Written in the Stars (19 page)

‘Great!’ I squeak.

‘James wants a meeting to discuss his requirements in more detail and to look at initial candidates. Could you phone his office and organise a time some day this week?’ As Nick walks away I place the job spec down on my desk, fold my hands over it and close my eyes so I don’t have to look again at what could have been.

Tim’s head peeks up over the desk. ‘You OK, Bea?’ he asks with a lopsided smile.

‘Yep, good, thanks!’ I lie. I keep rereading the brief of the garden design company position and mentally kicking myself. If life is all about timing, mine is definitely off. I feel like I’ve just been handed a golden ticket – and then been told to give it away.

Chapter 26

I’m sitting in the reception area of JF Design in Greenwich. I’m early because I want to look super professional and prepared but I’m trying to cover up the fact that I’m absolutely petrified. Since Nick gave me this contract to place I’ve pored over the company’s website, looked at all its designs online and read up about James Fischer. He has won the Chelsea Flower Show Gold Medal two years running, and when I came across photos of his entry for this year, I couldn’t believe it when I realised it was the same garden I’d considered my favourite when reading a piece about all the winners. This, for me now, is like meeting a pop star. I give myself a mental talking-to.

Let’s keep this professional, Hudson! You need to impress him because you really want this job – I mean the commission from the placement.

I’ve already planned that Mr Fischer will spot me reading my notes when he walks in. But as the minutes pass, I find myself getting increasingly distracted. It is cool in here, the air con is on full blast as it is 30 degrees outside, but I feel stifled. My shirt buttons are too tight, this skirt too restrictive, the walls too close. My mind drifts away, taking me back to another time and place. I’m in Norfolk, a cloud-dappled sky above me, the smell of lavender and honeysuckle and jasmine under my nose. I see leafy pom-pom hedgerows along country lanes, scatterings of cowslips and dandelions bursting from patches of wild grass, fields of rape glistening after it’s rained. I see climbing roses, fuchsia-pink achilleas lining borders, the delicate pincushion flowers of purple scabious at the bottom of Loni’s garden. I have acres of space to think, to create. I’m in my element; there are no petty worries, there’s none of the stressful hurrying that comes with city life. Then I find myself walking through endless fields along the coast with Loni and Cal, clambering over poppies and thistles, feeling the swish and swipe of long grass and heather against my bare legs, enjoying the warmth of the sun on my skin. They’re laughing at me as I stop and study every single flower and bramble we pass, completely lost in my happy place . . .

‘Bea Hudson?’ a man’s voice says. Startled, I jump up, simultaneously knocking over the water his receptionist had placed on the table next to me when I came in.

‘Shit!’ I exclaim, dabbing at the wet patch on the carpet. I look up at him and feel myself blush profusely. ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you come in.’

‘You looked like you were in another world.’ He smiles and I relax a little. I note his friendly, open face, short dark hair that is closely cropped and flecked with silver. His nut-brown tan indicates a life spent outside. He’s wearing jeans with a checked shirt tucked in that reveals a slight paunch – and that he doesn’t seem entirely comfortable in. He pulls at his collar and I spot a gold wedding band glimmering on his finger as well as a leather necklace with a silver D hanging from it. Then he proffers his hand and I shake it nervously.

‘I’m James Fischer. Very pleased to meet you, Bea.’ We drop hands and he gestures at the terrace outside. ‘Listen, do you mind awfully if we go and grab a coffee outside? I don’t think I can bear to be in here on a day like today.’

‘That sounds like a wonderful idea,’ I smile. ‘I – I wasn’t enjoying being inside much myself either.’

‘I can’t stand the city on days like this,’ he says, strolling towards the door.

‘It’s so suffocating, isn’t it?’ I offer back conversationally as we walk along the river and head up to Café Rouge.

‘That’s exactly it! I’m afraid I’m a rather clichéd outdoor type,’ he adds. ‘Can’t bear being inside too long, I feel as if it’s sucking the life out of me. I’m sure it drives my staff – and my other half – mad. I literally have to leave the office every ten minutes just to get a breath of fresh air.’ He leans forward and winks. ‘Luckily I run the company so no one can complain
too
loudly. And my partner is a writer so he understands my prima donna-style creative urges.’

I smile in response, finding myself warming to him enormously. He pulls at his collar again.

