Sweet Deception (11 page)

She managed to collect herself in order to ask my name, and who I was here to see. She then called up to check that I was expected. I could see her scepticism fade, and be replaced by a bright smile, as she came off the phone and directed me up to Richard's offices.

As I walked away, I could see her lean over to whisper to the woman sitting next to her. I wondered if they were taking bets on who the hell I was, and why I was here.

Davenport's was located on the sixth floor, at the top of the building. I caught the glass elevator up, and presented myself at the advertising firm's reception. Two young, attractive women dressed in black were already busy answering phones. When one of them finally had a moment to take my
name, I could see her eyes widen in disbelief when I said I was here to see Richard Davenport.

She put the call through, and told me to take a seat. Five minutes later, a neatly dressed woman in her fifties came to greet me, introducing herself as Jean Butler, Richard's PA. She was too professional to show any reaction to my outfit, and instead led me down the hallway to Richard's office.

His office was situated at the end of the building. I'd been expecting some glass-walled goldfish bowl, but instead his office had proper walls and a huge mahogany door, which Jean knocked on. Richard called out for her to come in.

He was on the phone when we walked in, pacing the room like a prowling panther, but beckoned me through, indicating for me to take a seat while he finished up. His PA closed the door quietly behind her. Richard was clearly bawling out the person on the other end of the phone—who, it sounded, had missed a deadline—but doing so in the most reasonable, restrained way possible. I took a look round the room as he spoke—it was neat and minimalist, with no hint of personality whatsoever—no pictures or knick-knacks. Just like his flat.

It was interesting for me to see Richard like this. To me, he was just uptight and annoying. Here, he was calm, commanding and in control. He had on a dark grey suit, the jacket thrown over the back of the chair, making it feel like he'd already been here for a long time. In the corner, there
was a sports bag. That explained how he stayed so athletic even though he spent fourteen hours a day at the office.

He slammed the phone down, and then switched his attention to me. His eyes ran over my outfit, and I saw his lips twist in disapproval. “Seriously?”

“What?” I affected the same innocent look I'd given Lindsay that morning.

He shook his head. “Look, wear what you want. It's no skin off my nose. You want to make life difficult for yourself, that's entirely up to you. But let me assure you, it's not going to make me get rid of you before the three months are up.”

I tried not to show my disappointment at him having guessed my plan.

“Come on.” Richard walked over to the door. “Let me introduce you to your team.”

I followed him along the corridors. As we passed other employees, Richard greeted everyone by name—and they answered deferentially back. A couple of the girls were a bit more friendly than necessary, but Richard didn't seem to notice. Here, at work, he was all business.

“You're like God around here,” I observed.

“That's what happens when you sign the pay-cheques.”

I had a feeling there was more to it than that.

“So we have three main departments here,” he said, as we walked. “They're Accounts Management, Planning and Creative.”

I didn't say anything. I'd resolved this morning to display no interest or enthusiasm. It seemed the quickest way to get out of here. But Richard appeared not to notice. He was too caught up in what he was saying.

“So Accounts Management is the ‘suit' side of advertising,” he said. I imagined that was what he'd specialised in, but I held my tongue. I refused to ask any questions unless absolutely necessary. “The accounts managers are the main point of contact for the clients. Then there are the planners, who are in touch with what the consumer wants. And lastly, you have the creatives. They're the ideas people, the ones behind the words and pictures.” He paused and looked over at me. “That's where you're going to be working.”

I had a feeling he was expecting to get a reaction from me—gratitude or excitement, maybe?—but I refused to give it to him. Instead I managed to keep looking bored and underwhelmed. “And what'll I be doing?”

“Each of the Creative teams has an assistant. We usually assign one of the graduate trainees, as part of their six-month rotation, but you'll be going there instead. You'll mostly be doing admin tasks for the team at first, but there'll be the potential to learn about the business, and perhaps get involved in more interesting projects.”

