a mime artist putting on a show and quite a crowd was forming. I was lost in the act of people watching when I heard a man’s voice speak my name.
“Hi, Siobhan, how was your first week?”
I looked up to find Michael standing beside me, looking down in his self-assured way. Dressed in a pair of jeans and a light cotton shirt, he looked unexpectedly sexy. It would have been rude not to ask him to sit, so I reluctantly did.
“Good, thanks. I really like it. How was your week? I didn’t see you much.”
“No, I’ve a lot to get to grips with,” he answered by way of explanation.
“Are you here long?” I asked, desperately trying to find the so-called open question, trying to start a proper conversation.
“Three weeks.”
Boy, this was hard. I couldn’t seem to get him started at all.
“What do you think of it?” I tried next, thinking surely this would elicit more than two words.
“I’m not too sure yet; we’ll see. What are you doing here, sightseeing or shopping?”
“A bit of both,” I said, pointing to my one shopping bag and clutching at the question as a way to get some sort of conversation flow. “My housemate’s the serious shopper. I just came along for the day out. She should be along soon. What about you?” I was hoping that by saying Tara’s arrival was imminent, he might take the hint and get lost, leaving me to watch the world go by.
“I moved into a new apartment yesterday and today I just want to chill and enjoy the city.”
“What’s the apartment like, are you sharing?” I asked as much for politeness as anything. It was obvious he wasn’t rushing off anywhere.
“No, I’m too old to do the house-share thing anymore,” he replied. I was surprised; I’d thought he was about my age and I would much prefer to share.
“You’re not too old; you can’t be much more than twenty-five or twenty-six, are you?” I estimated.
“I thought it was only women who hid their ages,” he replied tersely. “I’m twenty-eight. Don’t worry, I won’t ask you the same question.”
“It’s ok, I’m twenty-five,” I volunteered. “I thought you were a bit younger. Oh, shit, sorry, that sounds bad; I just meant you looked younger, oh, forget it…” I said as I realised I was just digging myself into a bigger hole and Michael was laughing at my embarrassment. I hated the way he seemed to enjoy my discomfort every damn time.
He offered me a drink, which I stubbornly refused, went to the bar and came back to sit with me again, which was strange; it wasn’t like he had much to say. I was hugely relieved to see Tara approaching.
I introduced them and enjoyed watching Tara getting ready to dig her claws in. He was about to leave us to have our lunch, but Tara insisted he stayed and to my total amazement, he did. Maybe her charm was working on him after all.
Over lunch we had a couple more beers and Tara and I were chatting a bit manically. Occasionally I noticed Michael’s face get a confused expression when we spoke too fast for him to keep up with the Irish accents, but overall he joined in the conversation. Tara was really bringing him out of himself. And his reserve seemed to temper her usual brashness. When we were leaving, Michael kissed us on both cheeks in the French custom. He said he’d look forward to seeing me on Friday; he would be in Paris until then. Yet at work he ignored me. He was such an irritating, confusing man.
I’d no business feeling annoyed with Tara; after all, I didn’t even like Michael and I was pretty sure he wasn’t too impressed with me either. And yet I was irked. I told myself that it was just because I didn’t want the complication of my housemate being involved with my colleague, b
ut it was more irrational than that. Every time he was near me, he brought out the worst in my defiant nature. I think it was his tendency to watch me critically. On the one hand I couldn’t resist winding him up, but still for once I wanted him to look at me with approval.
Tara gave me such grilling on the tube home. Where did I meet him, where was he from, how long he was in England, did I know if he had a girlfriend? The questions were coming so fast that it was like being on The Weakest Link. And he was so closed that I had none of the answers.
Tara had set her sights on him and she had all the aces. She was drop-dead gorgeous, tall, with a fabulous figure, and dark hair that fell straight down her back even straight out of the shower. Her holiday tan didn’t hurt her either. She had a lively personality and she always seemed to be able to get the man. Why would he want a small skinny redhead with freckles whom he looked at with contempt, when he could have her? And why did I even care?