‘I probably shouldn’t admit this but I was actually just daydreaming about my home county, Norfolk,’ I admit shyly as we queue up for our coffees.

‘I LOVE Norfolk!’ James exclaims. ‘I’ve been looking for a weekend place there for ages, in fact. I often think that there isn’t a more beautiful spot in the world. And those sunsets!’

‘I love them too,’ I say. ‘Along with the flowers in my mum’s garden.’

‘You sound like quite the gardening enthusiast,’ James chuckles.

‘Oh you know, in another life, perhaps,’ I reply, opening my eyes as I suddenly remember where I am and what I’m meant to be doing.

‘So, I understand you’re looking for a personal assistant,’ I say as we take a seat at a table outside, spreading my notes out in front of me. ‘I’m presuming you are looking for outstanding organisational skills, proficiency in Excel, excellent time management skills, not to mention good communication skills . . .’ I pause, confident I’m presenting him with exactly what he needs.

‘Ye-es, I do require all that, this is a PA position after all. But anyone I employ has to have passion, enthusiasm and basically be an enormous garden geek, I think it creates good energy in the office. It’s instinct I’m looking for.’ He continues talking about his company for a while and he’s so warm and dynamic, so enthusiastic about his new project that, once again, I find myself wishing I could rewind my life and go for this position.

He explains that a Soho-based media company has asked him to pitch for a project to design the 2,000 foot, 360 degree roof terrace at their new building near Canada Square in Canary Wharf, which they aim to be finished by March of next year.

‘The best pitch will win the business. And the account could extend to their New York office, too. This could see JF Design go global! I don’t yet have the funds to employ someone permanently, but, if we win the pitch . . . that could change.’

I smile politely as James tells me more – apart from who the company is.

‘If I told you that, I’d have to kill you. Or at the very least, employ you.’ He winks. ‘I don’t want to jinx it before we’ve even pitched for the project.’

It’s like seeing a glimpse of my perfect life in a parallel world only visible through a kaleidoscope.

‘So how long have you worked at Eagle Recruitment?’ James asks.

‘Oh, officially? Three months,’ I reply. I never know how to answer this question.

‘And unofficially?’ he presses.

I blush. ‘Seven years. I was a temp before I became a recruitment consultant.’

‘The uncommitted type, eh?’ he laughs. ‘I was exactly the same at your age. Flitting from office job to office job, trying to make myself fit into the kind of career that everyone else thought I should have . . .’

I’m panicking slightly that he has got the wrong – or should that be right – impression. ‘I love my job, Mr Fischer,’ I lie. ‘I’m very passionate about it. In fact, I think I’m absolutely the
best possible person
– and indeed Eagle’s is the
best company
– to find the perfect candidate for you.’ I stop. Do I sound desperate, as if I’m begging? Oh God. I’ve majorly messed up here. I’ve been too relaxed, too pally. Nick is going to kill me if I lose this placement. The summer months are notoriously tough in the recruitment industry. Everything goes quiet until September and head office has given us unusually high targets this year.

I take another stab at clawing back credibility. ‘In fact, as well as bringing you a selection of our best candidates I’ve also sent an email to the head of the Garden Design course at Greenwich University, asking for a list of their recent graduates. I’m expecting several recommendations. It’s a very well-respected course, I know, because . . . well, I just know.’ I grasp the handle of my espresso cup when I realise I’ve talked myself into a corner. What was I trying to say? I know because I wanted to study there? Shut up, Hudson! You’re placing the job, not applying for it!

‘It is,’ James smiles. ‘I went there myself. I’m still a guest lecturer in fact.’

‘Oh, of – of course. That makes sense. I remember reading that on the biog attached to your Chelsea Flower Show garden.’

‘Did you go?’ James raises his eyebrows as he takes a sip of coffee.

‘Not this year, ‘I say sadly. ‘I’d only just got back from honeymoon and couldn’t take time off. But I saw it online.’ I can’t help but blurt out, ‘I loved the way you created a contemporary garden that took inspiration from the past and the future. It was so clever and beautiful.’

‘I wasn’t wrong when I said you’re an enthusiast!’ James says with a laugh.

I waver for a moment, completely torn between spilling forth every single detail of my passion for gardening and staying true to the decision I’ve made.

