Woman to Woman (21 page)

long years.

“All that feminist stuff about a woman’s body being her own, that all sounds great when it’s about women,” he continued angrily, ‘but let a man say what he really wants, and that’s different’. I don’t want kids. Simple as that. That’s my decision,” he hissed.

“I gave you the chance and you didn’t take it. So you do what you want. You will anyway.”

With that, he picked up his jacket and car keys and walked to the

“Call me a bastard or whatever you want, I’m sorry. It’s over.”

The front door slammed. She was alone.

Her shoes pinched. Why was she wearing those bloody shoes in the first place? Aisling realised they looked wrong about fifteen minutes after she left the house. By then, it was too late to turn back. They were too high, shoes bought for a wedding outfit that had languished in the wardrobe for three years after that one July day when the sun had thwarted the bridal party and stayed firmly behind the clouds.

They’d been too high then, sinking heavily into the grass outside the church. And they were still too high. Aisling did her best to walk quickly along Leeson Street, feeling totally selfconscious in her navy blazer, long cream skirt and cream court shoes.

The people sitting in motionless cars were probably office veterans, no doubt. Seasoned workers who knew what to wear to work and how to do more than switch on a computer.

Could they see pure ignorance written all over her face? And pure fear, come to that?

Streams of people passed her by, walking quickly along the pavement, listening to Walkmans and staring straight ahead as they bypassed slow walkers and parking meters.

From open car windows, she could hear snippets of radio talk shows and the thumping bass of loud music. Aisling sneaked the odd sideways glance into the cars beside her. One attractive woman was peering into her rear-view mirror mascara wand held aloft as she finished her morning makeup.

Another driver was reading, a newspaper spread out on the steering wheel. Others just gazed vacantly out of their windscreens, probably praying for the car ahead to move.

It was all so hectic, Aisling thought in surprise. She hadn’t seen Leeson Street this busy for years, nearly twelve years to be exact.

Since she’d given up work, she was never there during the early morning rush. If she brought the boys into the city centre during the school holidays, she waited until the traffic jams were gone.

Now, in common with all the people walking purposefully towards offices, banks and shops, it was where she worked.

Work. She had a job. Oh God. Those words hadn’t seemed petrifying when she was twenty-two, confident in her ability to deal with any problems in the motor department. Had she really run that place or had she imagined it all? Right now Aisling wasn’t sure her former career hadn’t been a dream. If she’d been as good as Mum and Jo were trying to convince her she was, why the hell was she scared out of her mind at the prospect of starting a much easier job when she was older? I “Dodging the cars, like everyone else did, she crossed Leeson Street and turned right onto Pembroke Street Upper. She was sweating from the hasty walk and panicked that she hadn’t put enough perfume on.

A subtle squirt of Chloe had seemed like the right idea at ten past seven. But after the long walk from Haddington Road where she’d decided to leave the car, she was hot and sticky, and wished she’d splashed on more perfume.

She hadn’t wanted to overdo it. She wanted to appear like a working woman, someone who left the house at seven-fifty every morning like clockwork, with the kids fed, the kitchen tidy and a casserole defrosting for the evening. Not like a terrified ex-housewife overdoing it with gallons of perfume, high heels and an outfit which looked perfect in Quinnsworth and totally wrong behind a desk. Now she wished she’d had the presence of mind to put some deodorant in her bag.

Number seventeen. There it was, a rich dark green door with brass fittings and a gleaming brass plate beside it proclaiming that this was the office of Richardson, Reid and Finucane, Solicitors. A magnificent Georgian house in a line of magnificent houses, like something out of Homes and Gardens.

What she wouldn’t give to be sitting at home right now, with a copy of

the magazine spread on the kitchen table as she contemplated another spurt of decorating. Anything, even stripping the wallpaper off the back bedroom, would be preferable to this sheer terror. Calm down, Aisling, she told herself. It’s your first day, nobody is going to expect too much from you. Hopefully.

She walked carefully up the pristine stone steps and admired the two elegant bay trees in wooden tubs on either side of the door. To the right was an intercom and she pushed it slowly.

“Good morning,” said a clear voice.

“Can I help you?”

