Undercover Alice (6 page)

I was afraid work would be awkward the next day with
Matt after our little extra-curricular meeting, but he showed no sign of any
awkwardness himself, and, gradually, I put it to the back of my mind. I started
to get into my job a bit more as the week went on – there was a lot of juggling
meetings about, and the phone was ringing off the hook. One day I was so busy,
I didn’t even have time to take lunch. Matt was appalled when he found out, and
disappeared from the office without a word, returning with a sandwich and a cup
of coffee for me.

‘I can’t have you passing out in the office,’ he
chided. ‘That’s bad for business. And I’d have to answer my own phone.’

He was full of these surprising little gestures; not
just with me, but with everyone who worked there. If someone was having a
visibly bad day, sometimes they would come back to their desk to find some
chocolates there, or a silly doodle Matt had drawn with an inspiring message
(or, more often, a ridiculous limerick, which couldn’t help make people smile).
He left one for me after a particularly bad morning when I’d got into an
argument on the phone with a very pushy salesman called Marcus Sloane who was
determined he was coming in to meet Matt that day. I had to go out for some
fresh air to calm down and, when I came back, I found a doodle of a little
woman who, I imagined, was supposed to be me, and a limerick.

There was a young lady called Alice,

A girl without hint of malice,

Who answered the phone,

With a grunt and a groan,

Because it was that bastard Sloane

I fell about with laughter, and I propped it up on
my desk where I could see it. Matt didn’t mention it when he came back the
office, and I didn’t bring it up, but I knew he could see I had kept it, and
I’m sure I saw him smile.

He had the ability to make anyone laugh, even
stern-looking Doris in accounting would crack a smile at one of his silly
stories. And crack was right – she had a face like stone.

His phone manner made me smile, too. He evidently preferred
to talk to people face-to-face, and I cringed sometimes at his awkward
dialogue. Whenever possible, he invited people in, or took them out for coffee
or lunch and, invariably, his cheery demeanour and enthusiasm would win them
over and he would return to the office and punch a fist in air, triumphantly.

***

I had my hands full that week. The office picnic was
the following Monday and, while Matt had looked at the big picture (where,
when, theme), there were many smaller details to be sorted out. I was in and
out of his office constantly as we threw ideas back and forth. This was the
first office picnic, and he was incredibly anxious it should be a success. He’d
settled on the idea of a film star theme, with people expected to dress up, and
from the babble of excitement in the canteen at lunchtimes, it seemed like a
good one. One thing he hadn’t considered, however, was the food.

‘I kind of thought I’d just bring along some bits
from the supermarket,’ he admitted, sheepishly, grinning when he saw my horrified
expression.

‘You have almost 200 people coming,’ I exclaimed,
rolling my eyes at him. ‘You can’t just give people a can of pop and a packet
of crisps and say “thanks for coming”.’

‘Oh.’ This obviously hadn’t really occurred to him.
‘What will we do?’

‘You’ll need to make sandwiches,’ I said, looking at
him seriously. ‘Enough sandwiches for 200 people.’

He stared at me, aghast, and I couldn’t keep a
straight face any longer.

‘I’m joking, you idiot. We’ll find someone to
provide the food.’

After a frantic hour of calling round local
companies, I finally found an incredibly helpful young man who had recently
started up his own café and was hoping to expand into catering events. I ran
through what I needed.

‘Sandwiches, meat and vegetarian, maybe some other
nibbles like carrot sticks and dip, sausage rolls, that sort of thing. And some
cakes. Oh and soft drinks, we’ve got the alcohol sorted.’

Matt had been dispatched to the local wine warehouse
to stock up.

I could hear my would-be caterer frantically
scribbling all my requests down on a pad of paper. He assured me that he could
provide all of the above, and after a brief to-and-fro about money, the deal
was sealed.

I’d been so busy with all the arrangements, that I
hadn’t thought about who I should dress up as. I also hadn’t thought, I
realised, guiltily, about my secret assignment. My notepad had lain dormant in
my bag for a good few days now, and I hadn’t really found out anything newsworthy
about Matt Westwall. I realised, with an uncomfortable feeling, that I had
found out plenty of un-newsworthy stuff, such as his favourite music and his
favourite colour. I knew Barry would be on my case, but I was…having fun. It
had never occurred to me that working here would be fun – it had been something
to be endured – but I found myself waking up and looking forward to going to
work. Matt was a great boss; what he’d said at my interview was true, he wasn’t
demanding. I found I even had to push him to hand over some things that a PA
should really handle; he seemed so worried my workload would become
unmanageable.

I smiled at the thought of that. Working at the
paper, I often worked shifts of more than 12 hours (any overtime unpaid, of
course. I couldn’t imagine the look on Barry’s face if I submitted an invoice
for extra hours worked) so arriving here at 9 and leaving at 5 every day was a
treat. The work was a pleasant surprise, too – I actually quite enjoyed
juggling around Matt’s schedule. He also got me to check his correspondence,
and, with my skill in writing, I was able to help him improve his documents.

