Transplanting Holly Oakwood (2 page)

But she couldn’t back down. Hands clenched into tight balls and legs trembling, she left without a backward glance. Closing the front door firmly and quietly behind her, she left her best friend’s apartment, her mouth sour with the taste of betrayal.

The boards creaked under the weight of her relentless pacing and her palms were chapped and sore from rubbing them. A sob racked her body and she sank onto the sofa, mopping her tears with Tom’s tee-shirt. She held it to her face, taking in his scent, and shut her eyes, but an image of him and Sonia intruded. Would she ever be able to close her eyes without imagining them making love? She got up and paced again, the hard, cold wood of the floor bruising her feet. They weren’t as sore as her heart, which lay damaged and torn in the cavity behind her ribs.

Head banging from endless crying, she finally slid into bed, trying to cocoon herself in blankets scented with Tom’s aftershave. Is this what it felt like when someone died? She wished he
had
died, because then he wouldn’t be with Sonia. She sobbed into her pillow, her tears acid with jealousy. Eventually, exhausted, she slept, to be woken by the jangling of the alarm. Ignoring her instinct to stay in bed, she crawled out, then showered and dressed listlessly.

She arrived at the office determined to focus on work, but hesitated before going in, forcing the corners of her mouth upwards into something resembling a smile.

“How was your weekend?” chirped her young assistant.

“Not the best.”

“Mr Dugdale wants to see you.” The girl rolled her eyes, an expression meant to mock Mr Dugdale, but which made her look cross-eyed.

“I’ll catch up with him later.”

“He said as soon as you come in.”

“Did he say why?”

“The new manager’s going to interview all of us, and he wants to talk to you about it.”

“That’s all I need. Bound to be layoffs.” She shook her head. “How is he?”

“Stressed. He muttered about interfering newcomers who don’t know the first thing about the business. Then stomped back to his office and the door’s been shut ever since.”

Holly’s sigh was as loud as a steam engine. Her personal life resembled a train crash, and she hoped her career wasn’t heading straight into the wreckage. Best to speak to Ewen Dugdale straight away.

“Morning, Ewen. I hear the new manager wants to interview us all this week.”

“Not everyone,” he said in a grim tone.

“What do you mean?”

“They’re firing senior managers and bringing their own team in. I’ll be going as I’m close to retirement.”

“No.”

“I’m sure of it.” His voice softened. “I want to give you a bit of advice, and I hope you’ll follow it.”

She nodded.

“Forget the old loyalties you have here and think of your future.”

She shook her head.

“You have to; otherwise your career will be in jeopardy.”

She stared out the window, contemplating her situation. Was this all a bad dream? How could her perfectly happy life have changed overnight, and with no warning?

An email flashed on her screen, and she stared at it through glassy eyes before seeing it was from an old friend she heard from infrequently. She dropped the pencil she’d been chewing, glad to have a distraction from the misery of doing nothing.

To:
[email protected]

From:
[email protected]

Heard you and Tom broke up. Coping okay?

James

To:
[email protected]

From:
[email protected]

Bad news travels fast. Yes, the bastard cheated on me. With Sonia, the cow. Not sure what to do. Everything’s surreal at the mo.

Holly x

To:
[email protected]

From:
[email protected]

There’s a job going in our LA office. Why don’t you apply for it? Do you good to get out of London.

James

To:
[email protected]

From:
[email protected]

Never wanted to go to LA for a holiday, let alone live there. Too many Americans. Will stay put and get on with things. Plenty of fish in the sea. Date with a fish wouldn’t be top of my list though. Thanks for thinking of me.

Holly x

To:
[email protected]

From:
[email protected]

Shame. I could see you living in a beachfront pad in Malibu, driving a Mustang convertible, and going to Hollywood parties...

James

She laughed out loud. Could she see herself as a trade official, working for the New Zealand Government in LA? Not likely.

She stared into space, then shook her head and sighed. She had a life here, even without Tom. She had a flat, friends, a job she loved. If she was thinking of leaving London, which she wasn’t, it would make more sense to go home. She’d always planned to return to New Zealand but things kept getting in the way. Then she’d met Tom, and going home was no longer an option.

She sat in the reception area, one leg crossed over the other, her foot jiggling. Why on the earth had she come this early? She looked as if she was too keen, or worse, as if she didn’t have enough to do back at her desk. She ran her tongue around the dust bowl of her mouth and looked at the water cooler opposite, but it was empty.

Would she keep her job? She was good at it, mature and experienced, knew the company. She picked at her cuticles, wishing she’d remembered to have a manicure. She forgot everything lately. Last week she’d forgotten a colleague’s name. Totally embarrassing. Although to be fair, she was hung over. Hell, she hoped she’d make it through this meeting without forgetting the new manager’s name. God, what was it again?

The receptionist tapped her watch and cleared her throat before speaking. “Mr Stayrdup will be with you shortly.”

“Thanks.” What a relief. She hadn’t been sure how to pronounce his name, and hadn’t wanted to ask.

Mr Stayrdup. Hmm. Stayrdup. Start Up. Start up the car.

She imagined Mr Stayrdup sitting behind the wheel of an old bomb, and heard the rasp as the key turned in the ignition. She pictured Mr Start Up pumping the accelerator and smelt the petrol fumes as the engine roared into life.

“Mr Stayrdup will see you now.”

She got up and walked in, her knees shaking. The office was large and the desk expansive, but the man sitting behind it small and round with sallow skin and oily hair. He regarded her coolly.

