by Ber Carroll
‘There … you look really cute in it …’
As they lazily made their way through the stalls, she touched the colourful goods but was hopelessly indecisive about what to buy.
‘Come on, Claire. That top is ten dollars and the belt is only fifteen. Break the bank, buy them both! You’re causing a traffic jam,’ he teased her as he shielded her from the surging shoppers.
‘Oh, I forgot to convert! See what happens when I leave the office … I become an airhead,’ she laughed, giving the stall owner the cash.
‘Don’t worry, I have a thing for Irish airheads.’ He kissed her briefly. ‘Come on. We’d better go and have lunch. It’s getting late.’
There was a restaurant at the top of the hill, looking down over the still bay and swarming crowds. Robert ordered a bottle of champagne.
‘I’m not sure I can face alcohol after last night.’ Claire eyed the bottle dubiously.
‘Have a little sip, it’s very good.’ He filled her glass and held it to her lips to try.
He was right. It was delicious and refreshing.
‘Let’s toast … to us!’ They raised their glasses and he reached for her hand across the table.
Is there an ‘us’? I guess I’ll find out back in Sydney, she thought.
‘Did you enjoy the markets?’ He let go of her hand and sat back in his seat.
‘Yes, thanks for taking me.’
‘It was a pleasure.’
Down on the bay the waves were flat as they crept unevenly into the shore.
‘When do you get back to Sydney?’ she asked.
‘Same flight as yours next Saturday.’
Are you going to call me?
She looked away from him, afraid he would see the question in her eyes. The hot breeze caressed her face and shoulders as she memorised the beautiful view. As she stared at the bay, she could feel his eyes staring at her.
They didn’t talk in the car on the way to the airport, both preoccupied with their private thoughts.
‘I hope you don’t mind if I drop you outside – it can be quite hard to find a park here,’ he said as he pulled up at the Qantas departure lounge.
‘No, this is fine … thanks for the lift.’ She got out of the car.
Robert took her suitcase from the boot. The queue of vehicles waiting for his car space made their farewell rushed.
‘Bye, Claire. See you next week.’ He kissed her on the cheek rather formally.
‘Bye.’ She felt absurdly clumsy and emotional. She gave him a little wave as he sped away from her.
Chapter 17
Julia waited for the cab, her eyes glancing up and down to the wall clock, knowing that she was going to be late yet again. She’d woken feeling sick and had found it hard to get up. She’d spent too long in the shower, too long sipping her coffee, and too long waiting in the taxi company’s call queue.
A horn sounded outside and she grabbed her handbag, pulling the door shut behind her. Traffic was at its peak and the ride into the city was jerky, not doing her stomach any good. But at least the driver wasn’t one of the chatty ones.
‘Martin has been looking for you,’ warned the receptionist when she got in, ‘and he’s not in a good mood.’
Julia cursed under her breath. Martin Hayes was the managing partner and she disliked him intensely. She quickly left her jacket and bag at her desk and went to knock on his door.
‘I’m very sorry, Mr Hayes,’ she said, giving him an apologetic smile. ‘I had an accident in my car over the weekend and I’m relying on cabs until it’s back on the road. Unfortunately, the one I booked this morning didn’t turn up.’
Martin regarded her sceptically. He was a religious man with a strict lifestyle and an intolerance for those who drank, smoked or engaged in any other kind of ‘bad’ habits. He was no fool: if Julia’s car was off the road, it was probably because she’d lost her licence and not due to any accident. Her late starts, long lunches and growing absenteeism had not escaped his notice. Even though they were short of staff and it wasn’t a good time to lose a senior legal secretary, certain standards had to be maintained.
‘Julia, I need you to work with me closely this week. I need to be able to rely on your punctuality,’ he said coldly. ‘Now, you may want to get your notebook so we can begin.’
