Never Mind The Botox: Rachel (2 page)

Rachel nodded.

‘On time and on the case, that’s what I want to see. Plus a great report. Okay?’

‘Okay,’ said Rachel.

‘Okay, good. And I don’t want any more emails from Pauline saying that you’ve rung in with some ridiculous hangover story.’

Rachel’s face fell. Damn that woman!

‘So let’s make this our last chat about it,’ Carl continued. ‘The director promotions are in a couple of months, so you’d better make this job count.’

Rachel went back to her desk, dropped her bag and notebook and picked up the phone.

‘Shali? Hi, it’s Rach. Fancy a coffee?’

Shali Kapoor was one of Rachel’s close workmates. They’d trained together at Payne Stanley and had been friends pretty much from day one.

‘God, absolutely. If I have to look at this screen for another minute I’m likely to jump out the window,’ Shali replied.

‘See you across the road in five minutes. Natalie’s in too, so I’ll see if she wants to join us.’

A few minutes later Rachel was sitting in a steamy coffee shop nursing a large latte. The previous night’s partying was starting to catch up with her. She watched Natalie and Shali dart across the road and come banging in through the door.

‘What a day!’ said Shali, dropping her bag on the floor and slumping into a chair.

‘One latte, extra shot, no foam and a decaf cappuccino,’ shouted Natalie at the girl behind the counter.

‘Who’s having decaf?’ said Rachel.

‘I am,’ said Natalie. ‘Latest health drive.’

‘Well, my health needs a chocolate croissant; get me one while you’re up, will you?’ said Rachel.

Natalie Smith had joined Payne Stanley a couple of years ago. She was outspoken and funny and Rachel really liked her. She was also dead bright and had often pulled Rachel out of a hole when she’d got behind on her work.

‘Big night?’ asked Shali.

‘It wasn’t meant to be,’ said Rachel. ‘We were just having a few quiet drinks at the pub but they had a band on. They were really good and of course we ended up dancing like idiots until closing time. Then Harry got all carried away and persuaded me to head to Luci’s wine bar for a couple more, then we ended up going for a kebab, and before you know it, it’s gone two a.m. So I had rather a slow start this morning.’

‘Did you get spotted?’ Natalie asked.

‘Oh, I rang dozy Pauline and gave her some story about being stuck in the communal hall of my flat. I thought she’d totally fallen for it, but instead she emailed all the partners and told them I had a hangover, the miserable old cow,’ said Rachel, staring into her coffee.

‘Well, I’m having a crap day too,’ said Shali. ‘I’m working for old Martin Wainwright − what a ’mare,’ Shali continued. ‘I’m getting the full treatment. Orders barked at me, emails every five minutes but no real help, and I can’t face asking him any questions. That breath would kill a buffalo at fifty paces. And he insists on wearing those awful short-sleeved shirts. Hasn’t anyone told him he’s not an airline pilot? Honestly, he’ll be wearing brown shoes next.’

Looking the part, as well as being good at your job, was a big thing for Shali. She was, as usual, immaculately dressed in a sharp trouser suit and crisp white shirt.

‘Anyway, I have exciting news,’ said Rachel.

‘Ooh, what?’ said Natalie and Shali in tandem.

‘Carl Stephens has asked me to work on a new project with him, looking at a cosmetic surgery business, no less. Can you believe it − at last I get on a project where the business is really interesting,’ said Rachel.

‘I quite fancy Carl Stephens,’ said Shali.

‘You fancy everyone,’ said Rachel. ‘And besides, he’s married.’

‘Only window shopping. No harm in that,’ said Shali.

‘What’s the business called?’ said Natalie.

‘Beau Street Group. Apparently they do every sort of procedure you can think of.’

‘Maybe they have celebrity clients,’ said Shali.

‘God, I hadn’t thought of that,’ said Rachel. ‘How exciting!’

‘You’ll have to let me know how much they’re charging for boob jobs,’ said Natalie.

Rachel and Shali both looked at her.

