Heller (5 page)

“It’s not
broken,” he diagnosed coolly. I delicately held the handkerchief to
my nostrils to stem the flow of blood, trying to ignore the
screaming pain. I despaired of the terrible first impression I was
making with this extraordinary man, dripping blood onto my suit and
onto his carpet. He was immaculately groomed and you could tell at
a glance that appearances were important to him.

“Niq, what in
God’s name were you doing in the lift? I have told you a hundred
times that it is not safe!” Daniel seethed. Heller spun his blue
spotlights back to Niq, giving me a brief reprieve. The little Goth
hung his head and seemed to shrink a bit smaller at the rebuke. I
was immediately sorry for him. He was just a kid, after all.

“It’s my
fault,” I spoke up, my voice muffled through the hankie. “Niq
wanted to take the stairs, but I insisted on the lift. I’m a fan.”
Three pairs of eyes – two blue, one brown – regarded me with doubt.
Heedlessly, I blustered on. “Of antique lifts, that is. A huge fan.
I just can’t resist them. Have to ride in them every time I find
one, no matter what condition it’s in.”

Niq smiled up
at me gratefully through his fringe again. The other two were
uncertain what to say at my unexpected and far-fetched explanation,
so wisely ignored it.

Heller turned
to Daniel. “Please give Ms Chalmers some first aid and a few
minutes to compose herself before bringing her into my office.”

Daniel nodded
and Heller returned to his office.
God, what a hard-arse
, I
thought, watching him walk away. I’d been about to suggest that I
turn around and go home, that we all cut our losses and pretend
that today had never happened. Instead I was getting a few minutes
to ‘compose myself’ before carrying on with an interview.

Daniel smiled
faintly at me. “Let’s start again, shall we? Thank you for coming
here today, Ms Chalmers. I’m Daniel, the office manager for our
business,
Heller’s Security & Surveillance
. And that was
Heller, the owner of the business. You’ve met Niq, our little
troublemaker, already. Did you have any problem finding us?”

His friendly,
dark chocolate eyes assessed me subtly. I wondered how I stacked up
in comparison to the other applicants for the position, thinking
that surely none of them had experienced such an unpromising start
to their interview. He was a lean, well-dressed young man, wearing
a nicely tailored dark gray suit and a black shirt with an
H
monogrammed on the pocket in gold thread,
identical to the
H
on the security men’s polo
shirts. He was about the same age as me, mid-twenties, with a
stylish haircut and an attractive face, long lashes and a
sympathetic welcoming smile. I was fairly sure it was his lovely
voice I’d heard on the phone and warmed to him instantly.

But his good
looks were shockingly marred by an old jagged scar that ripped his
face in a semi-circle from the edge of his left eye down to his
mouth. My eyes flicked involuntarily to the scar, before I forced
myself to look back into his eyes. I wondered briefly what kind of
accident could have caused such terrible damage. His eyes searched
my face for my reaction to his disfigurement. Fortunately for me, I
can on occasion muster a poker face that rivals the Sphinx. I
smiled at him and he relaxed perceptibly.

“I had no
problem finding the building at all,” I replied in what I hoped was
a suitably business-like tone. “Your instructions were very
precise. And please, call me Tilly.”

“Tilly? Short
for . . .?”

“Matilda,” I
admitted ruefully. “But I never answer to that. It’s an old family
name and before you even dare ask, no, I do
not
want to come
a-waltzing with you.”

He laughed and
peered at me more closely. “Have we met before? You seem
familiar.”

“No,” I
replied quickly, cursing that bran ad for the millionth time. I
stupidly added, “I’d remember if I’d met you before.”

“Oh. Of course
you would,” he said, losing his smile, his fingers fleetingly
rising to touch his scar. He spun away and I felt like a heel. I
could not believe how thoughtless I was sometimes.

Briskly, he
instructed Niq to put some ice in a clean cloth. He led me over to
twin plush black leather armchairs, arranged together near a small
kitchenette that was situated along the wall adjoining Heller’s
office. I sat down in the closest armchair and took the chance to
look around while Daniel and Niq fussed with the icepack.

