My Naughty Little Secret (15 page)

“S’ok, Shiv, he’s gone for now. I promised him I’d talk to you and you’d contact him when you’re ready.” Her voice was soothing.

“I don’t want to talk to him,” I protested, but she was calming, telling me I didn’t have to until I wanted to, if or whenever that was. Remembering our last row, I asked her to text him to cancel dinner tonight. It was one thing being rude to him, he deserved it, but his family didn’t. In my confusion I forgot that I’d already made it quite clear to him that I wouldn’t be going.

I spent the next day in bed, bile and bitterness choking me. I hadn’t slept for crying and the bed was awash with sodden tissues. Claire rang Myra to say I was ill before she left for work herself. I was aware that James would know differently, but I really didn’t give a hoot. I didn’t answer any calls from the work line. I unplugged the landline during work hours as Michael was dialling it constantly and I switched off the mobile. I languished in self-pity until Claire and Tara came home.

“You’re going to have to face him sometime,” ever-practical Claire reminded me. “Either that or leave your job, but you can’t afford to leave until you have something else lined up.”

Of course she was right. Like all people my age, I had damn-all savings; I could only afford to be off work for about six or eight weeks at most, and if I left without another job to go to, that mightn’t be enough. Besides, I had my CV to think of; it wouldn’t look good if I left Banbury’s for no apparent reason, and a failed relationship with one of the managers would only give me a bad reputation. Leaving was not an option, not for now, anyway. That thought depressed the hell out of me. I might be able to drag another day out of it, but come Monday morning I’d have to square up and get on with it. The realisation filled me with dread.

I spent Friday in bed too, but at Claire’s insistence, I didn’t switch off the phones. I could dodge Michael’s mobile and work extension thanks to caller ID, and I refused all private callers. I cried, stormed, and ranted for most of the day, just wishing the time away until the girls got home to lift me out of my misery. I didn’t even consider that it was a Friday night and that they might have plans until I got caught on the hop by an unrecognised mobile number, which I felt I had better pick up.

“Hello, am I speaking with Siobhan?” I heard a familiar voice ask. Hell, it was the old personnel director from Lynham’s.

“Speaking. Hello, Robert, how are you keeping?”

“Ah, Siobhan, I’m glad I caught you. It happens we have a vacancy in our personnel department that I thought might suit you; we’re recruiting a new personnel manager. Things didn’t quite work out with Mike, and he’s leaving next month.”

Inwardly I was cheering. Mike was the bastard who had usurped me. I was dying to ask what had gone wrong. But I needed to think about this. Lynham’s had let me down once before; they could do it again. I wasn’t sure I liked their ethos. I asked him to give me a week to think about it. It may well prove to be the escape route I craved, yet I didn’t want to act impulsively. I was still pondering my decision when the phone rang again. I knew it was the Banbury’s number, but I wasn’t sure of the extension. It wasn’t Michael’s or Myra’s. I figured it was best to answer it.

“Siobhan, how are you, my dear? James Banbury here,” he started. It was all I could do not to sob down the phone. I was letting him down, but he was asking about me!

“I’m fine, James. I’m very sorry, I’ll be back on Monday,” I offered.

“I have no doubt you will be, my dear, but something’s come to a head. Myra has announced she’s leaving; is there any chance I could meet you tomorrow? I need to inform everyone of her departure tonight, before the media get wind of it, but by Monday I’d like to have a succession plan and I know how that affects you. Do you think you could bear to come to my house for coffee and a chat tomorrow? I know it’s Saturday, but it’s pretty important.”

Shit, fuck, and damn. This was a real spanner in the works. I was really glad of that phone call from Lynham’s now. At least I had an escape plan. God above only knew what James had in store. I wasn’t foolish enough to think I was ready for Myra’s job yet—I wasn’t there long enough, but I wanted to know what he had planned. I also wasn’t that comfortable about going to his house; it seemed a bit unconventional. And I really wasn’t sure if I could work with Michael anymore. There was a lorry load of “ifs” there and I had to muddle through them all. And without a fully functional brain at that. I acknowledged that I really needed to go back to work on Monday, one way or another, either until I found another job, or just to get it over with if I decided to stay. So I agreed to meet him; what else was I going to do? I resolved to call Myra and check out the wisdom of that move as soon as James had hung up the phone.

