Mirror, Mirror

by Patricia Scanlan

  Alexandra didn’t wait to hear his reply. She marched out the door and practically took it off the hinges, she slammed it so hard.

  Ron slunk out of his office. He’d heard the raised voices. He gave a leery grin, but before he could say anything Alexandra turned on him.

  ‘You can take that smirk off your pimply little face, Ron Evans. You’re a sleazy two-faced little git and I won’t be sorry to see the back of you. Go back to adding up your sums – it’s all you’re good for.’

  ‘Got the sack, did you?’ Ron sneered. ‘Good enough for you.’

  ‘Oh, you’re brave now, aren’t you, Ron?’ Alexandra advanced two paces towards him. Ron paled and stepped back.

  ‘You’re not worth my time, you little turd,’ she spat. ‘Do you know your problem . . . Ronnie? You’ve got no balls!’

  The accounts clerk sniggered. Alexandra was delighted she’d heard the remark, as she was meant to. It would be around the office like wildfire. Ron went various shades of red and purple as Alexandra strode down the corridor to her office. Once inside, she leaned her forehead against the cold plane of the door, and took a deep breath.

  The sack! How ignominious. It was so brutal. So unexpected. What the hell was she going to do? With trembling fingers she opened the envelope that contained the cheque and her reference. She scanned it quickly. Glowing. An excellent reference. The hypocrite. Just as well she’d got that before she lost her temper and let fly. She’d never have got it after she’d told Judas MacDonald exactly what she thought of him.

  Her eyes widened. There was nothing to stop him cancelling the cheque though. She wouldn’t put it past him. She’d better cash it immediately. Fortunately her bank was just two doors down. Alexandra grabbed her bag and coat and hurried to the elevator. Five minutes later she stood in front of the cashier and handed him the cheque. He counted two hundred pounds into her hand. It was a pretty mean pay-off for all the work she’d done for them but it was better in her hands than theirs. She’d need it to tide her over until she got a new job. If she didn’t get one soon, she’d never be able to keep up the rent on the apartment. It looked as if she was going to be stuck with Chris whether she liked it or not.

  ‘Fuck you, Marcus,’ she muttered as she hurried back to the office. She’d read him all wrong. He could at least have had the decency to tell her that he didn’t want to work with her any more instead of going to Malachy behind her back. The elevator was in use when she got back to the office so she ran upstairs, intent on clearing out her desk as quickly as she could. She wasn’t going to spend one minute more than was necessary in that hell-hole.

  Malachy MacDonald was sizzling. No one had ever insulted him the way Alexandra Johnston had ten minutes ago. Such impudence. Such language. How dare she? That was the thanks he’d got for taking her on and teaching her everything he knew about the advertising business. She’d been his special protégée. He’d enjoyed her success. It reflected on his training. She had a superb client list. Nevertheless losing two big clients could start a domino effect. The business was cut-throat. Those clients could leave the firm. That danger had to be averted. She had to go. But instead of going gracefully, she’d gone spitting like a she-cat, issuing insults that were outrageous. Slanderous! He’d sue her. Malachy paced the office floor in a temper. For two pins he’d take her to court but, then, she knew enough about his business practice to get him into trouble. Unfortunately. The papers would have a field day. It wouldn’t do to have every Tom, Dick and Harry reading about how Stuart and Stuart’s conducted their business. Image was everything.

  If only he hadn’t written her that reference. He couldn’t very well get it back. She’d refuse to give it. Alexandra was as hard-nosed as they come. A thought struck him. He picked up the phone and dialled an extension.

  ‘Ron, get your ass in here, I want you to do something fast,’ he barked. Madam Johnston would be sorry she hadn’t held her tongue when she went to cash her cheque.

  ‘Oh . . . oh I see. Right, thanks.’ Ron Evans couldn’t hide his disappointment. He’d thought all his Christmases had come together when Malachy had called him into his office and told him to cancel Alexandra Johnston’s pay-off cheque.

  Had it been left to him, he’d have just given her her two weeks salary, all she was entitled to. He certainly wouldn’t have given her a golden handshake. But Malachy had insisted. Now he was bitterly regretting it. Ron had done his best to earwig when Alexandra had gone into the boss’s office but unfortunately he hadn’t been able to catch what was said. Obviously Alexandra had given Malachy the sharp edge of her tongue. He was certainly regretting his generosity. And rightly so. But it was too late, Alexandra was no fool! The cheque was well and truly cashed.

