Written in the Stars

by Ali Harris

  ‘Mu-um,’ he chides and shoots an apologetic look at me before she shoos him inside. He looks back at me from the hallway to check I’m OK and I nod. He blows me a kiss and heads towards the lounge where he knows George will be watching the cricket. Adam is always eager to spend as much time with his dad as he can in situations where he feels like a son, not an employee. It doesn’t happen often.

  I smile at Marion like a dutiful daughter-in-law, waiting to be embraced or at least made to feel welcome. Instead, she stands in the drive and appraises me, as if she’s still considering whether to let me in or not.

  ‘An orchid,’ she says at last, finally taking the flower from my hand. ‘How delightful! Is it from Tesco’s?’

  Tesco’s? Surely she knows me well enough to realise I’m not likely to buy my flowers from a supermarket? I try hard to keep the smile on my face as I follow her into the vast chequered hallway, click-clacking self-consciously in my heels. Even though I’ve been here many times, I find myself examining the place again, like a tourist visiting a stately home. All over the walls and up the stairs are posters of the many famous ad campaigns George has run, as well as certificates of industry awards he’s won and honours he’s been given, and photographs of big social events he and Marion have gone to. I glance again over the photos of him receiving his knighthood from the Queen and his Ambassadorship of British Business. Every time I’ve been here it has astonished me that there isn’t a single photo of Adam. I think of Loni’s photos of Cal and me, in every room and hallway of her cottage almost like wallpaper. There are even a couple of photos of Dad – because she didn’t want us to ever feel that we weren’t allowed to think, or talk about him. And she didn’t want us to forget what he looked like. But this home feels like an extension of George’s office. I think of Adam’s – I mean our – flat, the bare functional furniture, scarce photos and imposing ‘work corner’ that takes up a large portion of the lounge with a giant Mac screen almost as big as the flatscreen on the wall, the shelves full of books on brands and business – and no literature or fiction whatsoever. At times he seems so different from George, and then . . .

  I walk into the lounge and am greeted by a wall of men staring at the plasma TV. Milly is perched comfortably on the arm of a chaise longue. She’s wearing a loose, short, navy shift dress with tan sandals that somehow manage to make her look both more casual and more groomed than me.

  ‘Bea!’ she cries and envelops me in a hug. ‘You’re here!’ she exclaims. Then whispers, ‘Thank God.’

  ‘Yes, here at last,’ Marion adds with a laugh as she’s followed into the room by a tray of Pimm’s served by a member of staff.

  ‘You look sensational,’ Milly says and George turns round and acknowledges me with a wink. He’s not an unattractive man. I can see where Adam got his looks from. But years of hard work and good living, eating in the best restaurants, the relentless socialising and drinking culture of the ad industry have definitely had an effect. He is red-cheeked, puffy-faced and out of shape – but he doesn’t seem to see it.

  ‘Hi, Mr Hudson,’ I say.

  ‘All right, Twinkle? You’re looking an absolute sight for sore eyes, as usual.’ George throws his arm around Adam’s neck. ‘I hope you’re giving her what she needs, eh?’

  ‘If you mean is he loving, honouring and obeying me, then he absolutely is!’ I laugh. I know George can be intimidating, but luckily I’ve always felt able to handle him. Nevertheless, I grab a glass of Pimm’s and down half of it. Something tells me I’m going to need it to get through this lunch.

  What feels like an eternity later I fold my hands and rest them on the table as my dessert plate is cleared away. I sit back in my chair, looking around the stuffy, dark, wood-panelled dining room wishing that we’d been able to eat outside on such a glorious summer’s day and wondering how much longer we’ll have to stay.

  I pull at the increasingly tight waistline on my skirt and fervently wish that I was wearing something looser like Milly. She looks amazing, I mean, she always does. But particularly so today. Her brown eyes are bright as buttons under her dark fringe, her dark olive skin is glowing.

  ‘Well, isn’t this nice,’ George says, refilling every glass around the table and beaming at us all. George catches me looking at him and winks at me like he’s a film star, not my father-in-law. I watch as he fills my glass to the brim. George doesn’t seem to think any meal is successful unless half a dozen bottles of wine from his beloved cellar have been drunk.