Julia returned a short while later with her pen and pad. Martin began to snap dictation at an impossible speed and she did her best to keep up. The room was stifling. She could smell his body odour and it turned her stomach. They didn’t break for lunch – he asked her to order in sandwiches. She felt he was scrutinising her every movement and she tried to maintain a professional front. But by the end of the day she was drained, jumpy and flushed from the lack of air. At five o’clock, when he showed no sign of winding down, she pointedly looked at her watch and invented some commitment for that evening.
Most days, at lunchtime, she went alone to one of the bars in the immediate vicinity of the office. She’d missed that today and now she was consumed with craving, it oozed from her pores and crawled across her skin. It propelled her to a nearby liquor store where she bought as many bottles of vodka as she could carry. It urged her to glug from one in the back of the taxi on the way home.
The house was dark and lonely. She sat on the sofa with the vodka, drinking it as easily as water, waiting until the craving was satiated enough to retreat back inside her.
The next morning Martin resumed his dictation with the same relentlessness. Julia’s hands were shaking and she had a thickness in her head. She interrupted him after ten minutes.
‘I think that using the dictaphone would be best for us both, especially with this volume of work.’
He stared at her with his watery, pale blue eyes. ‘You may find it old-fashioned, Julia, but this is how I do things.’
He continued with the onslaught of words, grating and lifeless, a lot of which she missed, until lunchtime, when he surprised her by saying she could take a two-hour break.
Julia couldn’t get out of there quick enough. Lunchtime in downtown San Jose was bustling with tourists, business travellers and middle-class locals. She went to Manjos and sat at the bar alone, oblivious to the curious glances of the other patrons who were happy to wait for table service. She ordered shots of vodka, nine or ten of them, just enough to steady her hands and lighten the dullness in her head.
She chewed gum on her way back to the office and sprayed herself with perfume so he wouldn’t smell anything.
They had been working for fifteen minutes when Martin stopped mid-sentence and looked up, his horn-rimmed glasses perched on his large ugly nose.
‘Julia, have you been drinking?’
‘Absolutely not, Mr Hayes.’ She swallowed a bad taste. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Because I can smell alcohol and I know it is not from me. Are you aware of the no-alcohol policy of this firm during work hours?’ His tone had a righteous veneer to it.
‘Perfectly aware, Mr Hayes. It must be my perfume you’re smelling. Robert never did like it either,’ she said smiling, trying to joke but knowing it was futile with the humourless bastard.
‘Don’t be ridiculous! I’m not a fool. I must request that you go to the company nurse so she can verify your statement,’ he demanded, his voice getting louder and more intimidating.
‘And if I refuse?’ She was defiant despite her panic.
‘Do I take it that you are refusing?’
‘Yes.’ She rose unsteadily from her seat. ‘I won’t let you treat me in such an appalling manner. I’m resigning.’
She was trembling from head to toe as she walked out of his office, down the hallway and through the desks to her own, where she picked up her bag and put it on her shoulder. Imagining everyone’s eyes on her, though they couldn’t possibly know what had happened in Martin’s office, she continued on to the lifts. She made it safely outside and stood for a moment taking shallow breaths, trying to hold back tears.
Damn. Damn it.
She knew Ma
rtin had been lying when he said she smelled of alcohol. With the precautions she had taken, that was impossible. On reflection, she was also confused about why he had chosen her for the assignment instead of his usual secretary. Had he set her up?
Her husband was on the other side of the world, she had no car and now no job. She was exposed, dangerously so.
The journey home was a blur. She must have hailed a taxi. She drew the curtains, unable to bear the sunlight, and even though she didn’t want to, she drank the rest of yesterday’s bottles of vodka.
‘Julia, are we wasting time and money?’
Julia was startled by Linda’s confrontational opening to their session.
‘What do you mean?’
Linda alternated her sessions between the informal sofa and the rigidity of her desk.
This week they were at the desk, facing each other warily.
‘You know well what I mean – you’re not taking this counselling seriously.’ Linda’s stare was fierce.