  ‘I demand that you return that money and your reference.’ Malachy, red-faced with anger, pounded his fist on Alexandra’s desk.

  ‘Go whistle.’ She was ice-cool.

  ‘You have no principles, Miss,’ he thundered.

  ‘Ah yes. This is Mister-Honesty-and-Integrity speaking,’ Alexandra sneered. ‘It does my heart good to see it.’

  ‘You are an . . . an ingrate. I warn you there won’t be a company in the city that will employ you when I’ve finished.’

  ‘I’m trembling in my boots, Malachy. Go away and stop bothering me. I’m trying to clear my desk.’

  ‘This is the thanks I get. This is the thanks.’ He was like a turkey, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down at a rate of knots.

  ‘No, Malachy, you’ve got it the wrong way around. You owe me the thanks. Instead you’ve given me a slap in the face. I won’t forget that. So you take care. I’ve seen you and Ron in action. And it’s not a pretty picture. You’ve a very selective memory when it suits you. But I know the stunts you pull. You sail close to the wind, Malachy. Very, very close. I’ve attended business meetings here, don’t forget. So don’t you threaten me.’

  Unable to deny the truth of her words, knowing that he had made a very powerful foe, Malachy was speechless. His professional standing was extremely important to him. He was, after all, the grand old man of advertising in the city. Loose talk in the right ears could damage his reputation beyond repair. Knowing he’d met his match, Malachy withdrew with as much dignity as he could muster.

  Alexandra watched him go with slitted eyes. If Malachy wanted to tangle with her, he’d find her a worthy adversary. How right she’d been to cash the cheque immediately. Her instincts had been absolutely spot on. It was such a pity they’d let her down about Marcus. Otherwise she wouldn’t be sitting here, jobless.

  She packed her bulging address book, her most precious possession, into her bag. It represented everything she’d worked for. All those contacts, all those clients. She’d have to write to her clients and tell them of her departure from Stuart and Stuart’s. Hopefully most of them would come with her.

  She packed her hand-mirror carefully. She didn’t want to break that and risk seven years’ bad luck. She was having enough bad luck as it was.

  Still, she could start afresh somewhere else. Nineteen-seventy was edging closer. A new decade and a new step forward in her career, she decided briskly as she walked out of her office without a backward glance.

  ‘Bye, Alexandra,’ Ron peered out of his office and jeered.

  ‘Crawl back into the hole you crawled out of, Ron.’ Her tone dripped contempt. She was so tempted to give him a smack in the chops but knowing the type he was, she knew he’d sue her for assault. If he thought there was money in it for him, he’d sue a gnat for landing on his nose. Money was Ron Evans’s god.

  His prissy little mouth tightened. He’d never been able to get the better of her. Even now, when he had the upper hand, she was able to reduce him to the level of a schoolboy. Quick responses were not his forte.

  ‘You’re not so big for your boots now,’ he managed. But Alexandra was gone, wafting Chanel No 5 in her magnificent wake.

  ‘You’ve been sacked!’ Chris was aghast. ‘But how? Why?’

&n
bsp; ‘Thanks to Suzy and her nasty little tricks.’ Alexandra sipped a glass of red wine, apparently unmoved.

  ‘How can you sit there and be so cool about it?’ Chris demanded. ‘How are you going to pay your rent?’

  ‘Is that all you’re worried about, darling? Silly old me. I thought you might be a tad upset for me. I thought you might be the teeniest bit concerned for me. That’s twice in one day that my worth has been measured in terms of money. Ain’t life a bitch!’

  ‘I am upset for you. It’s terrible,’ Chris backtracked.

  ‘Well then, stop worrying about things like rent. I’ll get a job soon enough,’ Alexandra said tiredly. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s been a hell of a day. I’m off to bed.’

  She marched out of the room with her glass of wine, leaving Chris staring after her in dismay.

  He needed this bombshell like a hole in the head. Alexandra needn’t think he was paying for this place by himself. If she didn’t get a job soon, he was going to have to examine his options.

