A Summer Fling (4 page)

‘Yes I do, and I also know that you must be the only woman in the world without black clothes.’ Niki grinned at his little sister.

‘Possibly,’ said Christie. ‘But my new department is full of women and I don’t want to frighten them into thinking I’m a power-suited ogre.’

‘Just because you always dress so beautifully it doesn’t mean you’re an ogre. Even though you are,’ said Niki, bending to give her a kiss on the head. She was a totally different body shape to him, hourglass-figured and short, where he was tall and rangy, but their wide smiles, serious cheekbones and bright blue eyes made them instantly recognizable as siblings.

‘It will be funny going back to work after so long a break,’

said Christie, looking in the mirror again. Maybe scarlet was too aggressive a colour for a first meet.

‘James knows what he’s doing,’ said Niki. ‘He wouldn’t have offered you this job had he thought you couldn’t do it. He’s a businessman first, soft touch second. You’re up to speed, you’ll be fine and it will do you good. You’ve been a long time in hibernation away from the world. I have every confidence in you and, more to the point, James has every confidence in you.’

‘Thank you, Niki,’ said Christie with a fond look at him.

‘Pleasure, Sis,’ said Niki, saluting her as he left by the front door.

‘OK,’ said Christie to her own reflection. She clapped her hands together and grabbed her minx-red handbag. ‘Let’s start as we mean to go on.’

Grace arrived first into the department after the weekend. She found that the Maintenance fairies had been at work. A thick new carpet had been laid and a huge executive mahogany desk replaced the standard issue ones that Malcolm and Brian had been working from. There was a whiteboard now on the wall and boxes of stationery and what looked like promotional gift examples piled up in the corner. A rather arty iron coat-andumbrella stand had arrived too. Mr McAskill wasn’t a man renowned for splashing his cash on fripperies so the gossip machine would be well cranked up by this expenditure.

No sooner had Grace sat down and switched on her PC than Dawn came in.

‘Hiya,’ she said breezily. ‘Car park’s a bit full this morning, isn’t it?’

‘Yes it is,’ said Grace. They were still at that polite nicey-nicey stage, having the sort of lightweight interchanges with each other that they’d have with a hairdresser.
Had a nice week
end? Lovely weather we’re having!

‘This carpet new? It’s like a bouncy castle, isn’t it?’ Dawn jumped up and down on it, enviously wishing the carpets in Calum’s house were anything like as thick and fresh – and free from cig burns and spilled beer stains.

‘Yes, it is,’ said Grace, spotting an unfamiliar clock on the wall as well. ‘So are quite a lot of things which seem to have appeared since Friday.’

‘Morning, everyone,’ said Raychel, shyly walking in, and just behind her chestnut-haired Anna arrived with an even quieter greeting, equally mesmerized by all the changes in the department. They all seemed a bit nervy that morning. They had hardly got to know each other and now there would be a mighty impact on even those flimsy dynamics. It felt as if it were the first day in a new class and they were all waiting for the teacher to come in and take control.

Over half an hour later, at nine o’clock precisely, a surge of excitement Mexican waved towards them. The exalted figure of James McAskill appeared at the far end of the office alongside a woman in a bright red suit, red shoes and coordinating bag. A personal appearance from him was unusual in itself, but the fact that he was smiling whilst he was talking to this woman – as one would with an old friend – was extraordinary. Immediately, the status of the new Bakery boss went up by a few notches. Grace noticed that Malcolm was looking over with great interest from his department further down the long open-plan office.

‘Ladies,’ said Mr McAskill, ‘may I present Mrs Christie Somers. Christie, may I present the ladies of my Bakery department. This is Grace’ – he gestured to them all one by one – ‘Dawn, Anna and Raychel.’

‘How do you do, girls,’ said Christie in a confident, cigarette-smoky drawl. From her clothes to her voice, there was nothing quiet about this woman.

‘I’ve just been giving Christie a guided tour and, can you believe it, I got lost,’ said James McAskill with lips full of a beaming smile. Mr McAskill never smiled, despite being the multi-millionaire MD and majority shareholder of the chain of mini-supermarkets, White Rose Stores, which his grandfather had started and he had developed to an incredibly successful degree. Not only was WRS a national institution, but they had recently gone international too, putting stores in ex-pat-heavy areas in Europe with very encouraging results. More than one business newspaper columnist referred to James as ‘McMidas’.