  Milly puts her hand over her glass just as he’s about to pour, causing him to spill a little of the wine over the tablecloth. He curses and leans over her, dabbing at the red puddle. I try to ignore the fact that he is also trying to sneak a peek down the top of her dress. He’s incorrigible.

  ‘So,’ Marion says officiously, her diamond-clad fingers clasped in front of her, ‘there is actually a reason why we wanted you all to come here for lunch today.’

  ‘To celebrate our very happy marriage?’ Adam says and clinks glasses with me. Milly, Jay and George lean over to join in.

  ‘Oh. Yes,’ Marion says with a smile that doesn’t seem to reach her eyes. ‘Of course that, darling. But also, George has some other news, don’t you . . .’ She stares down the table at George who is mid-gulp of wine.

  He looks around and stands up, wiping his mouth with his handkerchief as he does so. Adam leans back in his chair and crosses his leg over his knee. He looks intrigued, excited. Suddenly, I feel nervous.

  ‘Obviously you’re all aware that Hudson & Grey is at an exciting stage of expansion into the US and I recently led the acquisition of an existing mid-sized agency in New York called Friedman’s . . .’ George begins. Despite his alcohol intake he has immediately gone into work mode, his red cheeks have faded, his watery grey eyes have turned steely. In these moments I can see the Adam in him. Both men are driven, determined gunslingers when it comes to making business decisions.

  Everyone, except me, nods. I had no idea. I mean, Adam might have mentioned some sort of US agency buy-out before we went on honeymoon, but I was too caught up with the wedding and then going to Paris to take any notice. I feel a wave of nausea, as though what George is about to tell us is going to fundamentally change the course of my and Adam’s future.

  ‘So,’ he continues, ‘you also know that Friedman’s is big in the New York advertising scene in a way that Hudson & Grey hasn’t ever managed to become. But I’m planning on changing that. In acquiring Friedman’s we are looking to branch into that exciting market, bring some of their senior management onto our board, and take some of our biggest London agency hitters out there to ensure that Hudson, Grey & Friedman, as we will be known from now on, will make a big splash Stateside. So . . .’ He taps his fingers on the table and I see Adam shift nervously in his seat. ‘I need to appoint some top-level positions that will lead this next chapter in our agency’s history.’

  George turns to Adam, who is leaning forward eagerly, and smiles benevolently at him. ‘But who could possibly take us in that direction, I asked myself. Who knows the company as well as I do and would use their deep-rooted instinct to know exactly what I want at all times, to second-guess me before I know what I want? Do I know anyone with the hard Hudson drive, who will work tirelessly, exhaustively to make this buy-out work? Who will sacrifice their social life, their soul to take this company to the next level . . .’

  He pauses to take a breath and I realise I’m hardly breathing. I’m at once imagining what will happen if Adam is promoted – and what will happen if he isn’t. I’m not sure which would be worse.

  ‘Adam, son, I’m promoting you to Group Managing Director, overseeing both London and New York during this transition!’ George says. ‘It will involve more work, more travel and more responsibility. You will be well rewarded, of course.’ I look at Adam. He’s happy. Of course he’s happy. This recognition, this promotion, this kind of partnership and respect is what he’s worked so hard for.

  ‘Wow, Dad,
I don’t know what to say . . .’ Adam gets up to hug George but at the same moment his dad leaves the table to get more wine. Adam looks lost for a moment, arms outstretched as he hovers uncertainly by George’s chair. Then he sits back down in his seat next to me. When George comes back Adam tries again. ‘I mean, I’m so glad you think I’m ready for this . . . I really want to prove to you that I’m worthy of—’

  George cuts him off, holding up his hand and turning to Jay across the table. I can tell he’s enjoying being the puppet-master at this lunch.

  ‘As for you, my little gingery friend . . .’

