False Advertising (24 page)

Gemma had waded through as much work as was possible online yesterday. Okay, there were files piled up and some mail to open when she got to the office, but she made a point of getting in earlier than usual to catch up on whatever she had not been able to do from home. She wanted it to seem as though she'd never been away, so that the MD would have nothing to complain about, at least not legitimately. She even beat him to work. Well, not officially: he had a seven o'clock breakfast meeting, but still, Gemma was at her desk and hard at it when he arrived at the office.

‘You decided to show up in person today?' he remarked as he approached her desk.

‘Like I do virtually every day,' Gemma returned through gritted teeth.

‘Don't be so touchy, it was only a joke.'

She looked up at him dubiously.

‘I'd like to discuss something with you, please, Gemma.'

She blinked. ‘Now?'

‘Yes, now.' He strode off into his office, leaving the door open. Gemma stared at the doorway; she couldn't see inside from this angle, she could only see the shaft of light coming from the windows inside. The big corner windows, taking up half the available wall space, floor to ceiling. Windows that looked over a sizeable slice of the city and the harbour. Windows that said, I am the most powerful person in the building and you should be bloody well impressed.

He was going to give her the sack. But he couldn't do that, could he? That's what Cameron had said. He wasn't allowed to dismiss her on the spot simply because she was pregnant. He could, however, have a case if she'd withheld pertinent information in her application or interview. Mind you, he'd never asked if she was pregnant. She did have a leg to stand on, even if it was a very shaky one.

Gemma stood and slowly approached the door as though she were walking the green mile. If only they got on better, had a bit of rapport, a sense of camaraderie, but it had just not happened. It wasn't her fault, Gemma was quite sure of that. She always got on well with people, she was a ‘people person'. Wasn't she? And new situations were her particular forte. It was only when people got to know her a little better that she sometimes rubbed them the wrong way. Gemma knew she had a tendency to be a little flighty at times, restless, unreliable, but the MD had witnessed none of that. At least, not until just recently, and she wasn't being unreliable, she was actually being highly responsible, not that he knew that; but by the same token, a couple of days away from the office for medical reasons could not be considered unreasonable, surely? Her frankness was another attribute that was not always appreciated, she had to admit. Perhaps he'd never got over the haircut thing. But he really ought to. He looked a damn sight better than he had before.

When she finally stepped into the doorway, the MD looked up from his desk. ‘Close the door behind you.'

This was exactly like going to the principal's office in high
school. Only back then Gemma was usually hoping she was going to get expelled, or at least suspended. Suspension was cool. You got anywhere from three days to a number of weeks off school, depending on the misdemeanour. Her parents usually insisted that she accompany them to work, though that rarely lasted more than a day or two. She made sure of that. Their idea was to give her a taste of the real world, make her buckle down, realise how important school was. Hardly. It just made her more certain she was never going to get stuck in a boring, mindless job with a boss she didn't get along with.

So much for that plan. Gemma walked over to the MD's desk.

‘Take a seat,' he said.

She did. He proceeded to make a bit of a production over removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose, and replacing his glasses again. Just get on with it, she groaned inwardly.

‘Gemma,' he began.

She looked at him expectantly.

‘I know you're having some . . . issues, to do with your health, and I know you said it's personal, but I think you're going to have to tell me what's going on.'

‘Why?'

‘Because it's affecting your work.' His tone was a lot calmer than she'd expected. Even a little kind, or perhaps that was wishful thinking.

‘If this is serious,' he went on, ‘if it's going to take you away from work more, then I think I have a right to be informed. I'm not threatening you, Gemma, I'm only trying to understand what we're up against. I think you should know that Bailey's only wants to be supportive . . . in the event . . . um, if further . . . well, whatever's ahead of you.'

This was unexpected. And a little weird.

‘But I don't want to undermine your privacy either,' he added quickly. ‘If you can promise me, right now, that there will be no more days off, or half-days, or cryptic emails about side effects of treatment . . .' He took a breath. ‘Anyway, if you can promise me that, then the matter ends here.'

