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2
‘He’s a child!’ Georgie wailed. She could do that here; God knows she was paying Sylvia Lombard enough to listen to her.
‘But from what you say, he’s got a first-class degree from Oxford?’ Sylvia slipped in. She had the irritating habit of being direct and soft-spoken all at once. That was what you got when your employers chose a therapist originally from Galway. Sylvia walked about in a cloud of essential oils and jangling silver bangles, seeing the world from her esoteric vantage point, which was all too often at odds with Georgie’s practical world view.
‘For the last time, Crispin Biggley-Downes stealing my job has nothing to do with his degree and everything to do with his father being one of our biggest clients.’
‘I’m sure that—’
‘He was the office joke! We all called him CBD – or Mr Cannabis, to give him his full title – and not even just behind his back.’
‘And he took the joke in good spirits?’
‘He didn’t have much of a choice.’ But then, Georgie thought, maybe that was it. Even Paul had been in on it. Was that how Crispin had managed to ingratiate himself with him? ‘Oh, God.’ She buried her head in her hands. How had she been so stupid? Georgie remembered them now, guffawing at whatever joke Crispin had delivered. He was unnervingly ubiquitous, slipping in and out of groups in the office. Now that she thought about it, there wasn’t one person who worked at the firm who hadn’t liked him.
‘So he didn’t take himself too seriously?’ Sylvia said slowly.
‘In many ways – all right, in every way – he’s the complete opposite of everything I think it’s important to be as a director. It’s not meant to be a popularity contest.’ It was true, but just because they had different approaches, didn’t mean hers was automatically wrong. ‘To be honest, if someone treated me the way Crispin treats his assistants, I’d be livid. It’s nothing short of patronising. It’s please this and thank you that. Honestly, all that gushing, you’d swear he was at a tea party with the Queen half the time.’
‘And what’s the problem with that?’
‘He always tries to be everyone’s friend – it’s inappropriate. Whereas I have boundaries…’
‘But perhaps your boundaries are as much about your past as they are an appropriate approach to a leadership role?’ Sylvia’s voice was too gentle. Georgie never fully trusted her when she spoke like this; it felt as if she was being led into some sort of trap.
‘This isn’t about me and my sisters – why do you always bring it back to that?’ Too late she realised she’d taken the bait.
‘I didn’t mention your sisters, you did.’ Sylvia looked up now from her notepad as if surprised by the entrance of Iris and Nola into their conversation.
‘Well, you needn’t think I’m talking about them now. I want to figure out what happened to my promotion.’ It was bloody infuriating sometimes, all the money this woman was earning for sitting there and leading her in endless circles, never ending up anywhere properly.
‘Fine. So you were saying… boundaries?’
‘Yes, boundaries. You need to lead from the front with these people; otherwise they’re in danger of going off on all sorts of tangents.’
‘So, your relationships with your colleagues are only professional.’
‘Always.’ Wait a minute, Georgie wasn’t sure if they were going back over old ground and the bullying charge that had been levelled against her or if this was leading them somewhere altogether more difficult.
‘And so, you never let anyone in…’
‘Of course I let people in,’ Georgie snapped.
‘But, your colleagues never get to see a vulnerable side to you, do they?’
‘That would be very unprofessional.’
‘No, Georgie, that’s what we call being human.’ Sylvia kept looking at her. If it was going to be a staring competition, Georgie wouldn’t be the first to break the connection. ‘It’s okay to let people know if you’re struggling and it’s good to ask for help. Sometimes, it can create bonds, relationships; it can even build respect.’
‘So, if I’d been one of those women who regularly cried her eyes out in the communal bathrooms I’d have been a shoo-in for the promotion. Is that what you’re saying?’
‘Of course not, but you haven’t managed to get the job anyway, so what have you lost out on on the way?’ She stopped, glanced at the clock, although Georgie had a feeling she knew the time down to the millisecond once a session started.
‘You think I should be more like Crispin, jollying everyone along, organising karaoke nights and meditative art sessions during lunch hour…’ Georgie stopped for a moment, realising that she’d wrinkled her nose, and so she concentrated on moving her features back to some sort of neutral passivity. Was this woman actually suggesting that they were right to pass her over for the job? It was true that Paul had called her into his office a few times over the years because she’d upset some so-called assistant, but as she’d explained to him a hundred times over, you can’t make an omelette without cracking some eggs.
‘I think you need to be yourself, but a joyful atmosphere is always more productive. What I’m saying is that it would be a good thing to examine exactly why you have had to create these boundaries in the first place, because I think we both know that it has more to do with shutting yourself away from pain. Isn’t it that you don’t want to end up being hurt again?’
‘Oh, please!’ Georgie couldn’t answer, but she wasn’t going to admit there was a huge lump at the back of her throat that threatened to spill over and break into a reserve she’d spent so many years building up.