 He was always so grateful. Barry never said thank
you, never said please, and certainly never said well done. Matt was full of
praise – not just with me, but with everyone in the company. If someone had
done a good job, they were told about it, and the morale in the place was sky
high. Yes, I enjoyed working here.

***

When I got home that night, I sat down and tried to
decide who I should dress up as. My own knowledge of films was woeful and I was
lacking serious imagination, so I called Jen. She was always up for a
challenge.

‘God that sounds awful,’ said Jen, when I told her
about the picnic.

‘No no,’ I said, smiling. ‘You forget, Jen, that not
everybody hates their colleagues.’

‘Oh. Really?’ I could hear the shrug in her voice
and laughed.

‘Really. Look, come on, I need help here, or I’ll
end up going as Shrek or something.’

‘No outfit required,’ Jen said, and I tutted at her
loudly. ‘Right let’s think. You don’t want frumpy, no Queen Victoria in Mrs
Brown, then. Ooh what about a Bond girl?’

‘Eh, I don’t know. What about Marilyn Monroe?’

‘Cliché.’ Jen thought a moment. ‘Hey, remember when
were kids, and we use to dance around in the garden to Grease?’

‘Yes, and I always made you go as Danny.’ I laughed,
remembering her indignant face when I proclaimed that, being blonde, I should
always be Sandy.

‘Yes, you were a horrible child,’ Jen said. ‘But
there, what about Sandy from Grease? Ooh one of my clients used to star in
Cats, I bet she’s got a black catsuit in her wardrobe. And she’s a similar
build to you.’

‘I don’t know, Jen,’ I said, uneasily – the idea of
parading about in a skintight catsuit wasn’t very appealing to me – but she was
off and there was no stopping her.

‘You can borrow my black shoes with the massive heels.
And I’ll help you curl your hair.’ She gave a little squeal. ‘It’s perfect!’

Swept along by her infectious enthusiasm, what else
could I do but agree?

Matt had been stressing about the weather, and had
taken to sending me texts over the weekend with the latest forecast. When I got
up on Monday, however, the sun was shining brightly. Jen’s enthusiasm about
helping me curl my hair had dissipated rapidly when she realised it meant
coming to my house before she went to work, so I was forced to do battle with
the curling tongs on my own. She’d dropped off the catsuit and accessories over
the weekend – and she’d ended up staying and helping me polish off a bottle of
wine – and I eyed them dubiously as they lay on the bed. It was too late for
second thoughts, however, as I had no other outfit and Matt would be extremely
disappointed if I didn’t embrace the theme.

The picnic was due to start at 11, but I wanted to
get there early to make sure everything was in order. I planned to drive to the
big park it was being held at, and leave my car there until the next day – I
definitely wanted a few glasses of wine after the effort I’d put in. And maybe
it would make me feel less self-conscious about the fact I was wearing an
extremely tight-fitting outfit. I eyed myself critically in the mirror. I had
to admit, the whole outfit worked well together, and I had actually made a
reasonable attempt at curling my hair. Lashings of bright lipstick and heavy
eye make-up finished the look, and a leather jacket I’d found in the back of my
wardrobe completed the look nicely.

When I arrived at the park, I saw Matt’s Prius and
parked behind it. I knew he’d already be here, given how determined he was the
whole thing should go smoothly. I was also pleased to see the caterer’s van
parked a bit further along. Well, at least he had turned up. That was half the
battle.

I headed inside the park, and spotted Matt – he was
talking to a young man who I guessed was the caterer, and the pair of them were
pointing at various trays of food. I headed over to join them. Matt was wearing
a leather jacket and jeans, and his hair looked…different. Sort of familiar, I
thought.

‘Hello,’ I called as I neared. They both turned
round. Matt and I stared at each other, in shock. If I had dressed as Sandy,
then he was undoubtedly dressed as Danny. His hair was arranged into a quiff,
and comb stuck out of his jeans waistband. He was wearing a black t-shirt with
T-Birds emblazoned across the chest. He looked like a film star and I was torn
between horror and attraction. The caterer was first to speak.

‘Oh matching outfits, that’s very clever,’ he said,
nodding.

‘Can I speak to you?’ I hissed, pulling Matt to the
side.

The caterer got the hint and busied himself with
unpacking bottles of fizzy juice. ‘

This is a disaster,’ I said, desperately. ‘Why are
you dressed as Danny?’

Matt looked indignant. ‘Why not? Why are you dressed
as Sandy?’

‘Well, why shouldn’t I be?’ I realised with an awful
feeling that neither of us had asked the other what they would be dressing up
as, we’d been so absorbed with making the arrangements.

‘I don’t understand why it’s a disaster anyway,’
Matt said, looking slightly puzzled. ‘I think it’s actually quite funny.’

I sighed. He was right, it was funny, but I was
pretty sure Sarah wouldn’t see it that way.

‘Maybe I should go home and change,’ I said,
miserably.

‘No, don’t,’ Matt said. ‘You look fantastic.’ I
noticed his eyes run up and down my figure and he reddened slightly.