Of course she couldn't promise him that. This was it. Tommy
Lee Jones had her cornered on the rooftop. Or was it in the basement? It was always one or the other. Crooks either ran up or down, both pointless exercises. Why didn't they just run out? That was exactly what Gemma would do right now given half the chance.

‘Gemma?' he prompted.

She looked up at him. She had no way out. This was it.

‘I'm pregnant,' she heard herself say.

He must have heard it too, because he blinked a couple of times, and leaned forward, and seemed to have stopped breathing.

‘Did you just say what I think you said?'

‘How should I know?' said Gemma. ‘I don't know what you're thinking. What I said was, “I'm pregnant.” Is that what you got?'

This was really not the time to be a smart-arse, but it was a reflex action. She was reverting to the sixteen year old in the principal's office, or worse, perhaps she'd never grown out of that.

This time the MD removed his glasses and tossed them on the desk in front of him. He used both hands to rub the bridge of his nose, then his eyes, then the rest of his face. Gemma was waiting for the explosion, but all he did was slump back in his chair and make a noise somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle. ‘I feel like the guy in that movie, what was it called . . .?' He paused, straining to remember. ‘
Groundhog Day!
' he said finally.

‘Bill Murray,' offered Gemma.

He nodded. ‘That's him. I feel like Bill Murray in
Groundhog Day
.'

‘I feel like Harrison Ford in
The Fugitive
,' said Gemma.

The MD looked at her, frowning.

‘Never mind.'

He sat forward, picking up his glasses again. ‘So, how far along are you?'

Here was the rub. All very well if Gemma had just found out she was pregnant. He could almost be amused,
Groundhog Day
and all that. Ha ha. Isn't life weird, huh? But she didn't know what his reaction was going to be once he found out she'd lied through her teeth to him.

‘Oh, somewhere in the vicinity, around about, going on . . . twenty-four,-five weeks, or so . . .'

She hoped putting it in weeks would take him longer to work it out. That's how desperate she'd become. She watched his face . . . the realisation dawning . . . the brows knitting together . . .

‘Yes, okay, I knew when I took the job,' Gemma blurted, beating him to the punch. ‘So I guess that makes me a bad person. Only I'm not. I needed to get a job before I started to show, because who in their right mind was going to hire a woman who was pregnant? But I didn't plan to get pregnant, nor did I plan for the father to run out on me. I can't run away; I'm stuck with it. So what else was I supposed to do? I still have to support myself, and now I have a child to support as well. Would it be better for me to go on government benefits? Maybe so, I don't know. But how come I don't get a choice any more, simply because the umbilical cord is attached to me? You were willing to support me if I was ill. Why not this? Why is a single pregnant woman treated like a drain on society? A pariah? I'm bringing a life into the world, just like the Treasurer asked us to. I'm having one for Australia. Doesn't that deserve a little support? Some compassion even?'

Gemma realised she was virtually shouting. And at some stage she had got to her feet, and she was leaning over the MD's desk, shaking her fist.

‘Are you finished?' he asked, looking up at her, a little amused, she suspected.

‘You tell me,' she said, plonking back down in the chair again.

‘What does that mean?'

‘It means, if you're going to fire me, then go ahead and do it.'

‘I don't think I need your permission.'

Gemma met his gaze. He didn't seem angry; she couldn't really read his expression.

‘Look,' he said finally, ‘despite what you seem to think of me, I'm not unsympathetic to your situation, Gemma. But try to see it from my position. Even if you were to work right up to the moment your baby was born, you'd have to take some time off then . . . What am I supposed to do? I need an assistant full-time.'

Gemma wasn't sure she was hearing right, but it sounded like
he was prepared to consider some kind of solution. She had to bring something to the table, like Cameron said.

‘I'll take leave without pay,' she said quickly. ‘Of course, it's only fair, and then someone can simply replace me for a couple of months. No cost to the company.'

