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As Georgie Delahaye approached the shiny glass doors of Sandstone and Mellon, she felt a pleasant fizzing sensation in her stomach. Today was the day. She was a shoo-in for the job. God knows, she’d sacrificed enough for it. She had aced the interview last week. She knew even as she walked out of that room that it was a done deal. Getting this would make her the youngest director at the table and the only woman among a board of men who, in her opinion, bore their privilege far too lightly. Of course, it was easy when you’d been to public school and sailed into every opportunity in life with the doors held open for you by the guy who went before.
No such nepotism for Georgie Delahaye. It took staking her claim in the world of London marketing with a bespoke award-winning campaign for a jewellery company that was years before its time. Her campaign had sent the fashion world into a tizzy and made Sandstone and Mellon the new ‘must-have’ marketing firm for the world’s biggest brands. And, she thought as she saw her reflection in the glass wall that separated her office from the grunt workers beyond, she hadn’t lost her bite. She threw her shoulders back. She was walking on air this morning, buoyed up by the certain knowledge that in a very short time they’d be making the announcement to the whole company. And rightly so – she was still coming up with the most innovative campaigns and the snappiest lines, still had the canniest ability to sniff out a market where buyers hardly knew they needed what she wanted to sell them. And she had loved it, every single second. But somehow, she knew she wouldn’t miss it.
She didn’t want to pitch anymore, fighting off the snapping of younger, hungrier marketing executives biting at her heels. She had put in her time swimming with the sharks and now she was ready to take her place on the boat – or in this case, a corner office, long lunches and watching other people do the dirty work for once.
She’d just sat at her desk when her online diary pinged. Almost time, not that she needed to be reminded. Georgie checked her reflection in the little silver plate she’d won last year. She kept it buried in her desk drawer – what else was she supposed to do with it? Second place in the industry awards was hardly worth hanging on a wall. It was almost an insult. She rubbed her tongue along the surface of her teeth and flicked her hair from around her collar. She stood up, pulling her body up by that invisible string that made her feel six inches taller and then she marched into Paul Mellon’s office.
‘So?’ They both knew what this was about, but she kept her features neutral as if it didn’t much matter to her either way. Of course Paul Mellon had known for years that she wanted to run this company. This promotion was rightfully hers. Even if they’d gone through the motions of leaving the interviews open so others could apply, it was a formality. There was no-one else with her experience, her track record or indeed her proven dedication to the company.
‘Sit down,’ he said, his voice as cold as usual. Although she knew from overhearing some of the temp staff that he fraternised with work colleagues, between them it had always been strictly professional. ‘Georgie.’ He clicked closed whatever computer files he was working on before turning to give her his full attention. He cleared his throat, as if gearing up for a performance that had to carry far beyond the two of them. A light tap on the door made her turn and obvious relief flooded his features when Cole StJohn took a seat beside her. It was then that something close to a warning bell began to sound out in her gut. ‘Good of you to join us, Cole.’ Mellon looked across at the young man at her side as if he’d just been thrown a life jacket.
‘Is something wrong?’ Georgie asked, keeping her voice clear and unconcerned. ‘Has something happened?’ Because, suddenly, it seemed that she could only have been brought here for the most devastating news. ‘Is the company folding?’ But of course, she knew, it couldn’t be that. They’d had their most successful year on record, due in no small part to her securing two of the biggest accounts they’d ever had on their books.
‘No. Nothing has happened. I just wanted to have a chat with you before I go out and make the announcement about appointing our new director to the board.’
‘Ah.’ She exhaled a relieved sigh. ‘I see.’ Although she didn’t see, not really. After all, giving someone a job – or rather, giving them the promotion they deserved above anyone else – hardly called for legal assistance, did it? ‘So, you’ve crossed all the T’s and dotted all the I’s?’ It was funny, but she’d thought this moment would be euphoric but now she was here it felt like a bit of an anticlimax. ‘So, shall we tell them together? I hope there’s going to be bubbly – it is a Friday afternoon after all…’ Then suddenly something in Paul’s eyes stopped her mid-flow.