Chapter 27

‘You OK, pet?’ Glenda says, appearing at my desk at the end of the day. I glance at the email of CVs I’ve put together for James. I promised I’d send a preliminary shortlist to him today, but I’ve spent all afternoon putting it off, instead composing an email in my head with a subject heading that says ‘Re: PA Position – pick ME! ME! ME!’. I close my eyes and hit send. It feels like stabbing myself in the chest. I pick up my bag and start packing up my things.

‘I’m OK, G.’ I plant a big smile on my face as she stares in concern at me. ‘You’re looking lovely today,’ I say, and she is, in a long, floral, pink-and-green dress with a matching pink cardigan and beads. I remember how when she first started she wore nothing but muted colours and old-fashioned tweeds. She said she’d always been too busy bringing up her boys and looking after her husband to think about herself.

‘I’m going out,’ she says shyly. ‘On a date.’

‘G! That’s great!’

‘I’m petrified,’ she laughs. ‘But there’s no point sitting at home waiting for life to happen, you’ve got to get out there and grab it, right? I may be past my prime, pet, but I’m not dead yet!’

I gaze at her admiringly. Glenda’s life has changed out of all recognition since her husband of twenty-five years died and she decided to go back to work. It’s her first job since she had kids and she says it’s given her a whole new lease of life. Nick has always been good at hiring what many people would consider ‘outsiders’. I mean, what normal manager would hire a woman of almost fifty, with no experience, and then see her become one of the company’s best consultants? Tim never thought he’d get another job after being made redundant from his banking job in the City. ‘No one was employing guys like me,’ he said. ‘But Nick was willing to give me a chance, even though I was a complete knob in the interview . . .’ Jeeves – with his plummy voice and lack of academic qualifications – thought that no one would ever give him a job. And then there’s me. With no degree, no decision-making skills and a history of depression, well, I’m practically unemployable. We’re a rum mix, but Nick is obviously getting something right. Eagle’s South Quay earns the most commission with the highest placement rates of all six City-based offices.

‘You don’t seem at all yourself,’ Glenda says, resting her hand on my shoulder. I sigh and nod. ‘Come on, tell Auntie Glenda all about it.’

‘Oh, you know, I’m just feeling down because my best friend is moving to New York – this weekend is her leaving party,’ I reply. It’s the truth, sort of. I am feeling low about that.

‘Oh, that’s a shame, pet, but you can go and visit her, can’t you?’ Glenda says soothingly. Her accent never fails to calm me. When she talks I think of daffodils swaying in the breeze, their heads nodding like bells. ‘And there’s always Facebook!’

‘It’s not the same as living close by, though, is it?’ I say and then I put my hand over my mouth as I realise what I’ve said. Glenda’s sons live abroad – one in Australia and one in Canada – and she is constantly resisting their demands to move over there, saying she’s too stuck in her ways. She also says having to constantly save for the expensive flights gives her the incentive to earn more commission. Nick is always good at giving her long holidays in the summer. ‘Oh I’m sorry, G, that was really insensitive of me . . .’

‘No no, not at all, pet. We’ve all got used to the distance.’ She leans forward and winks. ‘No one wants their mum living on their doorstep!’

I laugh and think of Loni. This is true. She would do my head in if she lived too close. But I sometimes feel horribly far away from her too.

‘You miss them though, don’t you, Glenda?’ I ask. She looks at me searchingly and then perches on the side of my desk. She’s told me she knew she had to do something different after her husband died. Something just for her.

‘Why, yes, of course, pet. All the time! But my boys, they’re grown-up, they have their own lives – and I need mine too. I put it on hold for too long.’

‘Do you regret that, then?’

Glenda looks out of the window and contemplates this for a moment. ‘Do you know what, pet, no I don’t. I wanted to be a full-time mum and I gave everything I had to those kids and my marriage. Ewan and I had many wonderful years together, my boys are happy and healthy and successful now and even though Ewan is gone, my life isn’t over. I’ve realised you can have many lives within one life. There are many chances to start afresh.’ I look at her, trying to let this positive life view sink in.

‘It just feels like whenever I make a choice a whole other life is lost, you know? In moving away from one place, you also move from your past. You take one job, you lose the chance of getting another—’ I stop when I realise I’ve been speaking my thoughts aloud. ‘Me and my navel-gazing! Sorry, G, just ignore me.’