‘I’m sure I’ll find my way around in no time,’ said Christie Somers. She reminded Grace of her old hockey teacher, with her assured delivery and fag-ravaged voice.

‘I’ll leave you to get settled in then, my dear,’ said Mr McAskill. Had the others known each other better, they would have exchanged furtive glances at that point.
My dear?
They could see rubber-necks from personnel in other departments. Malcolm’s neck was almost popping off his spine.

‘So I get the posh desk, do I?’ said Christie as James McAskill left her to settle herself in with her new team. ‘This one?’ She indicated the curved desk behind the privacy screen.

‘Yes, that’s yours,’ said Grace with a kindly smile.

‘That screen will have to go,’ said Christie. ‘Can’t see what’s going on behind that thing!’

Malcolm had insisted on the screen when he came. That way he could play games on the Internet and read crime thrillers without anyone seeing he was skiving.

‘I’ll call Maintenance for you, shall I?’ asked Grace.

‘No, just show me the way to the telephone directory and I’ll do it myself,’ said Christie. ‘I’ve always been a believer in throwing myself in at the deep end!’

Lord, she was different from Malcolm, thought Grace, who would have let the girls wipe his bottom if he could have got away with asking.

‘So, first things first. Let’s all go for a coffee and bond,’ said Christie. ‘I think I can just about remember my way to the canteen.’

‘What, now?’ said Dawn.

‘Yes.’

‘All of us?’

‘Yes.’

‘What – and leave the phones?’ said Grace. Cardinal sin. Malcolm would have had them all beheaded for less.

‘I’m sure that voicemail can pick them up for half an hour. Come on. I need to meet you properly and for that we need coffee and biscuits,’ said Christie and she marched off in the direction of the stairs, the others trailing behind her like little ducks behind their mam.

Twenty minutes later, the five women were halfway down their coffees in the canteen. Five women working together could be a disaster or a joy. Christie was determined it would not be the former and for that she needed to know the personalities involved.

James McAskill had told Christie that he thought he had the ideal mix in his department now. It hadn’t been a deliberate ploy to exclude men, that’s just the way it had worked out. But still, Christie thought, he couldn’t have found a more varied selection of females if he’d tried. The older one, Grace, was fifty-five and very well named too, with her lovely white-blonde hair that fell in a delicate swoop of silver to her jawline. She had, apparently, been especially keen to take up the position, even turning down the chance of early retirement for it. She looked too regal to be working in an office, exuding all that quiet class, thought Christie. She seemed more suited to being the manager of an old-fashioned, exclusive dress shop than working behind a desk. Then there was Anna, thirty-nine, quiet and unsmiling, hiding behind her twin curtains of long chestnut hair with the odd silver root poking through. She twiddled constantly with a small, diamond-studded ring on her wedding finger and her eyes looked dull, as if she hadn’t had a top quality sleep for a long time. Then there was Dawn, thirty-three, a young woman with an outward smile on her freckly face, but too many worries behind those large, toffee-coloured eyes. Last, but not least, the ‘baby’, Raychel, twenty-eight – a beautiful girl with gentle, grey eyes and gypsy-black curls, who, Christie suspected, hid her light well and truly under a bushel. She doubted she had them wrong, she rarely did. She shook her head at herself in exasperation. She’d inherited her psychologist father’s genes and was constantly analyzing people. It could be an annoying habit.

‘James has great plans for Bakery, were you aware?’ smiled Christie, mainly to Grace, who was to be her second in command. ‘He wants to launch his flagship Suggestion Scheme from here. We will be in charge of administrating all the ideas that come in from colleagues in the field about Bakery. If it works, he’ll be rolling the scheme out to other departments.’

‘That’s good news,’ said Grace. Her job was safe for a while longer then. No one had been more surprised than she had when they had offered her the position of Deputy Manager. She knew that James McAskill talked about fair opportunities for all sexes and ages, but to find out first-hand that he practised what he preached had been very refreshing.

‘What was the last boss like then?’ asked Christie with a twinkle shining in her eye.

‘Brian? Very nice man,’ returned Grace.

‘He was all right, was Brian,’ added Dawn. ‘Think he was getting tired though by the end. He left most of the running to Malcolm.’ She gave an involuntary shudder when she said his name, which Christie couldn’t help but notice.