On Monday morning, James called a meeting with Myra and me. There had been an incident in the ladies’ washroom and one of the staff members had slipped on some water and broken her wrist. He’d had a tipoff that it wasn’t an accident and was likely to end up in an insurance claim. He wanted me to start investigating and asked what we should do. I felt I was being tested and I was only a wet week in the job.
I hadn’t handled anything like this before and I was desperately trying to recall anything from my studies that might be helpful. Myra stayed quiet, leaving it to me to come up with the answers and I knew for sure then that it was a test. In hindsight I know why, but back then, in my ignorance, it was just daunting. I didn’t know if I was on the right track or if I was making an eejit of myself. Obviously I must have said something right.
“Ok, good, it’s your baby,” James smiled reassuringly, “but don’t be afraid to ask for help, and Myra’ll oversee it to make sure you’re happy.”
I left the office feeling I’d just passed my Leaving Certificate again; the sense of relief was enormous. Hell, this was a world away from my last job; it was sink or swim and hands on all the way, just what I wanted.
* * *
The weather was really wet and gloomy on Friday and it was the wrong sort of rain for British Rail, so the tubes were running late. I was dressed in the shop uniform of a bottle-green shift dress and short matching jacket. I scaled the steps to the store hurriedly, trying to dodge the rain, when someone ran round the corner and knocked me flat. All I could see coming at me was a pair of trousers under an umbrella. As I went crashing to my behind, I could hear a mild expletive and an apology. My immediate reaction was anger.
“Christ, I’m so sorry, are you ok?” a voice said. As the umbrella fell to the ground, I could see the shock on Michael’s face as he realised that he had knocked someone over. Then the look of recognition. Then the embarrassment, both his and mine. Within a matter of moments his face had shown several degrees of horror, and in spite of feeling foolish about being on my bum on the wet step, I started to laugh. He bent down and took my arm to help me up. The concern and guilt on his face were totally out of character. He made to brush me down and then obviously thought better of it. For once he was the one embarrassed and blushing as he held the door open for me. It actually felt quite good to see him unsettled for a change.
“I’m really sorry, Siobhan,” he apologised again as we entered the building. “I was running late, my flight was delayed last night, and I’m all over the place, I should have been paying more attention.”
“So should I,” I agreed. “Damn tubes couldn’t handle the rain, so I was late and rushing too. You’d think by now they’d have invented tubes that could take the wet tracks; it’s not like it’s rare around here. No harm done except to my pride. I’ll just go to the ladies’ and tidy myself up a bit. I’m on shop floor…” Stop blabbing, Siobhan, I told myself crossly.
I could see him look at me properly for the first time and I knew he was worried I wouldn’t look fit for shop duty after the fall. As he did, he registered the uniform and, most unexpectedly, he smiled warmly.
“You know, green really is your colour; you should wear it more often.”
Crikey, were my ears deceiving me? I was flummoxed. Maybe he got a bump to the head when he crashed into me? Then he must’ve realised how inappropriate his comment was, because he quickly muttered an apology and legged it over to the floor manager.
It was then I noticed he was in uniform too. Nice ass, I thought as he was moving forward. I hadn’t noticed that before. I followed him and we both got our instructions for the morning; he was for men’s wear, I was for ladies’ wear. I made my apologies to the floor manager and went to tidy up a bit.
Fridays were always busy in ladies’ wear in Banbury’s. Attending this department were two witty, professional ladies in their late forties. On his daily rounds, James welcomed me to the floor and encouraged me to try to learn as much as I could from Gloria and Kate, his best salespeople.
I soon got to see just how good they were. They had the knack of being visible but not intrusive, and had the customers eating out of their hands. A couple of minutes later, they would have several suitable outfits picked out. They were quite a double act. One did the talking, the other did the fetching, and they both shared in the “oohs” and “aahs.”