She added quickly, ‘This good friend of mine is thinking of having one. She’s a TV make-up artist and they’re all into that sort of thing.’

‘I wonder if they do all those weird things like you see on TV − you know, toe reshaping, injections to stop your armpits sweating, all that sort of thing,’ Shali added.

‘Maybe they’ll even do, well, you know…’ Natalie nodding knowingly.

‘What?’ said Rachel.

‘Well, how shall I say it − tightening operations.’

Rachel nearly choked on her latte. ‘God Natalie, where did that come from?’

‘I saw it on one of those dreadful car crash TV shows that you can’t help watching. This woman in her forties wanted the fanny of a teenager, so the surgeon gave her one − sorry, I mean, you know, created her one.’

At this point Rachel and Shali were laughing so much that the girl behind the counter waved at them to keep it down.

‘Lucky you, Rach,’ said Shali, catching her breath. ‘What a great job to be working on. I’m so jealous. You’ll have to report back regularly, you know, give us the whole scoop.’

‘Well, I’m not sure I can − you know, business ethics, need-to-know basis and all that. After all, I am the ultimate professional.’ Rachel flicked her hair as she spoke.

‘Since when? And besides, we definitely need to know,’ said Shali.

‘Look seriously, though, it’s highly confidential that the business might even be up for sale, so you guys mustn’t talk to anyone else about it, okay? But if I see any celebrities, you’ll be the first to know,’ said Rachel, tapping her nose.

‘No accepting any inappropriate gifts while you’re on this job either,’ said Shali, laughing. ‘We’ll have to report you if you start turning up with a smooth forehead.’

By now it was nearly half past three and Rachel hadn’t done a stroke of work all day.

‘Better get back,’ she said. She picked up her gym bag. Natalie and Shali stared at it. ‘Don’t ask,’ she said. ‘It’s actually got my weekend stuff in. I’m off home after work as my brother’s back.’

‘How is your handsome brother these days?’ said Shali. ‘I definitely fancy him.’

Rachel’s brother Rowan was a couple of years older than her and he’d always been popular with her friends. He’d be thirty this year.

‘Married with a baby. God, do you have an off switch?’ said Rachel.

‘Not so I’ve noticed. Anyway, let’s go,’ said Shali. ‘You’ve got an important project to plan for.’

Yes, thought Rachel, and I need to make it count.

Chapter 2

Having briefed her team for Monday and sent a few carefully placed emails, Rachel
sneaked out of the office. She was paranoid that she would bump into Pauline any minute and be forced to pretend she was off to the gym. Fortunately she didn’t and she was soon getting out of a cab at the station.

‘Return to Bath, please.’

The ticket man didn’t even look up. ‘What day ya coming back?’ he said.

‘Sunday, early evening.’

‘Makes no odds to me what time you travel on a Sunday,’ the ticket man said, seemingly annoyed that Rachel had bothered him with such irrelevant information.

Rachel glared at him but he didn’t notice. He printed her tickets and passed them under the window.

‘Which platform for Bath?’ Rachel asked in her politest voice.

‘’S’on the board,’ said the ticket man, nodding his head towards the large screen in the middle of the station.

‘Gosh, thanks for your help,’ said Rachel. ‘No problem,’ said the ticket man, oblivious to her sarcasm.

It was going to be a long trip.

On the train, Rachel got herself a large gin and tonic from the buffet car and settled down to read a stack of trashy magazines she’d bought at the station newsagent. As she read, she was struck by the number of articles about cosmetic surgery. Stories about actresses having liposuction were clearly big news. Intrigued, she got out her phone and opened the email from Carl Stephens setting out what work they needed to do on the Beau Street Group.

She started reading the list:

Full details of sales split by procedure.

Price lists by procedure.

A list of key clients.

Oh good, she would have to get details of every type of operation they did and how much each cost. Also, she would have the perfect reason for having a good nose through the client names to see whether she could spot anyone famous. She was really looking forward to this job.