I gave him a sidelong look. “I'm not looking to learn or get involved. You're forcing me to come and work here for three months, so that's what I'll do. But after that, I'm out of
here, and back to my normal life. That's our deal.”

Richard sighed. “Fair enough. But do me a favour, will you?”

“What?”

“Try to remember this isn't meant to be a punishment, Charlotte. It's supposed to be an opportunity. It's just up to you what you get out of it.”

He didn't bother to wait for my response, but instead led me down to the Creative Department. The centre of the floor was open plan—for the more junior employees—and then at the side the more senior ones had offices. The creative teams worked in twos—one copywriter and one art director.

We reached one of the offices. There was a desk outside—which I assumed was going to be mine—and then inside there were two people, a man and a woman. They were caught up in a heated discussion. The door was open, but Richard gave a quick rap just to let them know we were there.

“Hey, guys.” They stopped arguing and looked up. “I wanted to introduce you to Charlotte Cranford, your new assistant. And Charlotte, this is your team—Helena Roberts, who's one of our art directors, and Rex Morris, copywriter extraordinaire.”

They stood to shake my hand. To say that they made an odd pairing was something of an understatement. But then
again, I imagined advertising didn't exactly attract anyone average. The art director, Helena, was a severe-looking woman who I guessed was in her mid-thirties. She was model tall, and extremely thin, with a long, angular face. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and she wore John Lennon–style glasses. She was smartly dressed in navy 1940s swing trousers, with a fitted white shirt tucked into the high waist. She'd topped the outfit off with a paisley scarf, tied like a cravat.

“Charlotte,” her voice was clipped and no-nonsense. “Good to meet you.”

Then it was Rex Morris's turn. Again, he must have been in his mid-thirties, but physically, he was the opposite of Helena—he was small and rotund, with a round face. He was also completely bald. But while he might not be much to look at, he'd presented himself as well as possible, and was dapperly dressed in a natty royal blue pinstriped suit, with raspberry-pink trimming, which came complete with a matching waistcoat and a raspberry-pink shirt and tie.

“Fresh blood! Just what we need!” Rex's voice was surprisingly high and camp. He grinned at me. “Let's see how long it takes to corrupt you.”

My eyes travelled to the picture on his desk. It was of him embracing a tall, beautiful young man, who looked like a male model.

He followed my eye line, and grimaced. “My ex. Broke
my heart six months ago, but I can't bear to take that picture down. He just looks too yummy in it.”

Helena rolled her eyes. “After what he did to you, I'd be using that thing for target practice.”

“Really?” Rex arched an eyebrow. “For someone who hasn't been on a date in over a year, I'm surprised you feel able to hand out love-life advice.”

“I told you before, I'm too busy for a man in my life right now.”

“Maybe that's why you're such a bitch all the time.”

Helena glared at him, and then gave up and shrugged. “Yeah, you're probably right.”

Rex turned to me. “So, as you can see, this is us. A workaholic career woman and a camp-as-Christmas gay man. And your first task can be getting Helena here laid.”

She elbowed him in his ample stomach, and they grinned at each other before looking over at me. I just stared back, refusing to crack a smile. This affectionate teasing between them was clearly their “bit,” and I got that I was supposed to laugh, but I refused to join in. I wanted to make it clear to everyone that I was here under sufferance.

Richard cleared his throat, to remind us he was there. When I looked over, his eyes were on me. “You'll be in good hands with these guys. And any problems, just let Jean know and she'll find a slot in my diary for you to come up.”

With that, he disappeared. Once he was gone, Helena sat
down, while Rex perched on his desk. Their focus was on me.

“So what are you hoping to get out of this placement?” Helena said.

I thought about it for a moment and then shrugged. “To learn how to make good coffee.”

Rex laughed a little at this, and Helena gave a brief, tight smile. I got the feeling a sense of humour was in short supply for her.

“No—seriously,” she said. “What part of advertising interests you?”