‘That’s not fair – of course I’m taking it seriously,’ Julia replied. ‘I thought your role is to support me, not give me a hard time.’
‘As I’ve said previously, I can’t help you until such time as you’re honest with me. If it wasn’t for Cherie keeping me in the loop, I wouldn’t know what’s happening in your life.’
‘Damn Cherie for poking her nose in!’ Julia exploded.
Linda chose not to analyse her outburst. ‘First you got arrested, now I hear you’ve lost your job – both related to your drinking.’
‘It was just bad luck. I’m having a run of bad luck,’ Julia snapped, crossing her arms in anger.
‘Why can’t we talk about these things calmly?’ Linda was shaking her head in defeat. Julia had clearly no intention of responding so Linda attempted to get to her through an alternative line of attack. ‘How is Robert this week?’
‘He’s good.’ Julia’s reply was short but more amenable.
‘Have you sorted out when you’re going to Sydney?’
‘Yes, I’m going at the end of the month. He doesn’t know. I’m going to surprise him.’ Julia’s smile was confident.
‘Is that a good idea?’ Linda queried. ‘Have you thought of how he’s likely to react to a surprise?’
‘He’ll be happy once he gets over the shock. I have no choice but to be dramatic – it’s the only way I can distract him from his wretched job.’
‘Julia’s going to Sydney,’ Cherie told Wayne when he came home from work.
‘What? To Robert?’ Wayne scowled as he rested his briefcase on the floor of the kitchen. He always put it there and Cherie always tidied it away later.
‘Who else would she be going to see but Robert?’ Cherie asked with a smile, giving him a peck on the cheek.
‘Well, that’s a bolt out of the blue. Robert hasn’t mentioned a word about it – I was only talking to him yesterday.’
Cherie went back to the sink where she had a good view of the kids as they played in the garden. They were unusually quiet, absorbed with their bright plastic building blocks.
‘That’s because Rob doesn’t know about it … Julia’s planning on surprising him,’ Cherie explained.
‘Let’s hope the surprise doesn’t extend to catching him with his pants down with some girl he’s picked up.’
Cherie’s face reddened. ‘Don’t be so crass!’
‘I’m not being crass. I’m being realistic!’
‘Don’t you dare tell him that Julia is going.’ She dropped her hand to her side when she realised she was pointing her finger at him.
‘I wouldn’t dream of it. It will be very entertaining, whatever transpires from this mad dash she’s making to the other side of the world.’
‘Goddamn it, do you have to be so sarcastic?’
There was a yell from the garden. The solitary yell was predictably followed by a piercing scream. They both paused at the interruption to their argument.
‘Okay, I’ll go,’ Wayne said and went to referee the dispute that was happening outside.
Chapter 18
‘That’s a really good way to lose your job … sleeping with the boss!’
Claire sat on the couch sheepishly as Fiona delivered her lecture.
‘It seemed so right at the time,’ she said feebly.
‘You can’t say that I didn’t warn you!’
‘I know. But I couldn’t stop myself. It was inevitable from the minute I got there. Every word we said during the week was leading to it. If you saw him, Fi, you’d have to admit he’s very sexy … He’s got this sort of … aura …’ Claire struggled to explain herself.
‘It’s called charm, Claire.’
‘I don’t think it’s just charm. In some ways he’s so down-to-earth that you’d never know he gets paid ten times our salary.’
Fiona threw her eyes to heaven before asking, ‘Was the sex actually worth losing your job over?’
‘Yes, it was hot!’ Claire giggled girlishly, pulling her knees up and resting her chin on them.
Fiona allowed herself a lightning smile. ‘He’ll probably ignore you when he comes back. Are you prepared for that?’ she demanded, stern again.
‘He doesn’t come back to work until next week. If he’s really awful to me, then I’ll just look for another job.’ Claire shrugged.
She was playing it down to Fiona, not ready to admit that it wasn’t just sex, that it went deeper than that. But she needed something more substantial before going out on a limb with her feelings; she needed Robert to come back and prove that what had happened between them wasn’t just a fling.
