Who's Afraid of Mr Wolfe? (10 page)

‘Schoolgirl standard,’ he said softly.

Gavin didn’t do shouting, much too impetuous. He preferred contempt, superiority and disappointment. He wiped his hand down his grey cashmere sweater as if trying to dislodge any residue of nastiness that had lodged there after handling their work.

‘I’m away from this agency for a short while and what do I find when I come back? That one of my teams has, evidently, lost its mind.’ He reached out and straightened a pen lying on his desk.

‘Now, Gavin—’ Lesley started, but Gavin held up a hand.

‘Lost its mind and gone back to pre-school to play with plasticine knickers.’

Lesley crossed her legs and started bouncing one spiky-booted foot up and down. She couldn’t have shown she was irritated any more plainly if she had written it on a sign.

Gavin smirked and patted his hair. ‘Correction. Not only playing with plasticine but having a go at poetry too.’

Gavin plucked a copy of ‘The Thong Song’ off the desk and made a big show of reading it. He held the paper low enough so that they wouldn’t miss any of his pained facial expressions.

‘Oh dear,’ he said when he had finished, ‘I don’t think the Poet Laureate has any competition there, does she?’

Ellie managed to get out, ‘It’s not meant to be poetry, it’s selling—’

‘Enough,’ Gavin said, raising his hand again. He brushed some more fluff from his trousers and looked at his nails. ‘Do you want to tell me what those are?’ He pointed to his shelves.

Neither of them looked; they didn’t need to. ‘Your awards, Gavin,’ they chorused.

‘Yes, they’re my awards. Won over many years for the standard of my work. For the creativity of my work. How many do you see?’

‘Seven,’ they said together.

‘Not a bad haul.’

Ellie was tempted to say that he hadn’t added to it recently.

‘And I haven’t simply won them for work I’ve done. I’ve made sure that the work coming out of this agency is of the same high standard. Every piece of work that comes out of this agency has my mark on it.’

‘But—’ Lesley said.

Gavin leaned forward. ‘But nothing. I do not take kindly to you trying to get some substandard piece of work past me when I am away by going directly to Jack. He might be a good businessman, but he is not, by training, a creative.’

Ellie definitely wasn’t in the mood to defend Jack after all those nasty, personal comments he’d made, but she didn’t like the way Gavin said ‘businessman’ as though it were akin to being a male hooker. And Gavin was pushing it with that comment about Jack not being a creative. Jack’s reputation was built on the fact that the creative ideas that came from his people sold products and won awards. Recent awards.

Gavin stood up and straightened a file on his cabinet that was slightly out of line with the rest.

‘Gavin, we did not go behind your back,’ Lesley said. ‘Ellie rang you and told you what we were doing.’

‘So she says,’ Gavin retorted.

Ellie decided it might be a good time to look at her baseball boots.

Lesley battled on, but Ellie felt like telling her not to bother. They were in the doghouse and no amount of talking was going to get them out.

‘Look, Gavin,’ Lesley was saying, ‘it was agreed before you went away that we would all come up with our best ideas, present them to Jack and he would decide which one went forward to the client.’

Gavin sat back down and folded his hands in his lap. His face assumed a hurt but brave expression. ‘It seems that when it comes to loyalty, Hugo could teach you a thing or two.’

‘What?’

‘Hugo tells me that he tried to talk Jack out of the knickers idea, to get him to go with one of the other treatments.’

‘Now hang on. Hugo was all over the idea once Jack had approved it. He’s just trying to come out of this smelling of—’

Gavin’s hand was up again. Even Lesley gave up then and they both sat there and let the rest of what he said wash over them. They’d heard it all before in some form. While he was talking, Ellie thought about the many ways in which she was going to torture Hugo over the coming weeks. Starting with telling Rachel that he fancied her. She hoped she was there to see the terror in his face when Rachel launched herself at him.

‘You need to realise that you don’t know it all. You need to listen …’ Gavin droned on.

Ellie wondered why when Jack spoke sternly to her she had started to cry, but when Gavin did it she wanted to take the top off a pen and write rude words on his perfectly moisturised face.

