Louise jumped out of bed as soon as she heard the alarm clock. She tried the bathroom door, but it was locked.
"Sue, get out, pleaasee!"
Her flatmate Sue stepped out still wearing the oversized T-shirt she used as a nightie. "I haven’t been in the shower, yet."
"Please, I want to be out by nine. I don’t want to be late on my first day," pleaded Louise.
"You and your posh new job. Just this time. I’ll get breakfast ready."
Louise stepped in the bath and pressed the shower button. A cold stream of water hit her shoulders.
"Sue, turn off the tap," she bellowed.
After a quick, lukewarm shower, Louise wrapped a towel around her head and put on her bath robe.
In the kitchen, Sue was buttering a slice of bread. Louise eyed the two slices of toast on her plate with distaste. “I’m all nerves, I can’t eat a thing, you have them,” she said pushing the plate away. She drank her tea quickly, burning her tongue in the process.
"You should eat something," mumbled Sue, her mouth full of toast, "breakfast is the most important meal of the day."
"You sound just like my mum. I’ll pick something up later."
"Suit yourself."
Louise made herself another mug of tea. She tried to sip it slowly to avoid scalding her tongue again, while considering what to wear. She only had a couple of suits: the black interview two-piece, smart but out of fashion and a blue trouser suit she had worn the previous year at a wedding. Her previous secretarial job at Coventry University came with a relaxed dress code, so her working wardrobe was a bit limited.
"So what are you going to wear?" asked Sue.
"There isn’t much choice, is it? It’s either the interview suit or the blue wedding outfit. You know I haven’t got much left in the bank for shopping trips, after having had to cough up the deposit for this flat and four weeks’ rent in advance."
"Living in London is expensive; I bet we could rent a three bedroom house with the same money in the Midlands. I’m totally broke too, but at least you haven’t got a student loan preying on your earnings. Why don’t you borrow my green jacket and wear your black skirt with it?"
Louise piled the dirty crockery in the sink and rushed to her room. She applied some styling mousse on her long, brown hair and blow-dried it, working her fingers through its frizzy mass to smooth it. She took a pair of sheer tights from a drawer and in her haste wrenched the black skirt from its coat hanger. Sue came in holding a gorgeous silk jacket, a frilly cream top folded on her left arm.
"I thought you could wear this under the jacket."
"Thank you, they’re perfect. You have such nice clothes."
"Well, that’s the only perk of my job, besides you wouldn’t want to work long hours and earn as little as I do. No doubt my prospects will get better when they let me design my own line, but for the moment this is it."
Louise applied a thin layer of tinted moisturiser on her face, a touch of blusher on her cheeks and pink lipgloss on her lips. She glanced at her watch and decided not to bother with mascara and eyeshadow. She needed to arrive early to make a good impression and the Tube was so unreliable. She slipped her feet in a pair of black strappy sandals and picked up the Lulu Guinness handbag Sue had bought for her at a sample sale.
"Sue, I’m off."
"Good luck."
She hurried towards the underground station, her heart in her mouth. On the platform a huge crowd was waiting for the train, while a metallic voice full of doom was announcing delays on several lines. When she boarded the train, squeezing into a tiny space, she calculated that she could still be on time only if she ran all the way, to the detriment of her hairstyle. So much for wanting to appear like the perfect, not-a-hair-out-of-place secretary!
The train lurched forward and its human cargo swayed one way then another. A man’s briefcase kept hitting her leg and Louise prayed her tights would not ladder. At Tottenham Court Road, the crowd surged forward and she was pushed out of the train, her feet hardly touching the ground. Worried she was going to be late, she bypassed the queue that was shuffling towards the right side of the escalator and walked up.
Outside the station, she dodged two women handing free newspapers and seeing the green man flashing, she run towards the crossing, reaching the other side just in time. She ran past a Big Issue seller at Centrepoint and into St Giles High Street, crossing Shaftesbury Avenue by the theatre and only slowed down when she reached Neal Street. At the sight of her workplace, a Victorian building that had been updated with contemporary fixtures by some trendy architect, her stomach contracted. In the smart lobby with fashionably distressed wooden floors and bare brick walls, an attractive redhead greeted her with a professional smile. Louise gave her name and the receptionist asked her to take a seat.
She sank in a black leather armchair and picked up a magazine from the polished glass and steel table. Beautiful models graced the glossy pages, looking poised and self assured. She wondered if she should go the ladies to check her hair and clothes. Between the crammed train and her race to arrive on time, she must look a fright. But what if her new boss called for her?
While she waited, she browsed the letters page of the magazine, got acquainted with the latest trends from the catwalk and read the harrowing tale of a young woman who had survived breast cancer. She checked her watch and realised she had been waiting for over half an hour.
She jumped up and walked up to the receptionist, worried she had forgotten all about her. "Shall I go upstairs on my own? It’s getting quite late."
The redhead smiled, looking a trifle annoyed by her request. "Nobody is there yet. There are some transport delays. Take a seat and I’ll call you when Roger arrives. Toilets are by the lifts and there is a coffee machine there too.
Louise grabbed her bag and headed for the ladies. She inspected her tights, checked if her lipstick had smudged on her teeth and wetted her fingertips to pat her hair in place. She was longing for a cup of tea but walked past the machine and returned to the lobby. She didn’t want to risk making her boss wait, not on her first day.