“Myra White, can I help you?”

“Myra, is it true you’re leaving?” I asked without polite chitchat.

“Ah, Siobhan, it’s good to hear from you, how are you feeling? Better, I hope,” Myra replied with her usual decorum, making me ashamed of my own lack of courtesy.

“I’m ok, Myra, just a bit of a flu. I’ll be back Monday,” I lied easily, glad to hear no undertones in her question. “So what’s happening with you?”

She quickly filled me in about being offered a personnel director’s role in Selfridges, way too big an opportunity to pass up and they wanted her within the next month. I congratulated her sincerely; hell, that was an amazing offer. We discussed her future role and employer and then she turned the tables on me.

“I take it James contacted you, then? He was frantic when you weren’t here again today. He and Michael have been hounding me about you.”

“Yes, he got me about half an hour ago, that’s why I called. He’s asked me to go to his home tomorrow, and I’m not entirely comfortable with the propriety of it.”

Myra laughed and told me to get used to it: James wasn’t always conventional, but was without exception totally trustworthy. Besides, his wife would probably be there; she always had been when Myra visited the house. By the time the call was finished, I was much more at ease about the visit. About ten minutes after hanging up with Myra I got a text from Michael, the ten millionth of the day, not to mention the gazillion unanswered calls.

“I need to talk to you before tomorrow, please. It’s urgent. Call me.”

No bloody way was I going to call him, but I knew I would have to face him on Monday, so I decided to send a reply, the first time I had acknowledged his existence since Tuesday night. I was not only going to have to face him, but also lay down a few ground rules to ensure we could co-exist while I mapped out my future.

“Be back at work on Monday. If you’re free for lunch we can talk then.”

“I need to talk to you tonight. Or first thing in the morning before you see James.”

Fuck, how could I be such a fool as to think I could work there with him; he and James were thick as thieves. It finally dawned on me and my brain was scorched with the sudden flash: Michael was going to be James’ successor. He had to be. And the bastard had known it all along. He had taken me for a total fool. Lord, how was I so dumb not to see that coming? That’s why Michael was annoyed about me being involved in the party preparations. He didn’t want me to be too big for my boots. Well, fuck him. I’d go to see James tomorrow, all right, to hand in my notice. I’d accept the post at Lynham’s. Sheez, I had been played like a fiddle.

I was spitting, and whatever about hell having no fury like a regular woman scorned, an Irish redhead could give Beelzebub himself a run for his money. I wanted to smash every dish in the place, but luckily the girls came in before I got to that. I seriously considered going over to Michael to fuck the head off him. Honestly, I think if he had been within my firing range, the dishes would have been thrown at him. And as hard as possible, intending to hurt, not just make a point. The day of the interview I had been right. He
was
a cocky, smarmy, self-satisfied bastard with no morals or ethics. He saw what he wanted, set out to get it, and hang the devil. Who cared if some dipsy Irish woman got caught in the crossfire? And boy, did I get caught. Well, more fool me; I had ignored my instincts and gotten what I deserved.

I simply replied: “MONDAY.” I didn’t trust myself with any more than that. I hoped he caught the scream in the capital letters.

The girls were true friends. They had both cancelled their Friday night plans to cheer me up. I knew how hard that must have been for both of them; Friday nights were chill-out nights and they were being wasted mopping up my tears. They arrived armed with wine and DVD’s. Even though I knew I had to go to James’ house tomorrow, I needed to blow out so I gave in to the occasion. I filled them in on the events of the day and my deductions about Michael. Claire listened open-mouthed, but she urged me not to jump to conclusions, to at least hear him out before I handed in my notice. Tara on the other hand reckoned I should tell him to take a good long run and jump, preferably from an extremely tall building. For once, I was more inclined to listen to Tara.

We were actually quite drunk by the time we went to bed; it was one of those nights. We had three bottles of wine between us, or in other words, a full bottle each. We agreed that every problem the world had ever seen had been created by and exacerbated by bloody men. I swore off them, again, only this time I said it would take me way longer than a year. Tara said I should just use them for physical comfort like she did, and like they used women. Even Claire, staid sensible Claire, figured that they should all be rounded up and put on an island, only being shipped on and off in accordance with women’s rules and needs.