  I see Milly subtly clench her jaw. Her eyes flicker across at me and I know she’s ready to hurl something at George. Milly does not find Adam’s dad amusing. He’s everything she hates about the type of people she has to deal with every day of her working life. And whilst she can handle being dismissed or patronised by yet another misogynistic man, she’s super protective of Jay. He’s more sensitive than she is and although he is brilliant at his job, famously winning the agency account after big pitch with his creative vision, he struggles to deal with George’s old-fashioned, somewhat bullying management style. Sometimes I think Milly treats the people she loves the same way she does hedge funds; she spots potential, has a strategy to protect us from risk exposure, works out how to make us thrive in difficult economic climates. People like Jay and I need people like Milly who will drive us forward in our lives.

  ‘. . . so,’ George continues, ‘I’m making you my new Executive Creative Director with a substantial pay rise and I’m doubling your hiring budget.’

  Jay and Milly stare at each other in shock and George grins at them. ‘Hire the best creative teams in to keep the London office on top. I want the awards shelf creaking by this time next year.’

  Jay clears his throat and then coughs. I see Milly nudge him and then whisper something. When he doesn’t speak, she does.

  ‘The thing is, George, we actually have some news too,’ Milly says briskly. ‘As of next month I’m required to be in New York for an indefinite period. The sort of period of time that requires me moving out there.’ My mouth drops open and I stare at Milly in disbelief. This is not how I expected to find out that my best friend is moving to a different city, a different country. She glances across at me and her soulful yet sharp dark eyes do their best to tell me she’s sorry she didn’t mention this major life-changing event before.

  ‘An indefinite period? I don’t understand. How does that affect you, or my business?’ George directs this question back at Jay, ignoring Milly entirely.

  ‘Well, sir,’ Jay begins, pushing his glasses up his nose nervously.

  ‘Because we’re married,’ Milly says, putting her glass down on the table. She takes a deep breath and glances at me as she delivers her next line. ‘So if I have to move there, Jay does too.’

  George grasps his wine glass and stares at her. ‘Tell them no,’ he shrugs at last and pours himself more wine. ‘They’ll soon find someone else.’ Milly is staring at a mark on the tablecloth. I know she’s trying to contain her annoyance as we’re in his house. If this were a restaurant I dread to think what she would have said by now. ‘Are you really going to let your wife’s little job dictate the next step of your career, Jay?’ George chuckles.

  Milly visibly bristles, but then she just smiles as she puts her hand over Jay’s and delivers her next line.

  ‘I’m a partner in one of the biggest international asset management companies. Just to be clear, that means there is no one else. And besides, George,’ she adds, ‘my “little job” brings home more than double Jay’s salary – including the pay rise you just offered.’

  If I wasn’t so upset at the idea of them moving, I’d cheer.

  George’s eyes widen a little and then he sits back and folds his arms as he appraises Milly with what appears to be admiration.

  ‘Looks like we need to talk about this on Monday then, Jay.’ He gestures at Adam to get up. ‘Let’s have some cognac in the library, son.’ Adam pushes his chair out, glances apologetically at Jay and then follows George, who flings his arm round his shoulder as they walk out of the room.

  Chapter 25

  It’s the Monday morning after the Sunday lunch from hell and I’m easing myself gently into the day with some Facebook action, having already wasted half an hour making tea and watering the window boxes by my brand-new permanent desk. I’m still trying to get my head around Milly leaving. She told me after we’d left Adam’s parents’ house that she could be in New York for as long as two years. Jay also told us he’d quit Hudson & Grey if they weren’t able to offer him a new role out there.

  ‘It’s more important that I support Milly right now.’ She and Jay had exchanged a glance and I’d presumed it was because he didn’t want to slag off George in front of Adam.

  I don’t know why I feel so shaken up by their news, like I’m being abandoned all over again. It’s ridiculous. I’m not twenty-two years old and on the verge of a breakdown any more. I don’t need Milly’s guidance. I can make good decisions on my own. I proved it when I married Adam. I’m a grown woman – a wife no less –with a life of my own and it’s about time I stopped relying on her so much. But I can’t shake this nagging feeling. Milly has always been the linchpin that holds my life together, and I’m scared that, without her, everything will fall apart. Just like it did last time. I don’t understand why Milly feels the need to change the course of her life so drastically. Why can’t things just stay the same?

