Transplanting Holly Oakwood (22 page)

She scowled. “He wouldn’t be impressed. But he doesn’t know,” she said, the scowl turning into a molasses-sweet smile, “and what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Her expression hardened. “Besides, as soon as I get Guy into bed,” she continued, “which I plan on doing soon, Warren and his presents will be history.”

THIRTY-THREE

Guy

Guy rummaged through the fridge, wondering what to have for supper. The doorbell rang and he frowned. He’d had a busy day and was looking forward to a quiet Saturday night in front of the TV, and wasn’t expecting visitors. He opened the door, to find Brittany outside with a bottle of red in her hand.

“Hope you don’t mind me dropping round,” she said, handing him the wine.

“No,” he stammered, as she swept through the doorway ahead of him, “but I was just about to have a bite of supper.”

“Sounds great, I haven’t eaten.”

She looked radiant in natural makeup and casual clothes, and her conversation was light and sparkling, but throughout the simple meal he prepared, Guy’s thoughts kept drifting to Holly. He avoided the subject of the accident as they ate, but Brittany raised it as they were sitting on the terrace after dinner.

“This business with Holly has been stressful for everyone in the Consulate,” she said.

“Yes,” he said, his jaw tightening, “it has been stressful.”

“Personally I think the sooner she goes the better.”

“Goes?” His chest constricted and he battled to keep his voice steady. “Aren’t you jumping to conclusions? We need to give her the benefit of the doubt.”

“I don’t think there is much doubt.”

His grip on his wineglass tightened and he tried to relax. “You should wait until Ann has investigated before you judge her.”

“No, I won’t,” she said aggressively. “Eugene Cornelius’s wheelchair speaks pretty plainly to the facts.”

Guy slammed his glass onto the table, nearly missing smashing it. “So you think Holly’s a liar?”

The challenge was plain in her sea-green eyes. “Don’t you?”

His eyes slid across her beautiful face and he held her gaze without blinking. Why was she intent on crucifying Holly before they had the facts? “No I don’t, and I’m sure Ann’s investigations will prove me right.”

“I don’t think they will, and anyway, her work’s not up to scratch.”

“Meaning?”

“She’s not making any progress with her client reports.”

“What’s she working on?”

“She’s had two products to research; cut flowers, and a revolutionary sleeping bag, manufactured for extreme conditions.”

“What’s the problem with the reports?”

“She’s not getting any traction. They’re both simple jobs, trading response reports, and she hasn’t got one buyer for either product.”

“Hard market at the moment with the recession,” he said. “Buyers are sticking to what they know.”

“But she hasn’t got one single lead. The cut flower job was a disaster. The client arrived in LA and she hadn’t lined up one appointment. Totally wasted trip. They weren’t impressed.”

“Did she have enough time to do the job, talk to all the people she needed to?”

“Of course she did. You don’t think I’d sit on something do you?”

He sighed. “Of course not. What happened with the other job, the sleeping bags?”

“She hasn’t produced anything yet, says she can’t get hold of anyone. I’m not sure she’s even made any calls.”

“Strange, the sports goods market’s still pretty buoyant. Is the product good? Price competitive?”

“Like I said it’s revolutionary.”

He waited for her to continue, but she didn’t. Unusual reticence for Brittany, who was normally vocal. “What do you mean revolutionary?”

“It’s a two-legged sleeping bag.”

“Tell me you’re joking,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Joe Girard couldn’t move a two-legged sleeping bag.”

“Even so, her work is substandard,” Brittany said, her eyes resembling pieces of dull green glass, “and she’s a liar.”

At her words a vein throbbed in his temple and a sour taste filled his mouth. He couldn’t sit still and take this. He pushed his chair back forcefully and paced the terrace, needing to rid himself of the pressure that was building in his chest. Try as he might, he couldn’t calm down, and Brittany, fortunately, left soon after.

He checked his calendar anxiously but when he saw the nine o’clock appointment Ann had scheduled, he relaxed. Good old Ann always managed to sort things out, and this time would be no different. He leaned back in his chair and stretched. It’d been a long five days since the news Eugene Cornelius was suing the Consulate and he was anxious to speak to Holly privately, on matters other than legal ones. He shouldn’t have let her cope with the emotions of the past days alone, but he was professionally bound to distance himself while the accident was under investigation. He was an astute judge of character, and had good intuition, and both these things told him she was telling the truth. He’d tried to imagine the possibility she was an accomplished liar who had them all fooled, but he discounted the notion. It was preposterous. Ann, whose opinion he valued, was also convinced Holly was telling the truth, as were all the other staff. All that is, apart from Brittany.

“Morning, Guy.”

He sat upright in his seat and straightened his tie. “Ann, come in and take a seat. How are you today?”

“I’m fine.” Her tone was as flat as her eyes, and a large black moth fluttered in his gut.

“Bad news?”

She nodded, and the moth flapped crazily, but he tried to keep his expression neutral. Ann knew this issue was critical for the Consulate, but she didn’t suspect how important it was to him.

“I rang the police after our meeting on Friday,” she said. “They put my request through to their ops centre, and I spoke to the officer in charge there late Monday and again yesterday.”

He moved to the edge of his seat. “What did they say?”

