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It’ll be round the office like wildfire before we know it.
By lunchtime, I’ve been looped in on an email thread that’s got the subject “Buckinghamshire”. Wildfire, indeed. Basically, any attractive woman in the building has been copied in—except for Chrissy. It seems to have originated from Chrissy’s main PA and so that leaves me in no doubt, Miles fucked her, too.
There’s talk of everyone heading to a pub after work so we can all share what we know and make a claim to Chrissy about his conduct.
I don’t know how to tell them that she might be as much a part of the problem as he is.
I agree to join the twenty or so women after work at the pub, not really knowing how I’m going to handle it. Plus, I bet there will be several who chicken out.
Once both Chrissy and Miles have left for the day, a couple of the ringleaders of “Operation Buckinghamshire” go on ahead to scout the local pub that’s apparently got a small private room that’s hardly ever used.
The rest of us make like we’re working overtime in front of the doorman, who keeps pushing his face against the glass door, as if to check whether there’s some problem keeping us all here past 5.30. Then the email arrives:We are go. Don’t rush all at once…
I see a couple of girls get up and close down their machines with the nonchalance of cats about to find dinner, their glee at a possible kill buried deep down. I end up being one of the last ones out.
“Cheerio, Clive,” I say with a grin, “think there are just a couple more. Just a bit of wrapping up and all that, no biggie.”
He rolls his eyes checking his watch. I can tell he’s eager to get everything locked so he can swap over with the night man who I’m sure must spend most of his time in the security office sleeping, since there’s really never been any trouble in this building. Easy money.
I follow a couple of girls ahead of me. Of course, Daisie isn’t here—because of her kid.
She said to me earlier, however: “If you go, will you report back?”
“I’m not sure yet, it’s all a bit risky, and I haven’t been here long, but I will if I do,” I replied, but obviously, here I am now having completely ignored all the warning bells ringing in the back of my head.
If any of this “plotting” gets back to Miles, he’ll suspect me first because I warned him I’m dangerous. Plus, I told him I was aware of his marriage—meaning I’m not without my resources.
Like the sheep I am, I end up alongside everyone else upstairs at the Marylebone, a chic sort of cocktail bar that evidently doesn’t open the upstairs section all that often, except perhaps, for functions. I spy a red-faced and stressed female barperson working the bar alone, having not expected to be conscripted up here today, and so to aid her, I order a simple bottle of beer which she only has to crack the lid off.
Some of the other girls give me a funny look as I drink right from the bottle—all while they’ve ordered cocktails, glasses of wine or some sort of low-calorie mixer with a high-alcohol-content spirit. None of them know in any great detail what my life was like working for Albie and Sharon. You could say I completely rebranded myself to work in PR. Gone are the ripped jeans, band shirts and bottles of beer. New and improved Mirabelle, whose posh name alone tells them I’m a lady (don’t you know), has secrets none of these people could possibly imagine. The stunts I pulled to get Albie out of trouble sometimes…
I really don’t belong with this lot and it’s no wonder Miles got away with it so long. I’m truly the spanner in the works that found him out. I’d say around our second date, what with his constant phone addiction, I had him all figured out (even if I didn’t consciously admit I had).
Once everyone has a drink, the barwoman heads downstairs and doesn’t look concerned about any of us helping ourselves if we want something else. Anyway…
It does end up being Chrissy’s PA who starts proceedings (I thought it might be).
The woman, whose nickname in Miles’s phone I couldn’t be sure of, is called Lila in real life, and as far as I know, has worked for Chrissy for four years. She’s got very long, immaculate hair and that’s either down to extensions or amazing genes. She’s perfectly made up, has a supermodel figure, and is a little older than most here. Plus, she’s wearing a wedding band, huge engagement ring—and a third ring (usually an eternity ring, right?) meaning her marriage seems fairly solid. Probably ten years or more servitude to have earned herself that?
So, what’s she doing here? Unless, she and Miles did have something some four years or so ago… and the eternity ring is a symbol of having had her marriage tested and come through it.
“Right, so we’re all here because it’s become clear Miles Farringdon has a history of chatting up female colleagues over email, or in recent times, using Teams messaging.” Lila looks forthright and no-nonsense, so my guess is, for her, Miles was ages ago. Plus, he couldn’t have been doing both PAs at the same time, surely? “I asked Stacie to come today, but she is completely inconsolable. He’d told her he was going to leave his girlfriend. Only to discover he had, in fact, married her. She saw the ring and her world fell apart.”
Several people put their hands over their mouths. As I stare around the room, I notice several women looped in on the email haven’t made it this evening, but fourteen of us have. Most people present are wearing an expression of shame or disgust. Some a mix of both.
Lila looks stateswoman-like even though she’s reading the room the same as I am and can tell several of us are on the verge of tears. “Stacie’s lost her job because of this. Meanwhile, he gets to stay and faces no consequences. The truth is, Chrissy knows what goes on. But turns a blind eye. I tried to tell her once…” At this, several women around the room inhale sharply, because yep, he even hounded Lila into bed, and she’s probably the most good-looking, intelligent woman in the room. “I had to suck it up. I’ve thought about leaving a bunch of times, but to be fair, the money is good, I like Chrissy despite her foibles, and…” She takes a pause, looks at the floor, and breathes deeply. “…truthfully, I’ve waited for the day to get him.”
Some pairs of friends look at one another and nod. They want to seek revenge, too.
Meanwhile I feel like an interloper, sitting on the periphery.
So when Lila’s eyes land on me, I’m shocked.
“Mirabelle, as the most recent recruit, the rest of us would appreciate your input.” Lila beckons me to stand at her side, and for a moment, the exit beckons me to split and fuck this shit. But, there are all these sad faces around the room. And also, the angry ones, too.
I’m wondering if they know it’s me who found out about the Instagram account, or if Daisie just shared the link to it without any explanation—knowing it’d be enough.
Something forces me to my feet, and dropping my empty beer bottle on the nearest table, I walk to the middle of the room where Lila stood mere moments ago, finding every eye in the room on me instead. Lila sits herself down and I’m close to begging her not to abandon me, when someone says, “Come on, tell us if he got you, too.”