“Well . . . none of it, really.” I decided it was best to be honest. They were probably used to keen bean graduates, who were looking to impress them. Hopefully if they saw how little interest I had, they might tell Richard they didn't want me working with them. “Richard's an old family friend. He wants me to work here for three months. So here I am.”

There was silence. Helena and Rex exchanged looks, as though they were trying to work out how serious I was.

“Well, all right.” It was Helena who spoke again, and I got the feeling she generally took the lead. “I'm guessing you don't know too much about advertising, then. So perhaps it'd be best if I explain a little about our role in the business. As you know, we're the creative team, and our job is basically about story-telling—”

It was obvious she still wasn't getting it, so I cut her off. “Look, honestly, you don't have to go into all this. Just let me make coffee, or do some filing or whatever.”

There was another silence. I could see the genuine disbelief on both Helena and Rex's faces. Helena studied me for a moment, and then her eyes narrowed.

“Fine.” Her voice was clipped, and I could tell she'd finally got it. “If that's what you want, then I guess you can get us some coffee.” Rex looked like he wanted to say something more, but she silenced him with a look. “Kitchen's down the corridor, fourth door on the right. I take my coffee black, no sugar. Rex is a tea drinker—Earl Grey in the morning, but after midday he won't go near caffeine, so he switches to jasmine.”

She turned to Rex, and resumed whatever conversation they'd been having before I walked in the room. I was clearly dismissed.

I sloped off to the kitchen, and spent some time making their drinks. I wasn't in any rush to get back—after all, it wasn't like I was trying to impress them with the speed of my tea- and coffee-making abilities.

Ten minutes later, I set the drinks on their desks, and then stood awkwardly, waiting for instructions. This was what I hated most about starting new jobs—not knowing what I was doing or how the company worked. I felt a bit like a spare part.

“So is there anything else you want me to do?” I said.

I was hoping they'd say no, and that I could spend the day on the Internet or texting my friends. But Helena clearly had other ideas.

“I've got something you can help with,” she said. “We've been asked to pitch ideas for a new celebrity perfume. It's for Willow Wynter.” I tried not to roll my eyes as Helena named the latest manufactured pop princess. She had a pile of magazines on her desk, and now she nodded at them. “I want an idea of what's out there already. So go through these and pick out anything you think might be relevant.”

I picked up the prototype of the perfume bottle—a pale pink plastic container, shaped like a mini version of the singer, with WW in raised silver lettering on the base. “I never get what drives celebrities to launch these perfumes. Why don't they just stick to their music instead? It's not like she couldn't use the practise.”

Helena didn't crack so much as a smile. “It's not up to us to judge. Whatever we may think of the product, our job is just to come up with the best way to sell it.”

With that she resumed talking to Rex. I was officially dismissed. So I picked up a handful of the magazines and headed outside to my desk to get started.

The day dragged by. There was a lot of laughter and debate coming from the office, but I wasn't involved. I sat outside at my little desk, like a mistress at a funeral. Everyone
else seemed to be rushing round, busy and important. I couldn't help feeling isolated and alone.

At five on the dot, I couldn't stand it any longer. I poked my head into the office to ask if there was anything else I needed to do before I left.

Helena glanced up from some sketches she was working on. “Have you finished going through those magazines?”

“About half of them. I thought I'd do the rest tomorrow.”

Rex looked up. “Actually, Charlotte—”

“It's Charlie.”

I could see him take a breath, trying to be patient with me.

“Actually, Charlie, it would be good if you—”

“Did it first thing,” Helena broke in. It seemed like Rex was going to say something more, but a look from her silenced him. “We'll see you tomorrow morning.”

*  *  *

I stood crushed between commuters on the Tube home, feeling fed up. The first day had been as bad as I'd anticipated, and I wanted someone to complain to. I knew it was Lindsay's night off, and I wondered if she'd be up for doing something. I missed my friend, and I suddenly longed for everything to go back to normal between us. While I still thought she was wrong for not supporting me, I wondered
if it was time to forgive her. I just hoped she'd be at the flat when I got back.