At last Gavin stood up. ‘Right, I have to go. Editing the suntan lotion ad. And when I’ve finished, I want you to
have a good look at it.’ He gave them a patronising smile. ‘Watch and learn, girls, watch and learn.’

They shuffled out of the room and into the corridor, subdued and weary. Lesley didn’t even slam the door.

‘Having a good day?’ a voice said, and they turned round to see Jack leaning against the wall. Ellie suspected that he’d only just moved away from Gavin’s door.

She tried not to look at Jack. The memory of crying in front of him the other day was still making her feel sick with humiliation. That was when she wasn’t smarting at the unfairness of what he’d said. She’d been right: if you crossed him, he was horrible. Wolfe by name, wolf by nature.

And who was he kidding when he said he was trying to help her? Using that gentle voice? He’d shown his true colours when he’d made that comment about seeing through her clothes. It was probably something he said to women all the time.

Worst of all, though, was remembering the other thing that was mortifying her: that dream. She tried to concentrate on breathing in and out and appearing normal.

‘We’ve been chewed out by Gavin,’ Lesley said. ‘He’s very disappointed in us and with us.’

Ellie heard Jack give a little snort and then he prised himself away from the wall and walked over to stand in front of one of the black-and-white photographs. It showed Tower Bridge, in the rain, shot from a low angle.

‘Who chose these?’ he asked.

Lesley nodded towards Gavin’s door and they saw Jack smile. He had that same nasty glint in his eye he’d had when he had been relishing the thought that Gavin would miss the Sure & Soft presentation.

‘You know,’ he said, reaching up and grabbing hold of the framed photograph, ‘things in a prominent position don’t always deserve to be there. When you give them a long, hard look, they’re pretentious, dull and incredibly uninspiring.’ He lifted the frame from the wall, tucked it under his arm and turned to look at them. ‘In fact, they really don’t work any more.’

‘You are still talking about those photographs, aren’t you, Jack?’ Lesley said.

In reply he gave them an evil grin and then wandered along to the next photograph. Very soon he was taking that one down too.

Ellie smiled fondly at Sam. She was going to show him such a good time, love him so much that he’d have something really worth remembering when he was stuck in Barcelona and she was stuck in London. Seven days, one weekend – it was going to seem longer.

She casually undid her top button and then the one below that. Poor Sam, he couldn’t bear being cooped up inside at the best of times, so how was he going to cope with being stuck in a stuffy conference hall listening to engineers wittering on?

Snuggling closer to him on the sofa, she gently lifted the TV remote out of his fingers and he got the hint. Wait until he saw her new underwear.

They had progressed to the heavy-kissing stage when Sam pulled away.

‘Ooh, wait a minute. I’ve got a treat for you,’ he said, looking mysterious. ‘A kind of early birthday present. Stay there.’

He disappeared into the bedroom and for one heady moment Ellie thought it might be something she had seen in the underwear shop. Sam had recently hinted that he’d like to try something a bit more adventurous. Or perhaps she was way off the mark: it could be a ring. She thought about that and decided that didn’t seem a realistic expectation. He wouldn’t just bung it at her on the sofa, would he? Surely there would have been a bit more of a build-up.

Still, any present was good, and if it
was
something from the underwear shop, he’d definitely have some happy memories to take with him to Barcelona. Ellie felt deliciously wicked and draped herself over the sofa a little more artistically.

Sam returned from the bedroom and put an envelope into her hand.
Not handcuffs, then
. Ellie tore open the envelope with anticipation nonetheless. Maybe it was tickets for a weekend away together somewhere romantic.

She looked at the glossy leaflet for a makeover and photo session, and then stood up very quickly and went and locked herself in the bathroom.

When Sam eventually persuaded her to come out, and had removed the torn-up bits of leaflet from the toilet bowl, he took her to bed and apologised for getting it so wrong. It was only because a bloke at work’s wife had been for a makeover and she’d looked amazing in the photos he’d brought in to show around, and when Sam
had asked his sister if she thought Ellie would like it, she’d been especially enthusiastic.