He winced a little. ‘It's not that simple, Gemma. I don't want to have to go through breaking someone else in –'

‘You won't have to,' she interrupted, trying to ignore the horsy analogy. ‘I'll train the replacement, thoroughly, over a couple of months, starting as soon as we find someone.'

‘And how will that be no cost to the company?'

‘I'll bear the cost!' she exclaimed, rather foolishly. The MD was looking at her like she was a bit of a fool as well. She had to keep it real.

‘What I mean is . . .' What the hell did she mean? She couldn't bear the cost, though in truth, she was prepared to cut her hours. She'd been saving money easily, having very little to spend it on these days, and she was building a nice little nest egg to self-fund her maternity leave, along with the nice fat cheque the government would present to her just for having a baby. So she could easily cut her hours, share them with someone else. ‘We could job-share.'

‘Job-share?'

‘Sure,' said Gemma, making it up as she went along. ‘As my pregnancy gets to the end stages I'll appreciate cutting my hours, and my replacement can gradually take over more and more. You won't even notice, it'll be a seamless transition,' she said, warming to her idea. ‘Then, when I go off to have the baby, she can step in full-time. And we'll reverse the whole process when I'm ready to come back to work.'

He was listening, but he was frowning as well. ‘This is all very well in theory, Gemma. But where will you find someone flexible enough to be able to do that? Or do you already have someone in mind?'

She absolutely did. Right now in her mind's eye. She was perfect. Why hadn't Gemma thought of this before?

‘I do,' she said. ‘She's highly competent, computer literate, super-organised, she helped me set up working from home yesterday. And you won't believe this –' Gemma paused for effect
‘– she took one look at your schedule, and after a few seconds she could tell me exactly where you were, what you were doing and with whom.'

He still wasn't giving away much in his expression, but at least he was listening. ‘What if she gets pregnant? It seems to be going around.'

‘She won't get pregnant,' said Gemma firmly.

‘You seem very certain of that.'

‘I am,' she replied. ‘She, um, she doesn't have a husband.'

‘Neither do you.'

Good point. ‘No, you don't understand, her husband died.'

‘What?' he frowned. ‘How old is this woman?'

‘She's only a couple of years older than me.' Gemma saw the look in his eyes, the now familiar flash of sympathy mixed with curiosity, like an onlooker at a road accident. Gemma realised she was holding the trump card. And now was the time to play it.

‘Her husband was only about the same age,' Gemma went on, ‘till he got hit by a bus.'

The MD's jaw dropped in disbelief. ‘Okay, now you're just making things up.'

‘I'm not. It's the truth.' She met his eyes, she didn't blink, didn't flinch, she just slowly nodded her head.

He sighed loudly. ‘Bloody hell.'

‘I'm telling you, this woman is amazing,' said Gemma, going in for the kill. ‘She's bringing up their little boy on her own now, he's only four, cutest kid.' She was watching his face, he was hanging onto her every word. ‘Her mother's in a home, Alzheimer's, doesn't even recognise her own daughter, but still she goes to visit her a few times a week. There's no one else. Her brother's overseas, and her father passed away when she was only young.'

The MD was visibly affected. ‘I don't know, this might be too much for her. It sounds like she's got enough on her plate.'

‘But she really needs a job,' Gemma insisted. ‘She's struggling to pay the nursing home fees because, naturally, she put her mother in the best possible facility and it costs her a fortune. She's a qualified nurse, but she can't do shiftwork any more: she doesn't want to leave her little boy – he's already lost his father.'

‘So why would she be prepared to leave him for this job?'

Gemma had no bloody idea. ‘Well, it's not shiftwork, for one thing. But also this is where this arrangement is going to work like a charm,' she pushed on. ‘She and I will be backup for one another. There'll always be someone to take over for the other one. It's a perfect situation.'

‘I think that might be overstating things a little,' he said dryly.