The Cinderella Reflex (6 page)

“We’ll see about that, missy.” Ollie pulled a book out of his briefcase and jabbed his finger at the title,
Seven Habits of Effective People
. “It takes more than flashing your eyes at someone to make it in this business!”

“Really?” Sara was ready for a row but Helene silenced her.

“Can you both just shut up?” She had her head in her hands.

Everyone fell silent. Helene looked up slowly, picked up a pencil and starting tapping it on the table.

Tess realised she was holding her breath.

“Look, there’s not much we can do about any of this – apart from working our arses off, that is,” Helene said flatly. “If this Jack McCabe does decide to take over or buy Atlantic or whatever it is he is considering, then he must not find us wanting. When he arrives, we must give the impression of being dynamic and ambitious …”

“And young,” Sara added helpfully.

“… and working to improve our listenership,” Helene finished icily.

After that there was an outbreak of questions, none of which Helene appeared to have the answers to. When the meeting finally broke up, the atmosphere was subdued and heavy.

Tess walked slowly back to her desk, a feeling of dread settling over her. She had known the station was struggling but she had simply not seen this coming. None of them had.

“What about that coffee?” she called over to Andrea.

But Andrea was already packing up her stuff. “Sorry, I’m going to go home, try and get my head round this stuff. I honestly thought Sara was just repeating ill-founded gossip earlier, but after that,” she jerked her head towards Helene’s office, “it doesn’t look like it.”

As Andrea hurried out, Tess looked forlornly around her desk. Everything was changing in her life again. So much for thinking that this job was going to provide some stability for her at last. And who was this Jack McCabe anyhow?

She logged back on to her computer, intent on finding out more about him. The results for the agony aunts’ search she had entered into Google earlier were displayed and Tess glanced at them without much enthusiasm. What was the point, when she might be out of a job altogether soon? It was all very well for Helene to lecture them about working their arses off. Tess was already working harder than she’d ever believed possible and the thought that Helene was now going to up the ante was not a pleasant prospect. But, since the recession, everyone was intent on keeping their heads down, their mouths shut and their salaries coming into their accounts every month.

One of the results of her agony-aunt search made her smile though:

Are you suffering from the agony of unrequited love?

Are you uncertain of what the future holds?

Let Grandma Rosa read your fortune.

Tea leaves (cup of tea free!), Cards and Crystal.

Seventh Daughter of a Seventh Daughter!

Tess read on, her interest piqued. The address was quite near to where she lived. She’d never had her fortune told, but she was definitely uncertain about the future. If Grandma Rosa could foresee anything on the horizon that wasn’t doom and gloom, Tess would love to hear it. In fact, the woman might even give her a few tips about answering people’s problems. It could be a research trip!

She could ask her about the station getting taken over. And tell her about how worried she was about being forced to become Agony Aunt of the Airwaves. She was sick of the tension in this office. She needed distraction. She needed gossip. She needed Grandma Rosa.

She turned over her spiral jotter, filled with the doodles and sketches she’d made of people she’d spotted around Killty, picked up the phone and dialled the number.

Chapter Four

Helene hunched over her desk, frowning at the piles of paper in front of her. She was having a very bad day. It had been a series of bad days really, ever since the announcement that the station might be taken over. She stretched and yawned, her eyes straying to the clock. She had let herself into an empty building, clutching her skinny latte and determined to make headway with the mountain of tasks ahead of her. Now, two hours later, it was still only nine o’clock.

She felt wrecked and hadn’t made any real progress. Ever since Richard had heard about the possible takeover he had changed into one hell of a taskmaster. Overnight, it seemed, she had gone from being a big fish, albeit in a very small pond, to a minnow, darting this way and that as she tried to respond to Richard’s ever-escalating demands. This latest thing she was working on was “a full appraisal of the Ollie Andrews show” – who were the anchors, who were the contributors, who were the advertisers,
blah blah blah
.