Louise sat down and browsed another magazine, full of stylish interiors and magnificent gardens. A Spanish villa with a kidney-shaped pool attracted her attention. She admired the lush surroundings, the sky without a cloud, the luxuriant mass of flowers and foliage framing the house. By the pool were scattered wooden deckchairs covered in immaculate cream canvas. She imagined herself lying on one of the deckchairs, an ice-cold drink in her hand. Pure heaven!
Hunger pangs made her search her bag for something to eat. She found a chocolate bar, tore its sticky wrapper and greedily bit into it. When would her boss show up? It was nearly eleven o’clock. She wondered what he was like as both her interviews had been with the personnel manager, a quietly spoken, middle-aged man.
Her boss would be younger, perhaps a thirty-something, average looking man wearing a dark suit and designer glasses. Or perhaps he was on the fleshy side because of rich business lunches and long hours spent at his desk. The only thing she knew about him was his name and job title: Roger Beaumont, Publishing Director.
Louise tossed the magazine back on the table and watched the comings and goings. A lot of young women came in, not surprisingly since the company published women’s magazines. They all looked perfectly groomed. Despite her borrowed finery, Louise felt a tad dowdy by comparison.
A lanky young man came in and strutted up to her. He wore a black high-necked sweatshirt, drainpine jeans and heaps of jewellery.
"Hi, I’m Ricardo, the art director. Roger is coming in the afternoon. I bet they didn’t tell you, did they?" He giggled sardonically and put his hands on his hips, silver bangles clunking together.
"No, they didn’t."
"Then come up with me, I’ll show you where you sit. It’s not busy right now, so you may as well relax, babe."
"My name is Louise."
"Yeah, I know, babe," said Ricardo with a cheeky smile.
Louise and Ricardo stepped out of the lift in an airy open-plan office, the ceiling supported by thick, industrial-looking columns.
"This is the subs department, feature, art and picture," Ricardo explained pointing to clusters of empty desks, where state-of-the-art Apple Macs were surrounded by heaps of paperwork overflowing from plastic trays.
"There’s an editorial meeting on the fifth floor, and I’m late for it, but I couldn’t let you sit in reception for hours on end."
"Where is my desk?"
"See the cubicle behind that column? That’s Roger’s office. Your desk is right in front of it. Ladies are on the landing, through the door past Roger’s office. The kitchen is at that end too. Don’t worry about answering our phones, we all have voicemail, including Roger."
"Thank you for showing me around," said Louise making a beeline for her desk.
"Got to dash, babe, see you later."
Louise sat down and switched her computer on. She opened the top drawer and found a stash of stationery and a box of Paracetamol. The second and third drawers were empty, except for a lonely paper clip, a broken rubber band and a first-aid box.
Two tall metal cabinets stood against the wall opposite the desk. She opened the drawers of one cabinet and found heaps of folders in no particular order as if they had been casually thrown in. The other cabinet was full of stationery and piles of magazines. If she was going to be left to her own devices on her first day, she could at least restore some order in her own space.
On her computer screen a box was flashing, asking for a password. Nobody had told her anything about a password and no instructions have been left on her desk either.
"Just click OK, there’s no password."
Startled, she looked up. A handsome male was smiling down at her. His black suit was beautifully cut and showed off his tall, lean body. He sported a golden tan and his curly blond hair had been bleached by the sun.
"You must be Louise, I’m Roger."
"I thought you were coming in the afternoon," said Louise.
"Change of plan, I took an earlier flight." He smiled again, an amused twinkle in his hazel eyes, framed by long, blond eyelashes.
Louise couldn’t help staring at him. He looked like a model and was as charming as an A-list actor.
"Nice jacket," he said and softly caressed the sleeve with his long, tanned fingers.
Louise felt the warmth of his hand through the thin fabric. She dug her heels in the carpet and told herself sternly, Stop staring, he is your boss. Pull yourself together, say something. What was happening to her? She was behaving like a lovestruck teenager.
"Where do you want me to start?" she asked and mentally kicked herself for saying something so inane.
Click on the email icon and you’ll find some letters I want you to print for me on headed paper. They’ll need a bit of tidying as I bashed them out quickly before I went on holiday. I trust your judgement there."
"Anything else?"
"Familiarise yourself with the filing system or possibly lack of, answer your phone, assist the editorial team, they’ll soon come to you with all sort of requests. If I need you, I’ll call you."
As soon as Roger stepped in his office, her phone rang. "Hello, Roger Beaumont’s PA speaking."
"Sounds very posh," laughed Sue on the other end of the line. "How are you doing?"
"I don’t know yet, I’ve just started."
"It’s nearly lunchtime! It must be true what they say about working in the media."
"It’s only twelve and everybody is in a meeting," replied Louise huffily.
"Keep your hair on! What is your boss like?"
"Seems nice enough," said Louise non committably.
"Honestly, you’re hopeless. Is he young, old, ugly, sexy?"
"I can’t tell you now. Can we discuss it later?"
"Why are you so coy? Is he as ugly as sin?"
"No, he isn’t. I’ll speak to you later," said Louise firmly and put the phone down.