I was sitting
in a light-infused, open-plan office. It was furnished with three
modern timber workstations, one near the kitchenette and the other
two opposite Heller’s office, all with a computer sitting on top. A
row of filing cabinets and cupboards filled the side wall. On the
back wall was a very discreet brass sign with
Heller’s Security
& Surveillance
etched out in black script writing, the
stylised
H
underneath, identical to the
monograms on the men’s shirt pockets. The office walls were plain
redbrick, similar to the ground floor, but the room itself was
marginally less austere with a generous number of tall
white-trimmed sash windows. The floor was lushly carpeted in beige,
now unfortunately stained over near the lift with my blood. There
were no decorations that I could see in the office, but everything
was neat and orderly. It was very quiet, the ticking of the wall
clock audible over Daniel’s soft instructions to Niq.

He handed me
the icepack and I placed it gently on the bridge of my nose while
continuing to hold the hankie to my nostrils. He sat in the other
chair next to me and Niq hovered anxiously at my side.

“Niq,” Daniel
glared, noticing the little Goth standing around. “Don’t you have
some schoolwork to do?” Niq pulled a face at him and slouched off
to the workstation next to us.

“I can’t
apologise enough about your nose. Niq should never have taken you
in the lift. It’s been malfunctioning for months and I’ve been
trying to find someone with the expertise to fix it. Unfortunately
I’ve not had any luck. It’s over a hundred years old.” I opened my
mouth to protest again that it was my fault that we used the lift,
when Daniel raised his hand. “Please Tilly. A fan of antique lifts?
Come on!”

I laughed
self-consciously. “Sorry. It was the first thing I could think of
at the time. Niq looked so forlorn at getting into trouble. I
couldn’t stand by.” My reward for that tiny act of compassion was a
beautiful lop-sided smile from Daniel, the terrible scar tissue on
the left side of his face preventing him from smiling fully.

The blood
stopped flowing from my nose after a few minutes. I handed back the
icepack and stood up to survey the wreckage. My precious (my only)
suit was smeared with engine grease and blood, my stockings were
shredded, my hair escaping wildly from its chignon and I didn’t
want to put my shoes back on because of the blisters they’d given
me.

“I can’t do an
interview dressed like this,” I sighed, shaking my head sadly. “I’m
going home. Please apologise to Mr Heller for me.”

“No! I don’t
want you to go, Tilly. You deserve a chance after what you’ve been
through.” Daniel thought for a moment. “Wait there,” he said and
took off through the door to the stairs, returning a few minutes
later with some clothes. “These are mine. They’ll be too big for
you, of course, but probably not too bad. We’re about the same
height. You can get changed in the bathroom. The door’s over there
behind my desk.” He pointed to the desk closest to the lift, next
to the desk directly opposite Heller’s office.

Why
not
, I thought, optimism surging to the fore again. I had
nothing to lose. I took the clothes from him, picked up my handbag
and shoes as well and walked to the bathroom. I quickly changed out
of my ruined outfit into what appeared to be the
Heller’s
work uniform – the black polo shirt and cargo pants. Daniel had
thoughtfully provided me with a belt, which I needed to keep the
cargo pants from falling down. I tucked the polo shirt into the
pants neatly. I used the bathroom’s mirror to try to mend my makeup
and fix my hair back into some kind of order, though there was no
helping my poor nose. The bruising was starting to show already and
I didn’t have any concealer with me. The clothes looked odd with my
court shoes, but beggars can’t be choosers, I reminded myself. Then
I told my reflection that a beggar was exactly what I would be soon
if I didn’t nail this interview. I stepped back into the
office.

“Heller will
see you now. Good luck, Tilly,” said Daniel, giving me an
encouraging smile and waving me into the room. I glanced over at
Niq tapping industriously on his computer’s keyboard. He looked up
and gave me another shy smile. I smiled back, thinking how sweet he
(she?) was and headed for Heller’s office.

“Mr Heller?” I
knocked softly on his door, aiming to restore some semblance of a
confident, professional tenor as I entered his office.

