by Di Jones
“Why? Is there a freeze on recruitment?”
“No,” he said, “I’ve seen Holly this morning, and I’ve asked her to stay on.”
“What?” She shifted in her seat and the foot jiggling began with renewed vigour, as if her feet had a life of their own. “Why on earth would you ask her to stay after all the trouble she’s caused?”
“You mean the car accident?” he asked. “As you probably already know, or at least suspect, Holly wasn’t in the wrong.”
“Wasn’t in the wrong?”
He repeated the words, then added, “But we would never have known that without a critical piece of information, and you know what that information is, don’t you?”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” she said, avoiding his gaze.
“Don’t lie to me. I’m talking about the tracker dogs. You never mentioned them to the police, did you? Or to Ann?”
Brittany pulled her shoulders up and drew her elbows into her body, compacting herself into a size 0, as if she hoped the action would render her invisible. She looked down at her lap and remained silent.
“Brittany, answer my question. Did you tell Ann or the police about the tracker dogs?”
“No,” she whispered, the word dissipating in the heavy air of the quiet, spacious office.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear that.”
“N-no,” she stammered, “I didn’t tell them. You have to understand that I–”
“I don’t have to understand anything, and I don’t want to hear your excuses. We could have lost a court case, and had significant damages awarded against us. The Consulate’s reputation would have been ruined.” He glared at her, wondering dispassionately why he had ever considered her attractive. The woman looking back at him was selfish and deceitful, qualities which marred her physical beauty. “I haven’t mentioned,” he continued, “what you’ve done to Holly. Do you have any idea what she’s been going through?”
Brittany didn’t look up.
“Nothing to say? I’ll say it in that case.” His voice was rising, but his words were measured. “She’s been trying to convince us of her innocence, and no one’s believed her or offered support, and you deliberately misled the people who could have proved she was blameless.”
“I don’t know what to say. I’ve been working so hard, was so stressed that–”
“That’s not all,” he said, battling to keep his temper in check. “I’m disappointed to learn that you’ve been obstructive to Holly over client work, and that your own work’s been slipping as well.”
“What do you mean?”
“For starters, clients have been complaining you haven’t been returning their phone calls.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“You’re suggesting Ann’s a liar?”
She nodded mutely.
“Do you think I’m lying too?”
She blanched, and for a fleeting instant he pitied her. “No, sorry, Guy, of course I’m not calling you a liar,” she murmured.
“Good,” he said. “I also want to touch on the trading response for our New Zealand flower exporter. You told me Holly hadn’t secured any appointments for the client.”
“Yes, that’s right, her work was substandard,” Brittany said quickly. “She didn’t put enough effort in.”
“Do you think she would have got appointments if she’d called people earlier?”
“Probably,” Brittany agreed, “but we know she didn’t.”
“We do,” said Guy, “and there’s a reason for that, isn’t there?”
“What do you mean?”
“You didn’t give her the job brief as soon as it came in. If you hadn’t sat on it, Holly may have been able to set up appointments for the client, in which case the trip wouldn’t have been wasted.”
In the crashing silence that followed, he tried to judge Brittany’s reaction. She was pale, waxy and stricken and it occurred to him if she had a heart attack it’d save him from what he had to say next.
“I don’t take any pleasure in firing staff,” he said, “and I don’t want to in your case.”
Hope dawned in her eyes, and she smiled at him gratefully.
“I want you to go home for the afternoon and reflect on your behaviour, Brittany. And when you come in tomorrow, you can give me your letter of resignation.”
FORTY-FIVE
Holly
The office felt unnaturally quiet, and Holly walked to the kitchen to make a coffee. As she passed Brittany’s office, a crash came from the room, and the sounds of Brittany swearing.
“Are you alright?” she asked, poking her head around the door. Brittany’s eyes met hers, and her boss’s were red and puffy. A broken vase lay on the floor at her feet. “Can I help you with that?” she asked, and walked into the room to pick it up. As she straightened she recoiled from the expression on Brittany’s face. Hatred and fury rendered Brittany’s features pointed and sharp and her eyes glimmered like those of a madwoman.
“Help me? Can you help me?” she asked, her voice low and dangerous. “That’s the biggest joke I’ve ever heard. It’s because of you I’m in this mess.” Brittany waved at her desk, in the middle of which sat a large cardboard carton. Around it were neat piles of paper, and a few personal mementoes.
Holly looked around the rest of the office: at the shelves behind Brittany, and on the other wall. All empty. She looked at the rubbish bin beside the desk. Totally full. What on the earth was going on?
“Don’t try to pretend you don’t know,” Brittany said in an accusatory tone.
“Know what?”
“That I’m leaving. And it’s all your fault.”
“Leaving? I don’t understand,” she said, her fingers tightening around the jagged shard of glass in her hand. “Where are you going?”
“To New York,” said Brittany. “I’ve had enough of LA.”
“No, I didn’t know. No one told me. When are you leaving?”
“Today.” The word shot out like a bullet.