“Aisling Moran to see Ms Hogan,” Aisling answered, more calmly than she felt.

The voice said nothing, but a buzzing sound emanated from the side of the door. Feeling like a truant about to face the head nun, Aisling pushed and found herself in a formal, pale green lobby where a redheaded girl sat behind a low desk.

“Hello,” smiled the girl.

“Go up the stairs to the first landing and take the first door on your left.”

She could have been speaking in Swahili. With a fixed grin on her face, Aisling moved mechanically up the stairs, her brain trying to figure out the words ‘first door on your left’.

Left, which was left? Was this it? She tentatively pushed open a green panelled door and walked into an airy, highceilinged room.

A petite woman in a grey skirt suit with a sweep of ash blonde hair to her shoulders stood before Aisling, a china cup and saucer in one hand and a beige folder in the other.

Beautifully made-up grey eyes stared at Aisling for a moment before the woman smiled glacially.

“I’m Aisling Moran,” said Aisling nervously. This blonde vision looked at her as if she had just walked dog mess into the carpet.

“I know,” said the blonde coolly.

“I’m Vivienne Hogan, personal assistant to Mr. Richardson and the personnel director.

“Welcome to Richardson, Reid and Finucane.”

Her expression was about as welcoming as a blizzard, but Aisling smiled back anyway.

“I’m afraid something’s come up and I won’t be able to bring you around the office and introduce you. Caroline Dennis will look after you. She’ll be here in a moment Vivienne said, walking gracefully to the door.

“Sit down and make yourself comfortable.” She gestured towards a grey office chair.

Thanks.”

The door shut silently. Aisling felt as if she could breathe again. Was she imagining it or -had the other woman really been cold? And if so, what in the hell had she done to deserve such a frosty welcome? She tried to remember what she’d been like to newcomers to the motor department. Had she ever looked at them the way Vivienne had at her? God, she hoped not.

She sank into the chair and tried to take a few deep breaths.

It didn’t help. Focus on the room, Aisling. Relax.

The room looked like the drawing room it probably had been. It was papered with subtle embossed cream paper. A gilt-framed oil painting of a weary-looking horse hung on one wall.

Under normal circumstances, she’d have been fascinated by the ceiling mouldings which had vine leaves beautifully picked out in gold paint. Today she was too preoccupied to do much more than notice them.

As offices go, she thought, it was very nice.

Several metal filing cabinets filled one wall and there were two desks positioned opposite each other, both with computer keyboards and VDUs. A wire basket and a large pile of beige folders covered one desk, along with a very healthy plant and a large silver frame with a photo of a smiling little girl in a school uniform.

A tiny brown Koala bear clung to a pen in the red plastic pen holder and a rainbow-coloured mug proclaiming “World’s Greatest Mum’ sat beside what looked like a very high-tech phone.

By contrast, the other desk was like something from an office manual,

‘the perfect desk’. Not one stray piece of paper spoiled the highly polished wood. White metal baskets were half empty and only a pen and a yellow Post-It pad beside the phone gave the impression that anyone had been using the desk at all. Obviously Ms Snotty Hogan’s desk, Aisling decided bitchily.

A coffee percolator bubbled away in one corner of the room and the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee made her long for a cup. Should she help herself, Aisling wondered?

Why not? She was an employee after all, even if not a very welcomed one.

She chose a bright red mug and was just starting to pour when the door opened again. Jumping guiltily, Aisling nearly spilled the coffee onto the pale carpet.

“Did I give you a fright?” inquired the intruder, a plump woman with a cluster of dark curls and a voluminous, bright floral dress.

“Sorry. Viv told me you were here and asked me to show you around. I’m Caroline, Pat’s secretary.” She proffered a hand and Aisling shook it, grateful to meet at least one person who seemed pleased to see her.

“I’m Aisling and I hope it’s OK to get some coffee but it just smelled so nice …”

“Oh, Viv should have offered you one but she’d madly busy this morning and obviously forgot. Your office is on the next floor but you’ll have to come down here for coffee anyhow because Elizabeth’s percolator has gone kaput.”