They went through the brands with me and taught me a little about colour matching. Then Gloria pulled out a red evening gown, strapless with a fitted bodice and the skirt floaty and feminine, and told me I had to try it. I objected; redheads shouldn’t wear red, but they challenged me to come back next week on my break.
At noon I finished up and went for lunch as I was to be in home wares at one p.m. There were quite a few people there as lunchtime was staggered to keep the store open. I saw Michael sitting by himself and was astounded when he invited me to join him by indicating the free chair opposite him.
“Hi,” I said, smiling warily.
“Hi, are you ok after the fall, any bruises?”
“Ach, there’s not a bother on me, don’t worry. How was men’s wear?”
“To be honest, it’s been boring, we’ve had only one customer all morning. I’m in home wares this afternoon. Maybe that will be better.”
“Oh, me too,” I said, “but I’m sorry to leave ladies’ fashions. I really liked the two women.”
Very soon he reminded me it was time for house wares. It was only ten to one, for pity’s sake, and we didn’t have to cross the city… To my surprise, he waited for me to finish my food, even though he was watching the clock as each minute crawled by. Christ on a bike! He really needed a week in Ireland to learn how to chill.
That afternoon I got to study him properly at work. The first thing I noticed was how many questions he asked. I knew that as head of buying, he had to be familiar with all of the products, but holy hell, he was obsessive—it was only a job at the end of the day. I finally realised the long hours he put in were because he was ambitious, and maybe, dare I say it, a little insecure of his brilliance.
The other thing I noticed was that he was always watching me. As usual, my natural defiance kicked into touch. I assumed I was offending him in some way, be it my unkempt appearance or my unpolished Irish manner. I wasn’t a bit sorry when five p.m. rolled around. I wanted to get away from his cool and, no doubt, unflattering attention.
I was glad to have survived my second week. My misgivings about James now seemed to be unfounded. Apart from his test on Monday, we had barely crossed paths and when we did his behaviour was never inappropriate, slightly over-friendly perhaps, like an exuberant Labrador, but I had soon learned that he was like that with others, men and women. I happily picked up my bag and headed for the tube and the weekend.
Early on Saturday morning the doorbell rang and Tara answered it. She came in holding a bouquet of flowers.
“Whose heart did you break this time?” I asked, laughing. This was a fairly frequent occurrence.
“They’re for you, Shiv.”
�
��Cop on to yourself, who’d send me flowers?”
“D’you want me to read this and find out?” she teased, waving the card. After a bit of a scuffle, she finally handed it over.
“Sorry, hope you’re ok, Michael.”
I was spitting mad. Where did he get my address? My phone number I would have understood, it was on an emergency contact list, but my address should have been private. Myra? James? I couldn’t tell. The one thing I was sure of was that Michael Henrii was becoming a major source of irritation in my life.
Chapter Three
Monday was a bit awkward. I spent the day looking around corners, trying to dodge Michael. I was way too mad to confront him. Luckily I was up to my tonsils in work, too busy to stop for lunch or indeed keep my appointment with Kate and Gloria. On Tuesday I came out of my office and met him head on. I’d calmed down enough not to have a hissy fit, but I almost choked as I thanked him for the flowers. He’d become a dangerous obsession; I thought about him as I woke up and as I went to bed and several times in between. In truth I was even dreaming about him. I still told myself that it was because he bugged me. But I couldn’t really define it, it was like a morbid fascination; he drew me and repulsed me in almost equal measure.
I was really irritable all morning; why had I not confronted him? So distracted was I that I almost forgot about trying on that dress again. I went down to ladies’ fashions. I had to admit, Gloria was right, it was amazing. The soft floating silk clung to me in all the right places and the rich red added colour to my pale Irish complexion. I felt wonderful in it. I came out of the changing room to show the women.
“See, I told you,” Gloria said smugly.
My Naughty Little Secret Page 2