“Just Heller,”
he instructed brusquely, staring in surprise at my new outfit. I
squirmed under the relentless blue inquisition. He probably thought
I was being very presumptuous, turning up wearing his business
uniform before I’d even been interviewed.

“Daniel lent
me some clothes. My suit was ruined. Lift grease. And blood,” I
babbled in explanation.

“I will pay
for your suit to be cleaned or replaced, of course,” he said
coolly.

It was wrong
of me after such a generous offer, but my first thought was that
I’d never find a suit that cheap again. It was
half-price
,
for God’s sake! And even then I’d be too embarrassed to tell him
that it was only reproduction designer or to confess how much it
had cost me. By the look of his elegant, well-fitting suit – and he
was a big man, not easy to fit – he had his suits hand-made,
probably somewhere exotic like Italy. He would never believe how
little I’d paid for my cheap suit and I suddenly felt hugely out of
my depth in this office with a man like him. I should have left
when I had the chance. I knew instinctively that this interview was
going to be a disaster for me.

He gestured
for me to sit in a small meeting area he had positioned away from
his desk and next to the large sash windows. His office was quite
spartan, but the modest amount of furniture seemed to be of very
good quality. It was probably modern Danish designer furniture, the
type of which I’d only ever seen in magazines, but which I knew
cost a bundle.

He sat down
across from me in a sleek black armchair, between us a folder
resting on a small black coffee table. I perched nervously on the
edge of the sumptuously soft black leather lounge, pinned like a
faded postcard on a corkboard by that intense blueness. A glass of
chilled water had considerately been placed on the coffee table
near my knees and I eyed it longingly, wanting to gulp the entire
contents as my throat was suddenly parched. I took a genteel sip
instead.

His eyes were
like lasers, cutting right through my body, almost as though he
could see past my skin and bones, past my veins and organs, deep
into my individual cells themselves. My toes curled involuntarily
in my tight shoes as I tried not to look away or blink obsessively.
Good eye contact is important in interviews
, I told myself
desperately as my eyes watered with concentration. He was giving me
a thorough once-over.

I clasped my
hands together to prevent myself from fidgeting nervously. I
clamped my knees together too, but only to stop myself from jumping
up from the lounge and flinging myself on him in shameless abandon.
He really was an extraordinarily stunning man. I offered up a quick
prayer of thanks for his existence. I couldn’t wait to tell Dixie
about him. Even if I didn’t get the job, I’d have enough material
from this meeting alone to entertain myself on those many, many
lonely nights between boyfriends.

He glanced
down at my CV, giving me a brief respite from the arctic blast of
his eyes. I didn’t relax an iota though.

“Let me tell
you about my business,” he began in his attractively accented
voice. “I offer a range of security and surveillance services. I’ve
been in business for myself here about five years now. It wasn’t
easy breaking into the market in this city. There are some big,
well-established players who aren’t very keen on more competition,
no matter how small. Things can be quite . . . challenging with
them sometimes. But I’ve managed to build up a solid clientele,
targeting mainly top-end business. I’m ready to expand now and I’d
particularly like to attract more business from female clients. But
I’ve had some, er, difficulties in the past with female
clients.”

I bet you
have!
I thought with a silent chuckle.

“Let me
explain the position I advertised,” he continued. “I need somebody
who is skilled in managing relationships with very exclusive
clients, particularly demanding ones. They must be exceptionally
discreet. I’m looking for somebody who is calm, organised and
efficient. Someone who can think on their feet, but who also has
excellent interpersonal skills.” He paused. “I’m looking for
someone who can handle all the, shall we say, ‘soft’ side of my
business. Because I don’t do ‘soft’, Ms Chalmers.” Staring at me
intently again.

Oh God!
My pulse quickened.
Don’t think of him being hard! Not now! Not
now!
I thought frantically. God! He was giving me enough
material here to last a year at least. I nodded repeatedly to
indicate that I was listening, my eyes fixed on him, while those
lewd thoughts swam around in my head. I hoped he wasn’t a mind
reader.

He sat back in
his chair and rested one ankle on a knee, arms crossed. “Tell me
about your experience.”