“Holly Oakwood?” He read from a manila file, then took his glasses off, leaned back in his chair and regarded her appraisingly.

“Yes,” she said, fidgeting under the intensity of his gaze.

“I’m in charge of the new management team.”

She nodded, wanting him to fast forward through the preamble and tell her she still had her job.

“I intend to make this company profitable again. To do this, I need good people around me.”

“Of course.”

“Experienced people.”

“I’m experienced.”

He put his glasses back on and looked at the file. “I need people open to change.”

“I pride myself on being adaptable.”

He looked at her directly, his eyes huge through the milk bottle lens of his glasses. “I need a team who’ll put aside their old loyalties and move forward with me.”

An image of Ewen Dugdale swam before her eyes. Could she put aside her loyalty to a man who’d been her friend and mentor for years?

“Where do you stand on this?”

Feeling sick with dismay, she bit back her anger and took a deep breath, trying to craft her words carefully. After all, she was single now, and had a mortgage to pay on her own. She had to work with this pompous man, whose name she struggled to remember.

What was it? Oh yes, start up, start up, start up. Through a clenched jaw she forced an expression approximating a smile, and attempted an upbeat tone.

“I’m with you, Mr Upstart.”

THREE

Holly

Four weeks later Holly hunkered down as the engines whined and the cabin crew armed the doors for takeoff. She wriggled with satisfaction at the feel of the plush leather seats and soft cashmere blankets. Dressed in a Karen Millen wraparound and tailored black jacket, with matching shoes and designer handbag, she hoped she looked affluent and tasteful. She rummaged in her handbag one last time before she’d have to stow it under her seat. The Prada, one of her prized possessions from their winter collection three years back, was made of velvety black leather. She jingled the chrome chain and cast a glance at her seatmate, who wouldn’t know the bag had begun life as an accessory to someone far better heeled than she was.

Her companion wasn’t taking any notice of the Prada, so with a sigh she pulled her novel out and tried to read, but couldn’t concentrate. She squeezed her eyes shut and inhaled, then slowly exhaled, her anxiety spiralling out with her breath. She opened her eyes and leaned past her companion to look out the window, trying to capture every detail of the city she’d come to love. A lump formed in her throat. No, mustn’t think about Tom. She swallowed, clenched her jaw, and closed her eyes a second time.

“You okay?”

“I, uh–”

“Scared of flying?”

She shook her head, then nodded. “Yes.” Better than admitting she wanted to cry. It wouldn’t be sophisticated to cry in business class on a flight to Los Angeles.

“We’ll be there before you know it. Going on holiday?”

“I’m moving to LA.”

“Never been keen on the place.” The woman grimaced, and shook her head. “Full of weirdos. I’m going on business. Know anyone there?”

“No. A month ago, none of my friends would’ve believed me if I told them I was moving to LA.”

“Why’s that?”

“Never liked it myself.” She considered for a moment before continuing. “Never been there, except for twelve hours once in the terminal.”

“Twelve hours too long for me.”

“Me too, I’ve never wanted to go back.”

“So what happened to make you change your mind?”

“Life.” She shook her head, took a deep breath. “My man cheated on me.”

The woman tut-tutted.

“With my best friend. Then I got fired.”

“How does LA fit in?”

“Got offered a job through a friend and it seemed silly not to take it.”

“Good job?”

“Better than the one I had.” She pulled a face. “With the New Zealand Trade Office.”

“Good for you. Sounds like the best revenge a girl could have.”

“Glass of champagne, miss?” A young steward with gleaming skin flashed peppermint white teeth at her, and handed her a glass of bubbles.

“To life. Wherever it takes you.” Her new friend proposed the toast and Holly settled back into her seat, determined to enjoy the flight.

The cabin was buzzing with post-dinner activity when her seatmate came back from the Ladies wearing pyjamas, eased into her seat, arranged a mink blanket around her and put on an eye mask. Within minutes she was sleeping and Holly yawned, but knew sleep wouldn’t come easily. She pressed the button on the arm of her seat.

“May I have a brandy please?” she asked the steward.

She scrunched her nose as the fiery liquid coated her tongue then slid down her throat, but within minutes her limbs were rubbery and a warm fuzzy sensation settled in her head. Fighting off the urge to close her eyes, she pulled her toothbrush out of the Prada and made her way to the Ladies, feeling queasy and disoriented. She shouldn’t have had that brandy.

The harsh fluorescent lights burned through her grogginess as she sat in the tin-can-sized cubicle. Could you get seasick in the air? Spirals moved behind her eyes and sweat pooled between her breasts. She leant over, resting her head against the vanity. Would she be able to make it back to her seat? She stood, but turbulence rocked the plane and she pitched forward. She slid to her knees, clutching the vanity and willing the turbulence to subside, wanting to calm the fluttering inside her.

“You alright in there?” asked a voice from the other side of the door.

How long had she been in here? She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Yes thanks, I’m fine.”

Her fingers tightened around the cool metal of the tap and she pulled herself back to her feet and dashed cold water on her cheeks, before opening the door and peeking out. To her relief, no one was outside and she wobbled down the aisle, peering in front of her in the darkness. Everything looked different in the gloominess of the cabin, but ahead she saw her seatmate. Striding forward she crossed the space, and lowered herself onto something large, warm, and breathing.

“What on earth? This seat’s already taken.” A man’s voice, quiet and authoritative, penetrated the wads of soggy newspaper filling her head.

A flush rode up her neck to her cheeks but despite her embarrassment she giggled. “Bloody hell. Sorry.” A hiccup punctuated her sentence. “It looked like my seat.”