So Mark and Nikki hadn’t come. Surprise, surprise, she thought a little triumphantly. He couldn’t face her after his girlfriend’s totally uncalled-for behaviour. And rightly so, she thought with satisfaction, hoping that her picture would be in the social pages of the weekend papers, so that he would see it. That
would
be satisfying, she mused.
You’re as
bad
as the Clarks
, she chided herself, aware that she was being childish, but knowing she’d be at the newsagents first thing Saturday and Sunday morning buying all the papers to read over breakfast.
The fact that her husband wasn’t there to bump into helped her relax and to her surprise Francesca thoroughly enjoyed the rest of the evening. It was so long since she’d dressed up and gone out, it was actually a bit of a treat. A lot of people hadn’t seen her since her split with Mark and she knew she was under scrutiny. She made sure that she kept smiling.
She was sipping coffee after the meal, chatting to Monica, when the subject of her future plans came up. ‘I want to get a job,’ she confided, ‘but I’m not really trained for anything. I can type with two fingers, file and answer the phone. But I need to do a computer course or something, I suppose.’
‘They’re dreadful things, aren’t they? I wouldn’t know one end of them from another.’ Monica chuckled. ‘But once you can type you can’t go wrong.’
Can’t I?
Francesca thought, remembering her first fiasco.
Monica’s eyes gleamed. ‘You know, Francesca, I’m glad you told me that you’re job-hunting. I think I just might have the very thing for you. Yes indeed. This is marvellous!’
‘What is?’ Francesca was agog.
‘Look, just let me talk to someone tomorrow and meet me for lunch on Friday. I have a phone call to make but I think I know someone who has a job that would suit you down to the ground.’
‘Lovie, she’d be perfect for you,’ Monica assured her nephew, Ken Kennedy, who ran his own PR company and was in dire need of an assistant.
‘No, Monica. But thanks for thinking of me,’ Ken said firmly.
‘Now, Ken,’ protested Monica. ‘At least give her an interview.’
‘There’s no point. I need someone who knows what she’s about. Who can use a computer and who won’t be going through the change of life or something,’ her nephew said uncompromisingly down the phone line. ‘I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but a middle-aged, separated woman coming back to work after twenty years or so is very definitely
not
what I need.’
‘Ken Kennedy! That’s a dreadful thing to say. I’m ashamed of you,’ Monica scolded. ‘She’s a very well-bred, sophisticated woman who knows how to behave in company. She’s been on the circuit for years and has great contacts and she’s just the kind of person you need to give your scutty little company a touch of class. You should be down on your knees begging her to work for you. Those silly little fluffy puffettes you tend to employ haven’t a clue. If she can type she can learn to use a computer. I’m telling you you won’t do better. She comes highly recommended. You know me, I wouldn’t put someone your way unless I thought they were suitable. Go on, give her a try,’ Monica wheedled. ‘I’ve told her you would,’ she fibbed.
‘Oh,
Monica
!’ Ken hissed in exasperation.
‘Look, I’ll phone you on Friday and see how you’re fixed. Talk to you then.’ She hung up without
giving
him a chance to reply. Ken really didn’t know what was good for him sometimes, but she loved him to bits. He was her favourite godchild as well as nephew and Francesca was just what he needed – whether he liked it or not.
‘IT’S NICE SINCE
they’ve refurbished, isn’t it?’ Monica remarked as they studied the menu in L’Écrivain.
‘Very nice,’ approved Francesca as she gazed around at the bright, airy, extended restaurant. She and Mark had often entertained his guests here in the past. She felt a pang at the memories. She wondered, did he bring Nikki here?
Forget it, you’re moving on
, she told herself firmly as she took the menu from the waiter and began to study it.
‘Let’s be naughty and go the whole hog, will we? We’ve something to celebrate, I hope.’ Monica was on top form, and her gaiety was infectious.
‘Have we? I’m dying to know what you’re up to.’ Francesca laid aside the menu and stared at her friend, trying to work out what was going on. Monica smiled broadly and settled herself more comfortably in her chair.
‘You remember my nephew Ken?’ She arched an eyebrow enquiringly. Francesca nodded.
‘Well, he was working for a PR company that was
run
by a pair of crooks, as far as I’m concerned.’ Monica’s nostrils flared in disgust and Francesca prepared herself for a tirade. She’d often heard her friend giving out about Little and Large as she’d nicknamed the two partners in the firm of McDonnell & Lynn. Monica loathed them and never lost an opportunity to express her displeasure with them.