“Let’s create our own universe,” she giggled drunkenly, “men can be slaves, or pets. We’ll keep them in shelters, feed them, and get them to do manual labour for exercise. Then when we
need
one, we can check them out on a temporary release, for our purposes. Then when we’re done, we’ll check them back in. Maybe favoured ones could have a longer permit or licence.”

“Yeah, like a dog licence,” Tara agreed, getting in the spirit of it. “Only it doesn’t last a year, it lasts as long as the mistress is prepared to take responsibility for the pet.”

“And the mistresses should be able to have as many licences as they choose, and there should be no fee, who’d feckin’ pay for them?” I laughed gleefully. I really liked the sound of this alternative universe.

“There’d be no more sexual inequality or sexual harassment at work,” Claire added sagely. I didn’t point out that I saw lots of other types of harassment day in day out as a personnel assistant. We were having way too much fun for me to burst her bubble.

“Chains and collars, oh, and maybe nose rings, that’d be the way to go…” Tara added with a mischievous glint in her eye. She snorted a laugh. Aah, I noted, maybe I told the wrong housemate! Anyway, at this moment, that was a moot point; that phase of my life was over. By now the wine was all gone. We debated hitting the bottle of brandy that had been in the cupboard since Christmas, but between my early appointment and a fear of getting too maudlin, I had the good sense to go to bed.

Chapter Fourteen

Three days of tears, anger, and heartache had taken their toll. Added to that was three days of not eating or sleeping, plus a bottle of wine the previous night. When I woke on Saturday, my head felt that the Dublin-Sligo express train had ploughed through without stopping. I woke to the sound of my damn phone ringing at seven-thirty. On a Saturday. Instinct refuses to allow us to ignore calls that are outside our normal functioning hours in case it’s an unexpected emergency. Our first instinct is to panic and reach for the phone in our sleep, which of course I did. As soon as I heard Michael’s voice, I hit the end button. Damn him, he had got me off guard. And my anger meant that sleep was going to elude me now. I dragged myself down to the kitchen to find orange juice and paracetamol. Which I promptly threw up! I needed coffee in the worst possible way. I powered off the phone for a while; I really needed to come round without that noise cutting through my head like the dentist’s drill. I needed an hour, peace and solitude, me and my coffee, keeping morose company together. The coffee and a slice of toast helped settle my tummy, and I tried painkillers again. Before I knew it I had finished two pots of coffee, two hours had passed; and while the painkillers had dulled the headache, the heartache was untreatable. The realisation that Michael was probably taking over from James was a bigger punch in the stomach than seeing that woman in his office. I had always known there was something amiss; it would be easy to blame
her
but actually the problem was much deeper. It was a fundamental lack of trust and honesty. I could never trust him as a manager after that, even if I could get over my own pain.

What the fuck was I going to say to James? The cab would be here to pick me up at eleven; he had insisted that he would send one. I wished I could cancel and give my notice in the relative safety of the office on Monday. But I had made the arrangement, and this mess was of my own making; I could have followed my instincts and not gotten involved with Michael. I could just imagine my mother’s voice telling me, “you’ve made your bed, my girl, and now you have to lie in it.” She had an old saying for every occasion. I groaned inwardly and squared up to the task ahead, starting with the shower.

Dressing was more of a nightmare than I had considered. Just what did one wear to one’s boss’s house, to hand in one’s notice? After much deliberation I opted for casuals, a pair of skinny jeans and a twin-set, matched with pearls. Informal, but the twin-set and pearls dressed up the jeans a bit. I chose flat pumps, then I brushed my hair but left it loose; my head was aching way too much to be able to tie it back. I put on enough make-up to lose the gaunt, haunted look that had beset my face in the last few days. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and smiled. I certainly looked nothing like the woman who presents herself in heels, formal suits, and severe ponytail every day. Even though I felt like shit, I looked pretty good, different, softer. It would fool him into thinking I was doing better without Michael than I actually was. I had my letter of resignation in my handbag. I felt a bit lousy leaving at the same time as Myra, so I had left the leaving date as negotiable. I’d see how long I could get Lynham’s to hold the job open. I was relieved when the taxi arrived dead on time. I was ready and waiting and sitting around was only making me jittery. I realised I hadn’t heard from Michael all morning. At last, maybe he was finally getting the message. No wonder I was less tense than yesterday, the incessant bleeping of my phone wasn’t getting to me.