They settled down and watched TV for a while. Claire sat quiet in her thoughts, an irrepressible smile playing on her face. Fiona darted a few unnoticed glances in her direction before asking, ‘You’re not in love with him, are you?’
Claire looked up with a grin. ‘Definitely not. It’s just lust.’
Fiona threw a cushion at her and called her a tart.
‘How was Hong Kong?’ Emma asked, spooning the froth from her cappuccino.
They were dining alfresco on the busy street. Claire had only been away for a week but North Sydney felt bewilderingly alien. She missed the bizarre routine that the bid team had fallen into in Hong Kong. The late hours, the smoking breaks, the relentless rain.
‘Loved it. Didn’t see much of the sights, though – we were working too hard to have any fun.’
Going out for lunch with Emma was a nice break on her first day back at work. She took a hungry bite from her sandwich.
‘It’s been like a morgue here, with everyone away,’ Emma complained. ‘Even James was out sick for a few days.’
‘Oh, who did the Payables?’
‘Alan Harris filled in. He and James have been cross-trained in each other’s roles. Did you see much of Brian and Robert in Hong Kong?’
‘We were all in the same room together, working our guts out.’ Claire controlled the urge to tell Emma what had really happened in Hong Kong.
‘Sounds boring and too much like hard work!’
‘Did Michael get that download okay?’ Claire moved the subject onto safer ground.
‘Yes,’ Emma confirmed. ‘I sent him all the account-detail history and the supplier master records. He’s going to use it as test data on the dummy system he has over there.’
Emma triggered an image of the Dublin office in Claire’s mind. Some nostalgia crept onto her face.
‘Robert was asking about the progress last week. I told him I would call Ireland when I got back …’ Her voice trailed off at the unwelcome thought of having to talk to Michael.
‘I’ll call him, if you like,’ Emma offered quickly.
‘Thanks.’
The phone rang until Audrey in reception picked up the call.
‘Hi, Audrey, is Frank in the office today?’ Claire asked.
‘No, he’s on leave. He’s not back for another two weeks,’ Audrey answered, bright but busy.
‘Okay, than
ks.’
Another cheque for DC Solutions needed her signature. It was for $400,000 and, again, the commission rate worked out at twenty per cent, double the ten per cent that Steve Ryan had spoken of at kick-off. She had not seen a copy of the contract that Frank had promised to produce if they continued to do business with DC Solutions. But that didn’t mean it didn’t exist and she couldn’t possibly hold off on the payment for two weeks until Frank returned. She eventually signed the cheque on the basis that $400,000 was within Frank’s authority limits and it was possible the twenty per cent had been agreed to before kick-off.
Her twenty-seventh birthday was the following week. She was going for dinner with Fiona in the evening, celebrations being limited to a few glasses of wine because of work the next day. She picked up the Yellow Pages to book the restaurant. As she was flicking through, the computer software section caught her eye. She impulsively had a look for DC Solutions, interested in seeing their advertisement. She couldn’t find them.
She logged onto the Internet, to the Telstra homepage, and did an online search. There were no hits.
Maybe DC Solutions is just a trading name and their listing is under another name …
She pulled out the cheque from the stack that was still on her desk. The invoice was attached to the back. There was no other name on it but DC Solutions. She couldn’t see a phone number.
This is very strange. They must have a phone number.
She carefully checked all the print on the invoice again.
Is DC Solutions a legitimate company?
The headed paper did have an ACN number, which at least told her that they were a registered company.
I guess I could get the company checked out … I have the ACN.
She phoned Australian Corporate Reporting and requested a company search. It would take a few days, she was told. She had just put down the phone when James came into her office, looking frazzled.
‘Are those cheques ready for me to take?’ he asked, pointing to the uneven stack on her desk.
‘Yes, but I want you to hold onto the one for DC Solutions … I want to check something out on it.’