I blushed a little too, and we stood awkwardly for a
few seconds.

‘I’d better go help with the food set-up,’ I said,
and hurried away.

***

I was right, of course. Sarah was livid. When she
turned up (dressed as Marilyn Monroe, as I was to tell Jen later with delight)
and clocked our matching outfits, she had a face like thunder. She looked very
pretty, but her obvious aura of displeasure put anyone off speaking to her, so
she ended up sitting on her own at the edge of the group, drinking wine faster than
I thought possible. I sighed. I had a bad feeling about the whole thing, and I
just hoped nothing spoiled it for Matt.

He, of course, was oblivious. He was so relieved
that so many people had turned up, and that everyone had embraced the theme,
even Doris from accounting, that he was even more cheerful than usual. He
walked from group to group, chatting with ease, leaving a trail of laughter
wherever he went. Whenever someone mentioned our matching outfits, he shot me a
quick, rueful smile, and then joked that we already had such a good working
relationship, we hadn’t even needed to consult with each other.

‘We just knew,’ he would say, to laughter.

We’d hired a band to play in the afternoon, and as
the wine flowed, people started getting up and dancing. Sarah remained seated,
clutching onto her glass of wine. Her eyes followed Matt around, and I suddenly
felt sorry for her.

She brightened at one point when Matt went over to
speak to her. I thought she was probably pretty drunk by now, and I noticed her
touching his hand when she was speaking. He seemed polite, but didn’t
reciprocate, and she seemed crestfallen when he left to go and mingle
elsewhere.

Later in the afternoon, feeling a little tipsy
myself after a few glasses of prosecco, I found myself sitting beside him on a
rug.

‘Well,’ I said, raising my glass in a cheer. ‘I
think this has been a success, wouldn’t you say?’

Matt raised his plastic cup of beer and clinked it
off my glass.

‘I’d say so. Largely thanks to you, I think. If it’d
had been left to me, we’d have sat around with a pack of crisps playing
Twister.’

I laughed. ‘That doesn’t sound so bad to me, you
know.’

I stretched out on the rug and, after a second, Matt
did too.

‘This was a really lovely idea,’ I said. ‘You’re not
a bad boss, you know.’

Matt craned his neck to look at me, and he seemed
pleased by my assessment of him.

‘I try to be a good boss,’ he said. ‘I want people
to enjoy working here, I want people to get up in the morning and want to come
to work. I want people to be as passionate about working here as I am.’

I nodded, understandingly.

‘This company means a lot to you, doesn’t it?’

‘Everything,’ he said, fiercely. ‘It saved my life.’

I waited for him to go on, but he didn’t say
anything further, and we lay in silence for a few minutes, listening to the
babble of talk and sound of the band.

‘Thank you for helping with this,’ he said, at last,
touching my hand briefly with his own. The unexpected contact sent a little
thrill through me.

‘It’s my pleasure,’ I said, and we lay in silence
again. I was conscious of his body close to me on the rug; I could have reached
out and touched him easily, and I suddenly found myself very tempted to do so.

A shadow fell over me and I squinted upwards. It was
Sarah, standing over me and swaying slightly.

‘I’m going home,’ she announced, slurring her words
slightly.

Matt got to his feet.

‘Are you alright, Sarah?’ he said, a note of concern
in his voice.

‘Just peachy,’ she said. Her makeup was slightly
smeared and I could smell the alcohol.

‘Walk with me, Alice,’ she said, grabbing my hand
and hauling me to my feet. She gave a small, flirty wave to Matt and then
pulled me across the park with her. She was unsteady on her feet, and I worried
she might fall.

When we were a safe distance away from the group,
she reeled round, dropping my hand like it was a hot potato.

‘I know what you’re trying to do,’ she spat at me. I
stepped back slightly, shocked by the aggression in her voice. So Sarah was a
bad drunk, it seemed.

‘Sarah, I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ I
said, trying to placate her. The last thing I wanted was a stand-up row with
someone dressed as Marilyn Monroe.

‘Yes you do.’ She jabbed her finger towards me.
‘I’ve known Matt much longer than you, we’re very close.’

‘I’m sure you are,’ I said, nodding at her
enthusiastically.

Her eyes narrowed.

‘He won’t fall for it, you know. Your little
charade.’

I felt sick. Could she know about the newspaper? I
realised, with a sudden pang, that I would actually be upset if I had to stop
working here. If I had to stop seeing Matt. I didn’t have time to reflect on
this any longer though, as Sarah hadn’t finished.

‘Pretending to be Little Miss Efficient just so you
can get him into bed. It’s pathetic.’

I breathed out, relieved. So she didn’t know about
the paper. That was a relief, although I was still angry at her uncalled-for
anger and spite.

‘Look, Sarah, you’ve had too much to drink. I don’t
want to get him into bed, I’m just doing my job. You’re quite obviously in love
with him, so either tell him, or stop taking the pain of your unrequited love
out on me. I’m not interested.’

I turned on my heel and as I walked away, I could
hear Sarah throw up behind me.