“Don’t you know all that already?” she’d asked crossly when Richard had given her the assignment. But apparently it was all for the benefit of the mysterious Jack McCabe.

Helene had been furious that Sara, the most junior staff member, had found out about him at precisely the same time as she had.

“Do you know how that made me feel?” she had railed at Richard that evening when he’d dropped by her apartment.

“Truthfully? No.” He took off his tortoiseshell glasses and polished them with a cloth he took from his pocket. “But I know how we’ll both feel if this takeover doesn’t happen.”

A nerve was twitching in his right temple and Helene noticed the deep lines etching his forehead, the vague look in his eyes. He seemed unusually stressed, and she couldn’t help feeling he knew more than he was telling her.

“But are you still in charge?” she cajoled.

He gave her a half-smile. “I am at the moment – Helene, I’ve told you all I’m prepared to tell you for now. All of this is deeply confidential. You need to make sure the staff keep these rumours to themselves.”

She laughed out loud. “They’re
journalists
,Richard! There’s no way this will be kept secret. Just tell me this – is my job safe?”

But Richard had refused to talk about the takeover any more and she’d had to leave it at that. They had opened a bottle of wine, and watched a DVD, but Richard had left early, saying he needed an early night.

The phone on her desk jangled loudly, interrupting her thoughts. She sighed. She knew who it would be even before she lifted the receiver.

“Yes, Paulina, what is it this time?”

“Ah … Helene, there are a few more things I need to know …”

There would be, Helene thought wearily, pressing the save and close buttons on her computer. This was the third time Paulina had phoned that morning and Helene was finding it increasingly difficult to be nice to her. But Richard had warned her that this woman was Jack McCabe’s Representative on Earth and Helene was at all times to furnish her with whatever she needed to know. Which was an apparently endless supply of information about the radio station and all who worked in it.

Yet for all Paulina wanted to know about them, Helene suddenly realised she knew very little about her. Apart from the fact that she was a PR supremo, whatever that meant. But if she was so important, maybe she should be making an effort to get to know her a bit better?

“Paulina, why don’t we meet up and we can go over this stuff in person?” she asked suddenly. “I’m almost finished that appraisal you wanted
.
”

“Sure. When?” Paulina sounded as perky as she had on her first call at eight.

“How about later this morning?” Helene asked hopefully. The walls of her office were starting to close in on her.

“I’d have to reschedule my other appointments.” Paulina seemed doubtful. “But it’s a good idea to meet up. Let me just check with my PA … Anita!”

Helene heard her calling her assistant and made a face into the phone. That’s what she should have said!
‘
Let me check with my assistant. Maybe she can find a window for you …’

“Helene?” Paulina was back. “I can make eleven if that suits you? Shall I come around to the office?”

“God no!” Helene blurted out. That was the last thing she wanted.

She could – and probably should – meet Paulina in the local hotel they used for work meetings but it was a soulless building and Helene badly needed to be somewhere she could relax, even a little. The headache that had been threatening was in danger of developing into a real humdinger – the result of too much caffeine and fretting about work, Richard and life in general.

She thought of the new coffee shop, which was near enough to the office. She had gone back there on Saturday, curious about the sense of expanding horizons she’d felt when she was looking at the big wall map of the world. And she’d found herself wondering how Matt, the owner, was getting on with his target of having the café up and running in a week.

When she got there, she’d been amazed to find the little café had been transformed in just a few days. The words ‘
Travel Café
’ were painted boldly in blue and white above the door, and the windows were framed with blue-and-white gingham curtains. When she pushed open the door, it no longer creaked and inside all the clutter had been replaced with polished pine tables, cosy-looking old yellow lamps, more world maps hanging in glass-fronted frames on the walls and shelves stuffed full of travel books.

For a few seconds Helene had just stood there, breathing in the atmosphere. Matt had managed to magically conjure up a sense of time being plentiful here – something to be enjoyed rather than endured. For Helene, whose life was tormented with to-do lists – things to do for work, or before she was forty, or even before she
died
– it was intoxicating.