  ‘Bea!’ Nick calls officiously as he strides across the office towards my new desk.

  I jump a little and quickly flip my Facebook page shut. Nick may have been my friend before he was my boss but I want him to think I’m taking my new role seriously.

  ‘Hi Nick!’ I swing my brown swivel chair round quickly and cross my legs in what I think is a laid-back-but-in-control business pose. ‘Do you want to touch base?’

  Nick’s lips twitch a little in amusement but I don’t waiver in my seriousness. I’m determined to prove what a professional I am. So I smile a lot, say ‘Sure, leave it with me’ when I’m asked to do things and shout during staff meetings ‘It’s on my radar!’, ‘I’ll have it to you by close of play!’ and ‘Team work makes the dream work’ like I’ve heard the others do whilst inwardly wanting to shoot myself. It’s like I’m on a mission to prove to everyone – including myself – that I can build a proper career. I can hit targets, make placements, go places. And I have been: in the last two months I’ve already placed enough candidates to hit the top of the target board – much to Tim’s dismay. Nick keeps telling me how great I am, how perfectly I fit in and what an asset I am.

  I pull at my tightly buttoned-up collar, suddenly feeling very claustrophobic, and smile at Nick as he hands me a piece of paper.

  ‘Can you have a quick look at this, Bea,’ he says, sitting awkwardly on the edge of my desk.

  I throw a cursory glance over the piece of paper Nick has handed me.

  ‘It’s a new client who is looking to recruit an assistant to help him with a corporate project. It’s not strictly our area, much more creative than our usual placements. Apparently we were recommended to him. Anyway, I think you’re the perfect person to deal with it, given your background . . .’ He smiles and puts his hands in his pockets, watching as I read the brief:

  James Fischer Garden Design

  Role: Temporary PA to the company director and head designer, James Fischer.

  Term of employment: Six months. Start date: 1 September.

  Job description: Working specifically on a large corporate garden design project based in Canary Wharf. The role is varied and includes general office and admin duties as well as assisting the head designer by contributing ideas, knowledge and old-fashioned get-your-hands-dirty-hard-work.

  Requirements: Creative, self-starter graduate – preferably with background in garden design (but not essential). Passion for gardens a must.

  ‘Are you O
K, Hudson?’ Nick asks. I know I’ve gone quiet, but I’m just focusing on swallowing back the aching disappointment and regret I feel as I read about what could have been my dream job. If only I’d made a different decision. ‘Bea?’ he repeats and I look up at him. ‘I’ve given this to you because I know it’s your area of expertise.’ I look up hopefully. Maybe he realises this is my dream job and is giving me the chance to go for it. ‘I mean, with your garden design and temping knowledge you’re the perfect person to place this position!’

  ‘Great!’ I squeak.

  ‘James wants a meeting to discuss his requirements in more detail and to look at initial candidates. Could you phone his office and organise a time some day this week?’ As Nick walks away I place the job spec down on my desk, fold my hands over it and close my eyes so I don’t have to look again at what could have been.

  Tim’s head peeks up over the desk. ‘You OK, Bea?’ he asks with a lopsided smile.

  ‘Yep, good, thanks!’ I lie. I keep rereading the brief of the garden design company position and mentally kicking myself. If life is all about timing, mine is definitely off. I feel like I’ve just been handed a golden ticket – and then been told to give it away.

  Chapter 26

  I’m sitting in the reception area of JF Design in Greenwich. I’m early because I want to look super professional and prepared but I’m trying to cover up the fact that I’m absolutely petrified. Since Nick gave me this contract to place I’ve pored over the company’s website, looked at all its designs online and read up about James Fischer. He has won the Chelsea Flower Show Gold Medal two years running, and when I came across photos of his entry for this year, I couldn’t believe it when I realised it was the same garden I’d considered my favourite when reading a piece about all the winners. This, for me now, is like meeting a pop star. I give myself a mental talking-to.