Rowan met her at Bath station.

‘Hey, sis’, how are you?’ Her brother gave her a big hug.

‘Great form, thanks,’ said Rachel. ‘Actually, I’m hungover and knackered, but other than that great.’

‘Well, I’m totally knackered, but sadly not hungover,’ said Rowan. ‘I tell you, this baby thing is hard work. There should be a warning on the side of the box saying “Caution: This product could seriously damage your health”.’

Rachel laughed. ‘You don’t mean that. Naomi is so cute. How old is she now?’

‘Nearly seven months − can you believe it?’ said Rowan.

They got into Rowan’s car and headed out of the station. Rachel’s parents’ house was a rambling farmhouse in a small village twenty minutes outside of Bath. They’d lived there all Rachel’s life and although they’d often talked of buying somewhere smaller, Rachel couldn’t imagine them moving.

As usual, Rachel’s mum greeted her at the front door like she’d just been released from a ten-year prison sentence − hugging her until she couldn’t breathe and then ushering her into the sitting room for a dry sherry.

‘Do you have any gin?’ Rachel asked.

‘Bit early for gin, don’t you think?’ Rachel’s dad replied, despite the fact that it was gone seven p.m.

Rachel’s dad was a retired engineer and a pretty straight-laced character who hadn’t met Rachel’s mum until they were both well into their thirties. Her childhood had been full of ordinary holidays and getting your homework done on time. He also liked the sound of his own voice and regularly told the same very dull stories over and over again. Her mum would try to say, ‘I think they’ve heard this one, dear,’ but he would plough on regardless, often snorting with laughter over Fred’s golfing disaster or some chaotic Rotary Club meeting. It wouldn’t even occur to him that the others listening hadn’t found the story funny the first time they’d heard it, let alone the third, fourth or fifth time. He was also obsessed with journeys.

‘Was your train on time?’ he asked as he poured Rachel a sherry.

‘Yes, it was actually. I was quite surprised,’ said Rachel.

‘You were lucky,’ he said. ‘That line is very hit-and-miss. I went up to London last week and it was twelve minutes late getting in and nine minutes late getting back. No explanation, nothing. Don’t know why they bother with timetables. Those buffet cars are expensive as well. It was a good thing your mother had packed me a couple of sandwiches. I only had to buy a cup of tea and that was bad enough. Daylight robbery, I say.’

Rachel and Rowan caught each other’s eye and tried not to laugh.

‘Did you write to
The
Times
about it?’ Rachel forced a straight face as she spoke.

‘No, I didn’t. Not really one for
The Times
. Think I might write to the train company, though. Mind you, you’ll probably find you can only telephone some dreadful call centre, and then they’ll charge you a fortune for a phone call that they take ten minutes to answer.’

Rachel decided to change the subject. ‘How has your week been, Mum? Any gossip from the shop?’

The local charity shop was her mum’s lifeline. She had stayed at home the whole time Rachel and Rowan had been children, dedicating herself to looking after the family. She was naturally a shy person and working mornings in the shop was the one thing that managed to bring her out of herself.

‘Well, we’ve had such a busy week,’ Rachel’s mum said. ‘We were given several large bags of clothes last weekend, really good quality things. We think someone must have died − sad really. Anyway, it took us ages to sort and price them. Then on Wednesday this young girl came in looking for things for a seventies fancy dress party and she was raving about the new clothes. She phoned some of her friends who were going to the same party and before we knew it the shop was packed. We sold more clothes that afternoon than we’d normally sell in two weeks! Plus we got a donation of plants left over from the local school fête and they did really well too. Grace and I were rushed off our feet. Still, all in a good cause.’

Rachel found it hard to believe that her mum knew what being rushed off your feet meant and began to wonder why she’d come home. Why was it that the thought of being home was always much nicer than the reality? It had been the same pattern since university days. She put up with truckloads of banal conversation in return for getting her washing done and a Sunday roast.

Rachel looked around. ‘What time are Laura and Naomi arriving?’