“Today?” Holly repeated, not sure she’d heard right.
“Yes, today.” Brittany’s tone was sarcastic, and she postured, her hand on her hip. “Are you deaf, as well as stupid?”
Holly flinched at Brittany’s tone and the glass bit into her hand. It dropped on the floor with a thud, and she lifted her hand to see a trickle of crimson where the glass had punctured her.
“You turned Guy against me,” Brittany shouted, taking a step towards her.
“I don’t know what you mean.” Instinctively she took a step back towards the door.
“Don’t play your little games with me.” Brittany stooped to pick up the glass Holly had just dropped. “You think that little cut hurts?”
“I’m sure it does,” said a voice from the doorway, and Holly turned to see Tina standing there. “Come with me, Holly. Let’s get a band aid on that.”
Holly decided against staying at the Consulate. It was time to go home and get on with her real life. Too much water had flowed under the bridge, and flooded the banks of the river, leaving piles of debris in the wake of cyclone Brittany.
In a funny way, she wished things had worked out better for her boss. As nasty as Brittany had been to her, she bore her no ill will, as she realised Brittany’s enmity to her wasn’t entirely personal. She’d been so intent on furthering her own ambitions she’d stepped on anyone blocking her way, and for some strange reason Brittany had seen her as an obstacle.
What was even stranger was that Brittany couldn’t have wanted Guy as much as they all thought. Tina told her Brittany’s rich married boyfriend had called off their relationship, and his wife threatened to kill Brittany unless she left the West Coast immediately. She’d left the office the day before in a quick and quiet farewell, soon after Tina had rescued Holly from her wrath.
“Ready, Holly?” asked Ann, and she took a final look at her empty office before following Ann into the kitchen.
She blushed as she walked in – all th
e staff were there, a large chocolate cake bearing the words Good Luck was sitting on the centre of the table, and Tina held an enormous bunch of flowers and a gift-wrapped box.
Guy was nowhere to be seen.
“It’s been six months since you joined us, Holly, and what a half year it’s been.” Ann made an eloquent speech, and at the end of it she passed Holly the flowers and present from Tina.
“Speech,” someone yelled to her.
Before she could say anything, Guy walked into the room. In his arms was a large package wrapped in pink paper and tied with a shiny silver bow.
“I’d like to say a few words,” he said, “before presenting this to Holly. Holly, you’ve been like a breath of fresh air in this place, and you’ve touched everyone you’ve worked with. From the staff, to our colleagues in other Consulates, to our clients, everyone has only good things to say about you. You’ve made your mark, and we’ll all miss you more than you know.”
“Thank you,” she whispered through tears, as he passed her the present he’d been holding. She looked at the ground, wiped her eye on the corner of her sleeve, then pulled carefully at the tape on the parcel.
“Come on, rip it open,” someone yelled, and she laughed, and pulled the paper off with shaking hands.
Inside nestled a tight bundle of printed fabric. She stared at it for a moment, then smiled to herself before touching it in wonderment. She knew what it was, but it was clear the others didn’t, and they looked at each other with puzzled expressions on their faces.
Guy took the bundle from her hands and held it up for the others to see, before continuing his speech. “This is a gift for Holly, from a grateful client, to thank her for a job well done.” He smiled at her, and then looked back at the others in the room, who were hanging on his every word. “I can’t think of anyone else,” he paused dramatically, “who could sell a two-legged sleeping bag in a market as sophisticated as the United States.”
Conversation started buzzing around the room, and Guy moved closer to her, and touched her arm. “Yes, you heard that right. Two-legged sleeping bag.” Laughter broke out and Guy held up his hand. “But Holly had the perseverance, and the imagination, to think of positioning it as a sleeping bag for hunters.”
With a quick flick of the wrist he shook the fabric out, to show the others the lightweight-down-filled-camouflage-printed suit. “This is a prototype designed by our client for Wal-Mart. It’s going to be a huge export sale, which if successful, will open a brand new niche in hunting gear. Holly, this one’s in your size. The client made it up specially to say thank you.”
Everyone clapped like mad, and then Guy presented her with the two-legged sleeping bag, and kissed her on the cheek.
FORTY-SIX
Holly
Holly stood at the boarding gate, checking her things for the tenth time.
“Don’t cry, love,” said Charlie as the tears fell out of the corners of her eyes and tracked down her cheeks. He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a pristine white handkerchief.
“Thanks,” she said, sniffing. She mopped her eyes, and laughed as she saw black mascara all over it. “I was trying to stay composed. I must look like a panda.”
“I can see a certain resemblance, and you’re just as adorable. Come here for a cuddle.” He folded his arms around her and kissed the top of her head before letting go of her.
“I’ll miss you, Tessa, you’ve been a wonderful friend.” The girls’ tears mingled as they hugged and when they drew apart she picked up her cabin bag with resolve. “I’ll phone you next week when I’m settled back in London.” Her voice cracked and a tear trickled down her cheek. “You’ve been the best friends a girl could have in la-la land and I’ll miss you more than you’ll ever know.”