‘I’m afraid you weren’t successful in your application to be made a director, Georgie.’ His voice dipped and she supposed it was meant to sound sympathetic or maybe supportive, but it didn’t. It sounded patronising. ‘It’s just… we had to give it to the best man for the job and the interview showed us that—’
‘The bestman?’
‘Well, no,’ Cole butted in quickly. ‘I think what he means is the best candidate.’
‘Now, we want to acknowledge the sterling work you do for the company, so we’re putting together a very attractive package that’s going to mean a considerable increase in your salary, additional leave allocation and of course a bigger number of accounts for you to call your own. You’ll also get another assistant on your team and…’
‘I’m sorry.’ She put her hand up to stop him talking – whatever he was saying was just white noise to her at this point. ‘I’m sorry, but let me get this right: you’re not actually making me a director?’
‘No. We’re not.’ He held eye contact with her for too long, as if he’d practised this moment all week. She imagined him now, in front of his bathroom mirror going over the words, giving them exactly the right weighting and firmness while remaining empathetic.
‘Well, bra-bloody-vo.’ She began to slow clap.
‘I’m sorry?’ He leaned forward, his brow folding in confusion.
‘I mean it. You’ve done a marvellous job in passing on the bad news. And, Cole, obviously you pulled the short straw this morning. Damage limitations? Never an easy task.’ She shook her head bitterly. ‘So, it’ll be all the boys around the table for the foreseeable, right?’
‘We haven’t told the successful candidate yet, but yes, it’s—’
‘What are your reasons for this?’
Cole cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry, but it was a fair decision, based not just on the interview but also on each candidate’s track records.’
She took a deep breath and forced herself to remain calm. She would not shout. She would not give the lemmings outside the satisfaction; instead her voice remained dangerously low. ‘How can it be fair when we both know that nobody here has worked harder to make this business more successful than I have? Nobody has pulled off the genius campaigns that have brought ten times more business to our doors than you could have dreamed of when I started out here.’
‘You’ve been an exemplary employee. Dedicated and talented, it’s just—’
‘It’s just what?’ She stood up, her hands on her hips. She’d always seen him for what he really was: a little man who couldn’t see past the fact that she wasn’t wearing trousers like him, or hadn’t gone to quite the right school. She managed not to say this, managed to keep her cool because she knew Cole was there to take down and use any comments she made against her. She wasn’t giving him that sort of ammunition.
‘You’re not a team player, Georgie. You never have been. Your assistants never last any longer than six months and—’
‘Yes, because they are mostly the worst imbeciles who I have to train from scratch, but when they leave me they actually know something about marketing. My assistants have all gone on to work in the best jobs in London, thanks to the training I’ve given them.’
Paul stood up too, and his voice took on a new, steely tone. ‘Some of them have left here virtually traumatised by you.’
‘Is it my fault that you keep sending me oversensitive ninnies?’ she spat, remembering all the assistants she’d had over the years. But then a smidge of doubt crept in. Had she been a complete and utter bitch? No. It was exactly what Paul wanted, for her to cave in with some sort of misplaced guilt. A man wouldn’t have to feel guilty for being brilliant at his job, so why should she? She dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands. It wasn’t true, she told herself. Every one of them reminded her of her sisters: content to stay in their own lane, leaving the heavy duty lifting to people like Georgie.
She felt a treacherous tremor at the back of her throat, as if the hurt her sisters had inflicted on her might spill over into this present moment in the form of tears. She had convinced herself she’d gotten over this. Iris’s complete and utter betrayal of their whole family when she turned her back on them for a man who would happily have robbed them blind given half a chance and Nola’s letting her down when she’d gone out on a limb for her – it was all so long ago. She’d left this pain behind when she’d walked away from them at what was meant to be a centenarycelebrationfor her father’s distillery. She took a deep breath, steadied herself and pushed the pain they’d caused her from her mind. She couldn’t let them ruin this, too.