‘They made him redundant, didn’t they?’
‘Indeed they did, the creeps, after he’d worked his butt off for them. You know he had to work Saturdays, Sundays, late nights, and he never got a penny overtime. Pure exploitation, Francesca. I remember him telling me one time that he’d taken a musician they were doing a publicity tour for out to RTE to appear on a late-night show. Afterwards he’d taken him to the coffee dock in Jury’s and by the time he got home it was practically dawn. Well, five a.m.,’ she amended. Monica was prone to exaggeration. ‘Anyway, he went into work half an hour late the next morning and that little jug-eared consequence, the older one with the loud jackets, said as smart as you like, “I think someone needs an alarm clock.” Really, Francesca, it was abuse and bullying the whole time he was there. No less.’ She frowned. ‘There’s so much bullying in the workplace that goes unheard of. Bart was telling me about this young lad—’
‘Tell me about him later. What’s all this got to do with me?’ Francesca instructed firmly. Monica was also notorious for getting sidetracked in conversation.
‘Oh! Right!’ she said apologetically. ‘Ken worked
his
butt off for those two bastards for a pittance and got no thanks for anything he did. It was the best thing in the world for him when they let him go although it didn’t seem like it at the time. Seemingly they had a cash-flow problem because they were buying property – under the company’s name of course … talk about chicanery, you’ve no idea. Anyway, to make a long story short – Oh, here’s the waiter. We should order. What do you fancy?’ Monica asked.
‘Oh, the Caesar salad and go lightly with the dressing, and the rack of lamb, well done, for me, please.’ Francesca smiled at the waiter, trying to curb her impatience. What did Ken’s work problems have to do with her? They’d been in conversation for over twenty minutes and she still had no idea what Monica had planned for her.
‘And I’ll have the tiger prawns and my steak rare,’ Monica was instructing the waiter, completely unaware that Francesca was in a tizzy of curiosity. She took a sip of her Chardonnay. Francesca did likewise. ‘Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. Well, for the first six months he was out of work. Nothing!
Nada!
’ Monica declared dramatically. ‘His marketing degree, work experience, all for nothing, no-one was biting. It was soul-destroying. He was thinking of emigrating. But in the end one of the new independent TV companies asked him to do a bit of freelance work and then a record company asked him to organize a tour for one of their up-and-comings, then a couple of publishers asked him to arrange author tours and publicity and it all snowballed and he was doing so well he had to get
someone
in to work with him. And that was grand.’ Monica took another sip of wine.
‘And?’ prompted Francesca.
‘Well, he employed this assistant, a ditzy piece if ever you saw one, all fluff and no substance, and she went and fell in love with some musician and has gone haring off to America after him,’ Monica explained.
‘And where do I come in?’
‘Francesca, you’d be perfect for her job. You bring people to interviews and out to RTE and TV3 and you wine them and dine them and pop them back to their hotels or out to the airport. You’d have no problem doing it. You’ve been doing that kind of thing all your married life for Mark. You’re great with people. You know all the restaurants that count, you know all the hotels. You can drive. Your time is your own now. The salary is good and there’s a generous expense account and if you’re interested, Ken’s willing to see you. He needs someone badly, he’s snowed under. He said if you were interested would you pop in and see him this afternoon. It’s just what you need. A whole new career.’ Monica sat back, extremely pleased with herself, and waited for Francesca’s reaction.
‘Oh, I don’t know. It’s a bit sudden,’ Francesca demurred, flustered.
‘Well, you can always have a chat with him and see how it works out,’ Monica urged.
‘I’m going on holiday for a week with Millie,’ Francesca declared. Now that she had the chance of a job interview, she wasn’t sure how she felt about it.
‘Stop making excuses, Francesca,’ Monica said
briskly
as her tiger prawns and Francesca’s Caesar salad were placed in front of them.
Francesca made a face. ‘Is that what I’m doing?’
‘’Fraid so. Look, give it a try. At least you know of Ken, so he’s not a complete stranger. Come on,’ she encouraged Francesca. ‘Just imagine Mark’s reaction when he hears that you’re working. Who knows who you might meet? It’s better than sitting at home feeling sorry for yourself.’ Monica dipped a prawn into her sauce and demolished it with relish.
