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‘Did you ever see that interview with Princess Diana where she said she felt there were three people in the marriage? It was like that. There was me, Nikki, and her mum. We just couldn’t escape her. The other issue we discovered, which perhaps I also should have noticed before we got married, is that we had absolutely nothing in common. So things began to unravel very quickly.’
‘Whose idea was it to split up?’
‘Mine. She went berserk and, of course, so did her mother. Between them, they decided to make things as difficult for me as possible. We fought over every little thing, and when I got exasperated and said I didn’t want anything and she could keep it all, she wanted to fight about that too.’
‘I’m sorry. That sounds awful.’
‘It was. Anyway, in the end I moved out into the flat opposite yours and left her to get on with it. I’ve been there for four years, and I reckon I’m healing slowly. What about you?’
I fill him in on James and his multiple infidelities as we eat our starters and, by the time we’ve eaten our puddings, I wouldn’t say we were friends exactly, but we certainly know a lot more about each other. I’m used to the fact that he’s easy on the eye but I’ve learned that, when he relaxes, he’s also very good company. I’m surprised to see it’s after nine o’clock by the time we brave the station again. It’s a lot quieter now, and we manage to get on a train without having to jostle anyone. There are quite a few seats, and we pass the short journey to Sevenoaks in companionable silence. I’ve seen a different side to Elliott tonight and I’ve realised that the hard shell is there to protect the wounds his ex-wife has inflicted on him. I’m flattered that he chose to share some of his story with me, and I know I have to treat it with respect. Bronwyn, Katie, and Daisy will have to go without a full debrief this time.
24
‘Sophie, can you come into my office for a moment?’ Annabel has stuck her head out of her door and all eyes are on me as I grab my notepad and head for her glass-fronted cubicle.
‘Have a seat.’ She indicates the chair in front of her desk and I follow her instruction, nervously perching on the edge. Annabel generally only summons people into her office to tear them off a strip when they’ve cocked something up. When we didn’t get the trade fair contract a few months ago, she went through a phase of picking us up on literally everything until Lucy got the hump and told her she wouldn’t have a company at all if she pissed us off so much that we all upped and left. Since then, things have returned to normal.
I know Annabel was really disappointed not to have won the contract, but I think Lucy, Emily, and I were all secretly a little relieved in the end. There’s no doubt that it would have raised our profile immensely, but the reality is that we’re probably too small to cope with a job that large. It would have taken all of us working full-time to bring it to fruition, and we’d have lost a number of existing customers in the process. It’s never a good idea to have all your eggs in one basket, in my opinion, and that contract would have put us firmly in that situation. The good news is that the client was really impressed by our pitch and has already engaged us for a few smaller events, so it wasn’t a total loss.
‘What’s the matter?’ I ask Annabel as she closes the door. I’m trying to think if I’ve messed anything up recently, but nothing is coming to mind.
‘It’s slightly delicate, so I wanted to chat with you in private. We’ve had a new enquiry, and the client specifically asked for you.’
‘That’s good, isn’t it?’ Annabel is normally delighted if a client asks for one of us by name because it makes the relationship more personal, which she believes increases their loyalty. She doesn’t look delighted this morning, though.
‘I’m not sure you’ll see it that way. It’s something very different from our normal line of work, but that doesn’t bother me. You’re pretty adaptable. It’s the client that’s the problem.’
‘Tell me more.’ I’m curious, if nothing else. I have a good relationship with all my clients, and I can’t think why the new one would be any different.
‘Okay. It’s definitely up your street and fits in with the brief I gave you when you came back. It’s a shooting weekend at a country estate.’
I suddenly have a suspicion I know where she’s going.
‘The client, and this is where the problem lies, is your ex-husband.’
‘Ah, well that makes it easy. Simply write back to him and tell him that his budget is not sufficient for the type of event that we organise. I imagine this is some hare-brained money-spinner he’s dreamt up, but he’ll be expecting the whole thing to happen on a shoestring budget. It’ll be a car crash and we probably won’t get paid either.’
‘Interesting. He hasn’t mentioned budget in his email. He talks a lot about providing a top-quality experience for his guests and setting up something that can be repeated on a regular basis during the pheasant shooting season. Do you know when that is?’
‘The beginning of October to the first of February,’ I reply, without thinking.
‘Which brings me back to my dilemma,’ Annabel continues. ‘You’re patently the best qualified to put together an event like this. None of the rest of us would have a clue. He’s specifically asked for you as well, and it’s exactly the kind of market I’d like us to break into. But I don’t want to put you in a difficult position.’
She’s good, I’ll give her that, but I can see through her. She really wants this, and I’ll have to put up a hell of a fight to stand a chance of getting out of it. What the hell is James playing at now? The fact that he chose us, and me specifically, when there are probably companies closer to him that have more experience and would charge less, tells me a lot. I’m being manipulated here, and I don’t like it at all.
‘Can I think about it?’ I ask Annabel.
‘Of course. I’ll send you the details. Have a look and let me know tomorrow morning, okay?’
* * *
‘What did Annabel want? She didn’t seem to be having a go at you,’ Emily asks, as we head out to grab a sandwich at lunchtime.
‘She wanted to talk to me about a new client who wants our help to organise a shooting weekend.’
‘What, like paintball and stuff? Sounds awesome.’
‘No, not paintball. Pheasants. Think of a group of middle-aged men standing in a field and firing randomly into a sky filled with birds, and you’ll be pretty much there.’
