Rachel blanched at this blithe yet consummate dismissal of her professional expertise. Entirely dishonestly she managed to mumble: ‘Hello, Sir Humphrey. It’s nice to meet you.’
As Rachel reminded herself that she would definitely be sacked for throwing one of Humphrey’s ownobjets d’artat him, Mrs Davidson reappeared with a silver tray bearing tea things, crustless finger sandwiches and a selection of tiny cakes.
For a split second Rachel panicked that, as the sole female member of this party, she’d be expected to play mother. Mercifully, Mrs Davidson stuck around long enough to furnish everyone with their preferred refreshments before scurrying from the room.
Jack and Humphrey discussed various old schoolmasters and traditions as they nibbled egg-and-cress sandwiches. Rachel ate a crumbly scone smothered in clotted cream and jam, and wished that the tea in the pot weren’t a pungent, perfumey Earl Grey.
As she felt the conversation between Jack and Humphrey begin to progress towards a conclusion, Rachel couldn’t decide whether to be relieved or horrified that she’d had no part in it. Either way, based on what she’d overheard, Humphrey hadn’t revealed anything today that she and Jack didn’t already know. This meeting had been about sizing them up, checking that their faces fit – not providing a more detailed brief.
‘I see …’ she heard Humphrey say as she tuned back in to their chat. ‘So you’ve only recently transferred to work with Abraham and … what’s his name, the limp-wristed Australian?’
Cold fury pooled in the pit of her stomach.
‘The only Australian in the office is Greg O’Connor,’ Rachel said, her voice clear and cool. ‘He’s our overall head of client services and a very close colleague of mine. A good friend, in fact.’
Humphrey stared at her for a moment, then turned back to Jack as though she hadn’t said anything worth responding to. Rachel was too incensed to focus on what they were discussing.
Then Humphrey rang a bell. An actualbell. Mrs Davidson rematerialised with Jack and Rachel’s coats and stood by, ready to show them out.
Humphrey seized Jack’s hand for another hearty shake, then took Rachel’s clenched fist to his lips and kissed the back of it with wet lips. Her toes curled inside her boots. She was certain he’d done it just to make her uncomfortable.
It wasn’t until she and Jack were safely sealed inside the MG, emerging from Humphrey’s private road onto a winding country lane, that Rachel let herself sigh. In a single, angry exhale, she released a deep breath that she felt she’d been holding for hours.
Jack looked sideways at her, an impish, impatient smile playing on his lips.
‘So that was Sir Humphrey Caldwell,’ Rachel said, shaking her head. ‘What a trulyrepellenthuman being.’
‘Honestly, Jack,’ Rachel said after he’d stopped laughing. ‘I don’t know whether to be impressed or revolted by you right now.’
‘Ouch!’ he replied. ‘Revoltedseems a bit harsh.’
‘How can you make nice with a person so totally, irredeemably loathsome?’ Rachel groaned. ‘He’s every bit as awful as Isaac – sorry,Abraham– said he’d be. Sexist, leering, puffed up … Clearly troubled by the fact that Isaac’s Jewish – hence the name confusion, which I’m not at all convinced is an accident, by the way. And then there’s the blatant homophobia …Sogrim. He needs to be voted off the island.’
‘Have you finished?’
Jack grinned at her indulgently and rolled his eyes. Rachel wanted to hit him.
‘This is agency life, Rachel,’ he said, spreading a placatory palm as he indicated to turn a corner. ‘Isaac said it himself when he gave us this account. Plenty of clients are vile in their own ways, but – so long as they pay us and don’t actually assault anyone – they pretty much get away with it.’
‘Well, Humphrey is theworst,’ Rachel said. ‘I’ve never been in a professional situation so awkward and unpleasant. I wanted to chuck something at him.’
‘I’m glad you didn’t. I’m not sure even I could have saved things if you’d drawn blood,’ Jack said.
Urgh. Even when he was sending himself up, his complacency infuriated her. Rachel stared pointedly out of the passenger window.
‘What did you want me to do?’ Jack asked, his voice mild and his eyes full of mischief. ‘Should I have challenged him to a duel for ogling your bosom? Given him a lecture on gay rights?’
Rachel felt her whole face ignite at the wordbosom.‘Do NOT laugh at me,’ she said through gritted teeth.
‘I’m not laughing,’ he said, but his smile was irrepressible. ‘This is the game, Rach. This is just how it’s played.’
‘Firstly, do not call me Rach,’ she instructed. ‘Consider this your daily reminder that we are not friends. Secondly, I don’t need you to tell me how “the game” is played – I’ve worked for this agency for four years. And thirdly, why is everything a game with you? Do you never take anything seriously?’
Jack sighed, a little agitated now. ‘Fine.Rachel. But don’t you think you’re being a bit naive? It’s my job to “make nice” with clients, whether I like them or not – it’s literally what I get paid for. In this case, I was uniquely qualified to get Humphrey on side; I used his rampant snobbery to our advantage. Is that serious enough for you?’
Rachel scoffed. ‘Used it toyouradvantage, perhaps. And you’re a patronising arse, by the way.’
Jack threw her a withering look. ‘Don’t be obtuse – you’re smart, it doesn’t suit you. We might not be friends, but from Monday to Friday you and I are a team. I thought we’d established that, despite your misgivings. As far as work’s concerned, what benefits me benefits you – and that includes sucking up to foul clients whose politics you hate. Also, it’s worth noting that neither Greg nor Isaac have felt the need to physically injure Sir Humphrey, but in fact are actively pursuing his business. Ergo, it’s our job to win it.’