  The time had come to rethink his relationship with Alexandra, he mused. She was no use to him if she couldn’t pay her way. Maybe their affair had run its course.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Katherine Wallace pushed her way through the throngs of Christmas shoppers that surged into Switzer’s. Organised as ever, she’d just finished buying the last of her Christmas presents. The sharp northerly breeze reddened her cheeks as she hurried along Grafton Street. Afternoon tea in the Shelbourne was just what she needed to revive her, she decided as she dropped a silver sixpence into a carol singer’s box.

  Twenty minutes later she was sipping Earl Grey from fine bone china and eating a scone topped with jam and fresh cream. It was pleasant to sit in the big armchair by the window and watch the to-ing and fro-ing outside. She stretched her legs. This cold weather made her bones ache. She was starting to feel old.

  She took an elegant leather-bound notebook out of her bag and flicked it open. She scanned the neatly written names on her Christmas shopping list. Yes . . . everyone covered, she thought with satisfaction. It had taken three separate trips into town. Today she’d been buying for her grandchildren. The large bulky box of Lego that she’d bought for Adam rested against the side of the chair. Christina’s nurse’s outfit, complete with watch and stethoscope, looked most impressive. And her other grandchildren were well looked after too. But something niggled. And no matter how hard she tried, Katherine simply could not banish the image that came every time she’d picked up a toy in the toy department. A memory of blue, blue eyes and dark hair and a perfect little rosebud mouth. How earnestly those eyes had gazed into her own. Stephanie Munroe was one of the most beautiful children she had ever seen. Stephanie Munroe was her grandchild as much as Adam and Christina and the others.

  Would Ellen be annoyed if Katherine bought Stephanie a present? Would it be too much of an intrusion? She felt so strongly that she must do right by that little girl. Chris had disowned her without a thought. To have reared a son with no moral code must be an indictment of her. She had gone wrong somewhere, Katherine decided unhappily. She felt an obligation towards that child to try to right the wrongs somehow.

  She’d seen a beautiful china doll’s tea set in willow pattern. It had a sugar bowl, milk jug and teapot all in miniature. Stephanie had cousins. She could entertain them to tea.

  Even though she was tired and her arms ached from carrying parcels, Katherine finished her tea and retraced her steps along the Green, back to Grafton Street. She bought the tea set and, on impulse, selected a soft angora scarf in palest pink. It would go very well with Ellen’s colouring. It would be a little gesture from one woman who’d known heartache to another. In that respect at least, they were kindred spirits.

  The afternoon lull had settled on The Deli. Lunch-time had been satisfyingly busy but, once two o’clock came, things usually quietened down until around five when the people coming home from work would drop in to buy something for their tea, or perhaps have tea as a treat.

  The bus to and from town stopped two doors away from them. It was excellent for passing trade. Teenagers from the secondary school liked eating upstairs. They happily munched goodies and skittered and giggled and flirted away there for an hour or two after school. As long as they didn’t get too boisterous, the girls were happy to have them as regular customers.

  At quiet times, they arranged between themselves, according to their needs, who would have time off to go home and do chores or whatever needed to be done. Mealtimes were very handy. They and the children got whatever was on the menu and Miriam took home a dinner for Ben.

  Denise had stopped cooking for Jimmy. He could go and be fed by his mistress, she’d told the girls. She was damned if she was cooking a meal for him, especially after his meanness in docking her housekeeping money.

  Now that they had settled into a routine, it wasn’t quite so hectic. Stephanie, Rebecca and Denise’s two little girls were perfectly happy to play away together after their homework was finished. Connie and Daniel, Miriam’s older children, were allowed out on the green to play with their friends if it was fine. If not they watched TV.

  The Deli closed at six-thirty and if Ben was on shift and not there to collect Miriam and the children, Ellen usually dropped them home.

  ‘Do you want to go and do some Christmas shopping?’ Miriam asked Ellen as they cleaned out the kitchen.