“Repeat business! We must be doing something right!” Matt smiled broadly when he saw her. “It’s good to see you here again. I didn’t catch your name last time?”

“It’s Helene. Helene Harper.” She looked around at the transformed café. “This place looks fantastic. You’ve worked miracles to get it finished.”

“I know.” Matt looked around the café as if he couldn’t believe it either. “I had to pull a few all-nighters, but I did it. We’re open!”

But Helene had still been his only customer and she reckoned now he could do with a boost. On impulse she suggested to Paulina they meet there. It was pretty near the office, and the atmosphere was exactly what she needed.

“It’s a new, trendy little café,” she began.

“The address?”

Helene told her and began to give directions, but Paulina cut her off.

“I’ll find it,” she said and hung up.

Helene put the phone down and sat back in her chair, her hand unconsciously rubbing the nape of her neck. Insomnia was wrecking her life, she thought wearily. Last night she’d fallen into an exhausted sleep only to wake as usual at four, her mind racing over the implications of this new situation at work.

Where would she fit into the hierarchy if Atlantic 1FM was sold? That was her main concern, really, and Richard had been of no help to her whatsoever. She’d hardly seen him since that night in her apartment in fact, because he was up to his eyes in whatever machinations were going on behind the scenes.

Helene pulled a mirror out of her desk drawer and scrutinised her features. At least the stress wasn’t showing in her face. Her strict pampering regime was standing her in good stead, she consoled herself. Her skin looked dewy, as it should after all the serum and primer and sunscreen she’d lavished on it. The tired bags under her eyes were camouflaged under layers of concealer, foundation, blusher and bronzer and her hair was still gleaming after her expensive salon appointment yesterday.

Satisfied, Helene put away the mirror, swallowed two painkillers with the cold dregs of her coffee and settled down to finish her appraisal of the
This Morning
programme. Ninety minutes later she was putting the finishing touches to the report. Pleased with her work, she reached under her desk for her high heels, slipped on her charcoal jacket like a suit of armour, squared her shoulders and left the building.

A frisson of excitement shot through her as she realised she would soon be meeting Jack McCabe’s Representative on Earth. Tottering along the pavement, she plotted how she wanted the meeting to go. Mostly she needed to know more about Jack McCabe. What were his plans for the station? How long had Paulina known him? What were his likes and dislikes? She needed to fish out all this information, without appearing to be too nosy.

She reached the café early and was surprised to see that it was almost full. She took a table beside the window. She glanced up as the door swung open but it was Matt, carrying a pile of cardboard boxes.

He smiled broadly when he saw her. “Are you being looked after?”

“Not yet. But it’s fine. I’m waiting for someone. Business meeting.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t think we’d attract the business type. But it’s great. Hope it goes well for you.”

Helene watched as he loped off, stopping at nearly every table for a word with the customers as he brought his stock through to the back. There was a sense of cheerfulness about him that she found fascinating. It was probably all the travelling that had him chilled out, she decided.

Maybe it was something she should do. Her and Richard. The thought came out of nowhere and Helene’s pulse quickened at the prospect. If they went away, they would be free of all the strain of a covert affair. They would finally be free to go public with their relationship. Richard had always been adamant that their romance stayed a secret, but only, he said, because they worked together and he was her boss. But while that had been thrilling in the beginning, as time went on it just made their relationship seem lessthan what it was.

She gave herself a mental shake. What was she thinking of? Richard was an alpha male – that’s what had attracted her to him in the first place. He wasn’t the type to just bum around the world, with no goals to reach and no achievements to celebrate. And neither was she. She was Helene Harper. Executive Editor at Atlantic 1FM. Atlantic 1FM that might soon be bankrolled by a tycoon with the Midas touch. A tycoon whose Representative on Earth she was about to meet! Helene sat up straighter in her seat. It was time to change this challenge into an opportunity.