She walked through the boarding gate with squared shoulders, determined not to look back, but at the last moment her resolve crumpled and she turned around.
Charlie and Tessa were walking away, deep in conversation. Their faces were close together, their arms were linked, and their body language spoke of trust and affection. They were going back to their comfortable lives – their apartments, jobs, and a circle of friends to support them.
She was going back to nothing.
The fasten seatbelt sign came on as the plane thundered along the runway, and she snapped the belt buckle shut and leaned over to look out the window. LA lay spread below her vast and complex, a series of overgrown villages which had merged over time to become one of the largest and most cosmopolitan cities in the world. Was it only six months ago she’d looked down at it from this same vantage point, wondering if she’d done the right thing giving up in England to move here? She suspected she’d never grow to like it but she’d built a new life, made lasting friendships, moved past the pain of Tom’s betrayal, and fallen in love again. Life in this crazy city hadn’t been easy but she’d grown from the experience and didn’t regret a thing.
Except for the situation with Guy. How had she, naïve, unworldly Holly Oakwood, ever hoped he could love her? It had been tempting to take his offer and return to work on Monday. She’d see him every day and maybe, just maybe, in time he’d forget the mess she’d caused, and they’d be friends.
Problem was, she loved him, and if she couldn’t be with him, she was better being as far away as possible. Eventually the memories would fade: the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, his lopsided grin, his earnest look reminiscent of a six year old boy, and the way he ran his fingers through his wavy, dark hair when he was exasperated. A lump formed in her throat and a tear slid down her cheek. She closed her eyes, trying to regain her composure.
“Miss Oakwood?” asked a young steward, leaning over her seat.
“Yes,” she answered, hoping her eyes didn’t look red and swollen.
He leaned further in and whispered in her ear. “Could you follow me, please? Bring your handbag and any other belongings. There’s been a mix up with your seat, I’m afraid.”
Typical. She hadn’t checked her boarding pass and was sitting in someone else’s seat. No doubt her own would be at the back of the plane next to the Ladies, and the flight would be punctuated by the sounds of the flushing loo.
“You’re in luck today,” he said. “There are a couple of no shows in first class and because you’re on an A2 visa, we’re upgrading you.” He picked up her cabin bag and moved towards the front of the plane.
“Thank you”, she said, following him through the curtain into the hallowed domain of the executive traveller. At least she’d be able to drown her sorrows on expensive champagne before having a nap.
He put her cabin bag into an overhead locker and she slid across two empty seats to the window. Thank God she’d be sitting alone. A chattering companion was the last thing she needed. She pushed her handbag under the seat, put on an eye mask to shut out the light and wrapped a blanket around her.
Some time later the smell of food penetrated her consciousness and she stirred. She willed herself to drift back to sleep, but the smell of dinner and the noise in the cabin pulled her back to consciousness.
Slowly she became aware of breathing beside her and cursed silently. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. Her tears had bonded the light plastic of the eye mask to her skin, and she peeled it away carefully to peek at the passenger sitting beside her.
He shifted in his seat and as their eyes met, her pulse quickened, her heart hammered in her chest and a wave of vulnerability washed over her. He smiled hesitantly, and a frown creased his forehead. Her eyes searched his face, and his expression told her he felt stripped bare and vulnerable too, and she knew, before he spoke, why he was here.
“I couldn’t let you go.” He took her shaking hand and held it to his warm lips. “Not now or ever.” With the confidence of a man who knows what he wants, he pulled her towards him and kissed her.
The End
Thank you for reading Transplanting Holly Oakwood. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you did, p
lease leave a review online, or touch base with me through my website and blog:
http://www.dijoneswrites.com
You can also follow me on Twitter @dijoneswrites
If you enjoyed this book, I hope you’ll read my second novel, Meeting Miss Mollie, which is due to be released very shortly. You can read more about it on my website.
About Di
Born in Liverpool, I started my working life as a librarian, and have worked in a variety of jobs since, but none were as much fun as the one that allowed me to write and get paid for it. That was a few years ago, and each year it’s become more and more apparent what I want to do is write full time, a dream that first occurred to me at seventeen.
Like my characters, I love my family and friends, beautiful shoes, anything sparkly, the ‘occasional’ drink, parties, and a good belly laugh. I’m addicted to shopping, chocolate, bubble bath and anything else that smells nice, and the sort of TV programmes you’d never publicly admit to watching.
I’ve lived in England, Canada, and the United States, but now call New Zealand home. I live in a lovingly renovated home overlooking Auckland’s beautiful Waitemata Harbour, with my trusted friends Bronson Boxer and Dolce Dane. They keep me fit and exercised, scare the burglars away, sit loyally by my side throughout my late night writing sessions, and hang on my every word when I read final drafts aloud. They truly are my biggest fans, and I theirs!
I love my life, but not so much that there’s not room to live a load of other lives, through the hearts and minds of my characters, all of whom I adore, and some of whom I’m fortunate enough to call friend.
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