“They checked all their patrol cars in the area, and say no one attended an accident.”

The moth spiralled up to his throat, heat prickled his neck and he loosened his collar. He took a deep breath, but the moth continued its assault. “Holly’s been lying to us.”

“It looks that way. I’m as shocked as you are.” The silence was punctuated by Guy drumming his fingers on the desk. “What do we do now?” she asked him.

He stood up and gazed out of the window. “We’ve got a couple of issues to deal with.” He needed to compose himself, sure his feelings could be read from his expression. “The first is this claim. We’ll either have to defend it, which will be harder now, or settle out of court.”

“Both will be expensive.”

“Yes, and both will be a battle.” He sat down again, and massaged his temples. “If we go to court, we have no witnesses, no evidence. A man in a wheelchair with a damaged car, versus a privileged young woman.”

“I know who a court will go with.”

He nodded. “The guy in the wheelchair. If we settle out of court, he’ll want a significant payment, given his case is for a million.”

“How much do you think he’ll want?”

“Half a mill at the least.” He lifted his palms skywards. “Possibly more.”

“What’s the other issue?”

“Holly lied to us.” He slumped back into the chair.

“Will Brittany let her stay on?”

“What do you think?”

“Surely you can do something, Guy?”

“No, I can’t. You know the Trade Commissioner makes all the staffing decisions.”

“But Brittany listens to you and takes your advice.”

“Advice is one thing.” He shook his head and pursed his lips. “But how can I advise Brittany to keep Holly when she’s lied and compromised us like this?” The moth was replaced with a mallet, which hammered his insides with every word. “She’s a liability, and she’ll have to go.”

THIRTY-FOUR

Holly

Holly strode into the office with her shoulders back, head held high and a jaunty swing in her hips. Although the unpleasant events of the past days had unsettled her and she’d found it hard to concentrate, she’d put things into perspective and vowed to move forward in a positive and constructive way. The police would corroborate her story, Brittany would be forced to apologise for her appalling lack of support, and she could get on with the hard-won business of settling into her new life.

She sat down at the desk and powered on her PC to scan her emails before prioritising the day’s work. There was a mail from REI, and she opened it hardly daring to hope for good news on the sleeping bag.

To:
[email protected]

From:
[email protected]

Dear Holly,

Thanks for coming to visit us recently with your client’s innovative sleeping bag. As promised I’ve spoken to a number of our store managers to gauge interest in the bag, but we feel at this time that it’s not a good fit with our existing line. We wish you every success in your search for a buyer for this product.

Sincerely,

John

She closed the email, her heart sinking. Damn, she’d all but convinced herself that REI would take the bags, and now she’d have to do another ring round to see if there was anyone else in the market for the stupid thing.

Who hadn’t she tried? She pulled out a pencil and pad from her desk, and did what she always did when there was a problem she couldn’t solve.

She drew a sleeping bag in the middle of the page and scribbled thoughts around it, circling them with big bubbles, and joining the ones that were related. After ten minutes she crossed out some of her doodling and looked at the ideas remaining on the page.

She could have something here. With a bit of modification this idea could work, but it would need a super large retailer to make it fly, a store that had a huge client base, and could afford to take a punt on such an impractical product. She frowned, her eyes closing into slits.

Wal-Mart? Kmart? They fitted both criteria, so she’d try them. She picked up the phone and thirty minutes later put it back down, having secured appointments with both.

Satisfied, she looked at the other work on her desk. Next, she had to write a report on greeting cards. She’d interviewed a number of card and stationery stores, and they confirmed what she already knew, that Hallmark dominated the market. Her two-woman New Zealand company, that produced cute handmade environmentally-friendly designs, would be battling to get into the space.

Lastly, she had to research bespoke nursery furniture, something she knew absolutely nothing about, and had no inclination to learn.

“Holly, would you come to my office.” Brittany was retreating from her doorway, a determined set to her shoulders.

She took a deep breath, pulled her fingers through her hair, and hurried after her.

“As you know Ann’s spoken to the police during the past week,” said Brittany, back at her desk. “They’ve now come back to us,” she continued, totally devoid of any expression.

Tension flowed out of her body like water running out of a tap. The police had confirmed her story, Brittany would give her a final rake over the coals to save face, and things would return to normal, not a moment too soon. Her mouth lifted in a triumphant smile, but she knew it would be foolish to rub Brittany’s nose in her victory. It would be better to sound modest and magnanimous, even though the words forming in her head were ‘
I told you I was telling the truth you hard-nosed bitch
’. With difficulty she folded her lips towards her teeth and swallowed, in case the words escaped.

“Their answer won’t be any surprise to you,” said Brittany.

“No, it won’t. This has been extremely stressful for me–”

“It’s been extremely stressful for all of us,” Brittany interrupted, “and now we need to move on.”

Holly shook her head imperceptibly, aghast her boss would deny her an apology. Was it that hard for Brittany to admit she’d been wrong and say a few words to acknowledge it? Best to let it go – she had to work with her, and Brittany was in charge after all.

“We’re in a difficult position,” continued Brittany, “and we have to decide whether to defend the case, or settle out of court. Either way, it’ll be expensive.”