‘I’m scared, Monica. I’ve lost my confidence completely,’ Francesca said quietly. She was tempted to tell her friend about her stint in Allen & Co., but just couldn’t bring herself to.
‘I know, lovie, and that is truly terrible. A fabulous woman like you. But believe me, all it’ll take for you to get it back is to get out there, give it a bash and make a go of it. I honestly think it’s perfect for you and you’re exactly what Ken needs. Otherwise I would never have suggested it. Recommending people to relatives can be a bit tricky and it’s not something that I usually do. But in this case I had no qualms whatsoever. He’s really stuck. You’d be doing
him
a great favour, honestly. And besides, you wouldn’t have too long to think about it. Sometimes it’s best being thrown in at the deep end.’
‘Oh, Monica!’ Francesca groaned.
‘Go on. Say yes. You can do it. It’s
you
!’ Monica said earnestly.
Francesca burst out laughing, touched and amused at her friend’s confidence in her. ‘All right then, I’ll give it a go,’ she declared.
‘
Yes!
’ Monica punched the air with her fist,
forgetting
where she was. Other diners looked around in amusement.
‘Oops. Listen, I’m just going to pop outside for a second to give Ken a tinkle on the mobile to tell him the great news. I’ll tell him to expect you between two and three. He works in an office in Monkstown so it would be very handy if you wanted to Dart it on the days you weren’t bringing clients around.’ Monica jumped up and hurried out of the dining room leaving Francesca gobsmacked, apprehensive and faintly exhilarated.
Ken Kennedy put the phone down and gave a deep, deep sigh. What was Monica getting him into? He had no desire to meet this Francesca woman but his aunt was insistent and once she got a bee in her bonnet there was no stopping her. For the sake of peace he’d see her but if he didn’t think she was suitable he’d make no bones about saying so, he decided crossly. She had the nerve to want a week’s holiday almost as soon as she had started. Was the woman for real? Wake up and smell the coffee if you want to get a job, he thought irritably as he sorted out a pile of press releases he should have sent out at the beginning of the week at least. He could do with someone to sort out the office. It was a disaster. It really was an employee’s market these days. They could pick and choose. Unfortunately they weren’t choosing him. Well, he wasn’t desperate yet. Francesca Kirwan was going to have to impress the hell out of him and he had strong doubts about her ability to do that.
Monica sat down excitedly. ‘Right. It’s all sorted. Ken’s expecting you and he’s delighted,’ she exaggerated. ‘Here’s the address.’ She handed Francesca a slip of paper. ‘Now, let’s make the most of your last day as a “Lady Who Lunches”. Next time we dine it will be Francesca Kirwan, “Career Woman”. To tell you the truth, I feel a tad envious. My life feels dull and predictable by comparison to the one you’re going to have. Maybe I should have gone for the job myself.’
‘Would you like to? Why don’t you?’ Francesca demanded.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Francesca. First of all, I’m his aunt and it’s fatal to mix family and business. Secondly, I’m on the wrong side of forty-five. Thirdly, I’m far too scatty. Fourthly, I don’t have your style. Fifthly, Bart would have an absolute fit if he had to go home and get his own dinner.
And
I’d eat my way through the expense account and turn into a sumo wrestler. I could go on but you get the picture,’ she said good-naturedly as she tucked into her fillet of steak with relish.
Francesca laughed. ‘Don’t say things like that about yourself.’
‘All true, unfortunately. Oh look! No, don’t turn around yet in case they see you. It’s Marise Conway and her new toy boy. She’s hitting the sauce really badly, I believe. Made a show of herself at Cora Lloyd’s barbecue and, my dear …’ Monica launched into a saga of delicious tittle-tattle as she brought Francesca up to speed on the goings on of their numerous acquaintances.
An hour and a half later, more than a little nervous, Francesca parked her car on the seafront at
Monkstown
and followed the directions Monica had given her. Along a side street that led to the main road she found Ken’s office building and with some trepidation buzzed the intercom.
‘Hello, Francesca. It’s the first floor,’ a disembodied male voice crackled through the speaker as the door clicked open. She climbed up the green-carpeted stairs and noticed a plant holder with a drooping display of sad-looking plants on the landing beside Ken’s office. The glass door opened and her new boss stood waiting for her, a mug of coffee in his hand, his tie loosened and his shirt sleeves rolled up.