Ellie wanted to say that this was because his sister was a scheming witch who had never liked her, but she let it pass. She also tried to ignore the fact that Sam obviously thought she could do with a bit of glamorising. And she was absolutely, positively, not going to let her mind wander back over the comments Jack had made about the way she dressed. Ignoring everything else, she threw herself wholeheartedly into getting back in touch with all the things she had missed about Sam recently. One in particular.

Later she helped Sam pack for his trip away, folding shirts and rolling up ties while he checked his travel arrangements on the phone. A couple of the shirts she hadn’t seen before. She reached for a pair of his trousers. They still had a price tag attached.

She went to the full-length mirror and gave her clothes a critical look. Apart from the fact that she was somehow wearing earrings that didn’t match and that the hole in her baseball boot was getting bigger, she didn’t look bad. Bit shabby maybe, but she had that bohemian writer’s thing going on, didn’t she? People worried about their appearance much too much, especially women. It became like a stick to beat them with. All that ‘Look at me, me, me’ palaver was exhausting.

Perhaps she should splash out a bit, though, buy some
new stuff like Sam had done. She could certainly do with replacing some of her shirts. And the baseball boots.

She turned slightly, appraising herself, and then something in the mirror caught her eye.

‘Ah, that’s where you’ve got to,’ she said with enthusiasm, getting down on her hands and knees. She reached under the bedroom chair and pulled out a book. ‘I’ve been looking for you.’

She made herself comfortable next to Sam’s suitcase on the bed and folded some more shirts for him. Then she eagerly opened the paperback and settled back to finish it.

Coping with the first few days of Sam being away hadn’t been too difficult. It wasn’t that different from how life had been recently anyway. Except there was less laundry.

Now she was hurtling towards the weekend.

Ellie stood waiting for the kettle to boil and thought about ringing up some friends to see if they fancied a night out. She’d ask Lesley along too when she got into work. And Megan, of course. Couldn’t forget Megan.

She glanced across at Lesley’s art pad, on which she had written ‘Megan’ in bold, swirly lettering and then surrounded the name with exotic flowers in bright colours. Lesley had fallen badly. Right now she was out arranging some photography for the engineering brochure, but Ellie had no doubt that later she would make a detour back
past the chemist’s shop where Megan worked. She spent so much time loitering around the pharmacy counter that people probably thought she was in the final stages of something.

Ellie grinned. Well, in a way Lesley was.

She settled down with her tea to finish some copy about a client’s high-interest savings account. It wasn’t exactly cutting-edge stuff, but as she worked through it, she felt her usual satisfaction at being able to transform complex information into something easy to understand. Now the people reading it in the bank queue wouldn’t be scratching their heads.

The sound of the phone ringing cut across her thoughts and she picked it up. ‘Why is Sam inviting me to go away to Barcelona with him and telling me not to wear underwear?’ Chris, her eldest brother, sounded extremely confused. ‘I mean, I know I’ve always got on well with him, but I never knew he felt like this about me.’

Ellie pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it, then put it back and said very slowly, ‘I have no idea what you are talking about. Have you been drinking, Chris? Do they let you have alcohol in the staffroom now?’

‘Hey, less of your lip. I’m serious – go and look at your emails. It’s obviously meant for you, but the idiot’s sent it to everyone he knows. Including me.’ Her brother laughed. ‘Boy, has he got some explaining to do to his mum.’

Ellie put the phone down and clicked on her mailbox.
Meet you Hotel Cristo, Barcelona, 10 p.m. Don’t bother with any knickers
.

Ellie felt a surge of excitement, and although she was embarrassed for Sam (how
was
he going to explain that to his mother?), part of her revelled in the fact that everybody would know she was being whisked off for a dirty weekend by her lovely boyfriend.

She needed to book a flight, get a toothbrush, rush home for her passport, buy something glam to wear. She wouldn’t need much else; she didn’t imagine they’d be going out a lot.

The phone rang again. It was Bob, the captain of Sam’s rugby team. ‘Why is Sam inviting me to Barcelona without my pants? I’ve tried to ask him, but his mobile is off. Thought you might know?’

By the sixth phone call Ellie had got her patter off to a tee: ‘No, the email was meant for me. He sent it out to everyone by mistake. Yes, I am looking forward to it. No, it was a complete surprise. Yes, he does seem to have turned his mobile off.’