  ‘I was thinking I might pop over to Ma. I feel a bit guilty,’ Ellen confessed. ‘I’m sure Emma thinks we’re hard-hearted wagons.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Ellen, it’s the first time she’s ever put herself out for the family. Look at all the times I’ve taken Julie Ann off her hands. Look at all the times you’ve let her stay here playing with Stephanie and she puts no pass on it. Let her look after your mother. And let Vincent do it too. He’s not great for putting himself out either. He’ll do it for Pamela and the Judge, but he doesn’t kill himself doing anything out of the ordinary for your mam and dad like you and Ben do. Ben told him he was whitewashing the farmhouse last spring, hoping he might offer to help. Some hope,’ Miriam retorted.

  Ellen smiled wryly. ‘The pair of them will think that they’ve done their duty for the next five years. And the annoying thing is, Ma will think so too. You and I will have “How good Emma and Vincent were to me” shoved down our necks for ever and a day. What you and I do is taken for granted. You’d never get a word of thanks. Well, you would from Dad,’ she amended.

  ‘I wonder will our kids talk about us like this some day?’ Miriam said slowly. ‘I wonder, if Ben or I are sick, will there be arguments about who’ll look after us? It’s a bit daunting to think about, isn’t it?’

  ‘Miriam, don’t get me wrong. I don’t mind in the least mucking in and helping out at home. My parents have been very good to me and Stephanie. It’s Emma and Vincent that bug me. Just because they did something to put themselves out, for once, they think we should all be on our bended knees giving thanks,’ Ellen remarked crossly. ‘Did I tell you that I met Vincent at Mass on Sunday and he told me that “poor Emma” was getting bad headaches again and he was worried about her blood pressure? She’d gone to spend the day with her parents. He was trying to make me feel guilty. I know it. They’d make you sick. And isn’t it convenient to be able to get blood pressure when it suits you?’

  ‘You nasty little cat,’ Miriam grinned.

  ‘Yeah, well a saint I ain’t,’ Ellen admitted ruefully. ‘Anyway, I’ll ask Ma if she wants me to do any of her Christmas shopping for her. And I’m going to ask her if she and Dad would come and stay with me for Christmas.’

  ‘I bet she’ll want to stay at home.’

  Ellen sighed. ‘I know. It would make life much easier if she’d come and stay with me. I’d like Stephanie to spend Christmas in her own home. You know, I think she’s got a lot more confidence in herself since we moved into our own place. She loves her bedroom and inviting her friends in to play. She always had to be so careful n
ot to break anything when we lived at Mam’s. It really was the best move I ever made.’

  ‘Well then, you just tell your mother that you insist that she spend Christmas with you.’ Miriam scrubbed a worktop with extra vigour to add emphasis to her words.

  ‘You’re a hoot, Miriam,’ Ellen laughed. ‘You telling me to insist. And you the biggest softie of all.’

  ‘Oh stop it.’ Miriam went pink. ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘Anyway, I’ll go over there and be as nice as pie to darling Ems and see what Mother has to say for herself.’ Ellen drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders. ‘Wish me luck.’

  ‘I think you’d better take off your apron first,’ Miriam murmured, untying the strings behind her sister-in-law’s back.

  ‘Good thinking. Emma might make me use the tradesman’s entrance.’ Ellen ran her fingers through her hair. ‘Where’s my bag and I’ll stick a bit of lipstick on. You know her, she’s always done up to the nines.’

  Twenty minutes later, she stood on her sister-in-law’s doorstep and rang the bell.

  Mrs Murdock, holding a bawling Andrew, answered.

  ‘How are you, Mrs Murdock, what’s wrong with him?’ Ellen held out her arms for the baby.

  ‘He has a cold, the poor little fellow.’

  ‘You poor little pet,’ Ellen crooned. He was such a gorgeous baby with his big eyes and dark silky eyelashes that any woman would give her eye-teeth for. Andrew’s lips quivered, as he gazed up at her. ‘Aahh don’t cry, there’s a good boy.’ Ellen cuddled him. She loved babies. It was a huge regret for her that Stephanie was an only child. She would have liked a little companion for her. Although her daughter was blessed to have cousins so close to her in age.

  ‘You have the knack, Ellen,’ Mrs Murdock approved as Andrew’s lips stopped quivering and his downy little head settled against her shoulder.

  ‘Is Emma at home?’

  ‘She’s lying down . . . not feeling the best.’ Mrs Murdock was tactful.