‘Malcolm Spatchcock, that would be?’ Christie asked. James had warned her about him. Not that he was one for gossip, he hated it in fact, but he felt it fair to tell her that Malcolm had not been very pleased to be forcibly removed to Cheese, even though it was a promotion. Christie had picked up from that conversation that Malcolm Spatchcock was not one of James’s favourite people, although he would never have said as much, not even to her. But Christie Somers liked to make her own mind up about people. Different dynamics between personalities sparked off different sorts of relationships. She might even find that she and Malcolm got on like a house on fire.

‘He’s gone to be the Business Unit Manager of Cheese,’ said Dawn dryly, adding under her breath, ‘Appropriate.’ She always thought there was a whiff of pongy cheddar about Malcolm – probably her imagination. Or maybe it was something to do with his cheesy flirtations.

Raychel gave a little snort trying to hold a giggle in.

Anna said nothing, just nodded in agreement. In the months they’d been working together, she’d barely spoken. She was a grafter not a talker, the others had each decided.

‘It’s so lovely to meet you all and share a coffee and break the ice a wee bit,’ said Christie, smiling at each and every one of them. ‘I like to run a nice cheerful ship. We spend a lot of time on board at work so the last thing I want is for it to be a miserable experience.’ She stood up and the others followed suit. She grinned rather mischievously. ‘Business Unit Manager – the acronym for that is B.U.M., isn’t it? How unfortunate to be known as Cheese B.U.M.’

Niki was chopping carrots into batons when Christie got home that night.

‘Salmon steaks and assorted veg for tea,’ said Niki. ‘Thought I’d push the boat out a bit seeing as it’s your first day.’

‘Lovely!’ said Christie, kicking off her shoes and wriggling her toes.

‘Well?’ prompted Niki. ‘How was it?’

‘Lovely!’ said Christie again. ‘The women I’m working with are all incredibly nice people and I think I’m going to like it very much.’

‘Smashing,’ said Niki, pouring out two glasses of crispy and cool Sauvignon Blanc and then adding a big splash of it to his sauce mix. ‘How was James?’

‘James was James,’ nodded Christie. ‘Sweet as always although it’s very funny to see him through other people’s eyes. I get the impression everyone’s a little scared of him. They’re all in awe of him, that’s for sure.’

‘Well, he’s an impressive man,’ said Niki. ‘He pays over two thousand people’s wages, doesn’t he?’

‘Oh, much more, Niki. There are now two and a half thousand people working at Head Office alone!’ replied Christie, taking a long swallow of wine and giving a contented sigh.

‘Bet he’s on an honours list before too long as well,’ said Niki.

‘I think everyone is wondering what my connection is to him,’ smirked Christie.

‘Let them,’ replied Niki. ‘Anyway, are any of your girls attractive enough for me?’

‘They’re all very attractive.’ Christie topped up her glass with more wine. Niki hadn’t even touched his yet. ‘And they’re all either married or engaged – no empty ring fingers, alas.’

‘Damn!’ said Niki with mock frustration.

‘Raychel and Dawn are far too young for an old geezer like you anyway. Don’t think Anna would be your type either. Now Grace is about five years older than you but stunning. You’d make a very striking couple.’ Christie smiled playfully.

‘Great,’ said Niki. ‘I’ll wait around until her divorce comes through.’ He dropped the salmon steaks onto the grill. ‘If you’re changing out of that suit, you’ve got five minutes to do it in. I’m not overcooking salmon for you or anyone.’

Christie laughed and headed quickly for the staircase.

‘I’ll be down in four!’

None of them mentioned it, but all four women felt the change in atmosphere the next day when they walked into the department. It was as if someone had filtered out the air and made it lighter and fresher. Christie was sitting at her desk and greeted them all with a hearty ‘good morning’. Brian might have smiled a hello, but Malcolm used to dish out ‘to do’ lists before they’d even got their coats off.

Christie was introduced to a lot of people over the next couple of days. She was all too aware that many of the Unit Managers were curious about her personal connection to James McAskill. But they also knew that he wasn’t a fool and would not have brought anyone into the business to head up such a coveted department if they weren’t highly qualified. It became obvious to anyone who had a conversation with Christie Somers that she knew her retail onions.