Caroline dropped a bulging brown handbag onto the chair beside the perfect desk and slung a white cotton cardigan over the armrests. Aisling was amazed. In her long, flowing dress and hippie-ish bead necklace, Caroline looked as if she’d be more at home behind the other desk.

So where did Vivienne sit? Not at the messy desk, that was for sure. And why was poor Caroline making excuses for Viv’s rudeness? Aisling doubted that “Viv would have offered’ her a cup of coffee. Unless Aisling’s throat was on fire, she reckoned.

“Elizabeth isn’t going to be in today, she’s feeling a bit under the weather.” Caroline poured herself a mug of coffee and stirred in three sugars. Opening a square tin of assorted biscuits, she selected two chocolate biscuits and a pink wafer one.

“Want one?” she offered before taking a large bite of chocolate-covered digestive.

“No thanks answered Aisling, who hadn’t even managed to finish her Special K. “You’ll love Elizabeth’s office mumbled Caroline with her mouth full of biscuit.

“Well, your office!” It’s quite the nicest of all the assistants’ ones. Of course, it’s a bit isolated up there at the top she added. She took her coffee and led Aisling out onto the landing and up the stairs.

“But the view is wonderful!

You’re above Leo’s office, Leo Murphy, that is. He’s your boss.

He’s in court this morning according to Elizabeth, but he’ll be back at one.”

Caroline stopped talking, breathless after the first flight of stairs. They climbed another two flights, past panelled green doors and sedately framed prints of Georgian Dublin in feathery ink and watercolours.

This Caroline opened a door and showed Aisling another bright highceilinged room, ‘is Leo’s office.”

“Very nice said Aisling.

“You want to see Mr. Richardson’s office Caroline continued.

“It’s beautiful. He collects antiques, you know. His office is like Sotheby’s and his house is the same. Although I expect you know

“Er, yes answered Aisling, although she didn’t.

Why would she know that Edward Richardson collected antiques? She’d only met him a few times at Fiona’s house and even then they’d talked about Fiona more than anything else. And about Nicole, of course, the apple of her grandfather’s eye.

Obviously Caroline thought she was on intimate terms with Pat Finucane and, therefore, with his father-in-law. She followed Caroline up another flight of stairs to a small landing at the top of the

building. “I know it’s small said Caroline, ushering Aisling into a tiny office dominated by a large window, ‘but just look at the view.”

Aisling looked, and was impressed. Five huge filing cabinets took up a lot of the office space and there wasn’t enough room to swing a cat, but the spectacular view the window afforded over Dublin’s rooftops more than made up for the lack of space.

“It’s wonderful,” breathed Aisling, squeezing between the desk and the cabinets to look out the window.

“I knew you’d like it,” smiled Caroline smugly, as though she’d designed the entire place herself.

“You may as well make yourself at home since Elizabeth isn’t going to be in today. I’ll get her calls transferred to my phone until you’ve got the hang of everything. You could start doing some typing, though, couldn’t you? I’ll give you some letters to look at so you can see the format.”

Aisling felt herself blanch. How the hell was she going to be able to type letters when she didn’t know how to use the computer?

She gazed at the complicated-looking keyboard and knew she’d have to confess. Sort of.

“I don’t know how to use this type of computer,” she said nervously.

“Oh,” said Caroline in surprise.

“This is an Apple Performa, it’s a doddle, really. What have you worked on before?”

Aisling racked her brains for the name of the computer system the motor department had been buying before she’d left.

ICBM. That was it.

“An ICBM,” she lied confidently.

“No, an IBM. Sorry.” Moron, she told herself. You’ve just said you can use an inter-continental ballistic missile.

“I’d really prefer to be thoroughly acquainted with this.” system before I start typing,” she added quickly, hoping Caroline hadn’t noticed her gaffe.

“Perhaps I can do something else until Elizabeth can brief me properly.” That sounded great, she thought. Very professional.

Caroline’s eyebrows were furrowed as she considered this. “You could do some filing she ventured.

“I know Elizabeth has been letting the filing slide a little because she hates going up and down the stairs all the time. There’s a file room downstairs, two cabinets in Leo’s office and the ones here. It’s quite a trip up and down those stairs.”