Twenties Girl - Kinsella Sophie - Страница 11

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The next day the sketch of the necklace is all I have left. Sadie has disappeared and the whole episode feels like a dream. At eight-thirty I’m sitting at my desk, sipping coffee and staring down at the picture. What on earth got into me yesterday? The entire thing must have been my brain cracking up under the strain. The necklace, the girl, the banshee wailing… It was obviously all a figment of my imagination.

For the first time, I’m starting to sympathize with my parents. I’m worried about me too.

“Hi!” There’s a crash as Kate, our assistant, swings open the door, knocking over a bunch of files, which I’d put on the floor while I got the milk out of the fridge.

We don’t have the biggest office in the world.

“So, how was the funeral?” Kate hangs up her coat, leaning right back over the photocopier to reach her hook. Luckily, she’s quite gymnastic.

“Not great. In fact, I ended up at the police station. I had this weird mental flip-out.”

“God!” Kate looks horrified. “Are you OK?”

“Yeah. I mean, I think so…” I have to get a grip. Abruptly, I fold up the necklace sketch, thrust it into my bag, and zip it shut.

“Actually, I knew something was up.” Kate pauses halfway through twisting her blond hair into an elastic. “Your dad called yesterday afternoon and asked me if you’d been particularly stressed recently.”

I look up in alarm. “You didn’t tell him about Natalie leaving.”

“No! Of course not!” Kate has been well trained in what to divulge to my parents-i.e., nothing.

“Anyway,” I say with more vigor. “Never mind. I’m fine now. Were there any messages?”

“Yes.” Kate reaches for her notebook with a super-efficient manner. “Shireen kept calling all yesterday. She’s going to call you today.”

“Great!”

Shireen is our one piece of good news at L &N Executive Recruitment. We recently placed her as operations director at a software company, Macrosant; in fact, she’s about to start the job next week. She’s probably just calling to thank us.

“Anything else?” I say, just as the phone rings. Kate checks the caller ID and her eyes widen.

“Oh yes, another thing,” she says hurriedly. “Janet from Leonidas Sports called, wanting an update. She said she was going to ring at nine a.m. sharp. This’ll be her.” She meets my panicky eyes. “Do you want me to answer?”

No, I want to hide under the desk.

“Um, yes, you’d better.”

My stomach is bubbling with nerves. Leonidas Sports is our biggest client. They’re a massive sports equipment company with shops all over the UK, and we’ve promised to find them a marketing director.

Rephrase that. Natalie promised to find them a marketing director.

“I’ll just put you through,” Kate is saying in her best PA voice, and a moment later the phone on my desk rings. I glance desperately at Kate, then pick it up.

“Janet!” I exclaim in my most confident tones. “Good to hear from you. I was just about to call.”

“Hi, Lara,” comes Janet Grady’s familiar hoarse voice. “Just phoning for an update. I was hoping to speak to Natalie.”

I’ve never met Janet Grady face-to-face. But in my head she’s about six foot three with a mustache. The first time we ever spoke, she told me the team at Leonidas Sports are all “tough thinkers,” “hard players,” and have an “iron grip” on the market. They sound terrifying.

“Oh right!” I twist the phone cord around my fingers. “Well, unfortunately Natalie’s still… er… poorly.”

This is the story I’ve been spinning ever since Natalie didn’t make it back from Goa. Luckily, you just have to say “She’s been to India,” and everyone launches into their own My Horrendous Traveling Illness story without asking any more questions.

“But we’re making great headway,” I continue. “Really marvelous. We’re working through the long list, and there’s a file of very strong candidates right here on my desk. We’ll be looking at a top-class short list, I can assure you. All tough thinkers.”

“Can you give me any names?”

“Not right now!” My voice jumps in panic. “I’ll fill you in nearer the time. But you’ll be very impressed!”

“OK, Lara.” Janet is one of those women who never waste time on small talk. “Well, as long as you’re on top of it. Best to Natalie. Good-bye.”

I replace the receiver and meet Kate’s eyes, my heart thumping. “Remind me, who do we have as possibles for Leonidas Sports?”

“The guy with the three-year gap in his resume,” says Kate. “And the weirdo with the dandruff. And… the kleptomaniac woman.”

I wait for her to continue. She gives a tiny apologetic shrug.

“That’s all?”

“Paul Richards pulled out yesterday,” she says anxiously. “He’s been offered a position at some American company. Here’s the list.” She hands me the sheet of paper and I stare at the three names in total despair. They’re all no-hopers. We can’t send this list in.

God, headhunting is hard. I had no idea. Before we started up the company, Natalie always made it seem so exciting. She talked about the thrill of the chase, “strategic hiring” and “up-skilling” and “the tap on the shoulder.” We used to meet every few weeks for a drink, and she was full of such amazing stories about her work, I couldn’t help feeling envious. Writing promotional website copy for a car manufacturer seemed really dull in comparison. Plus there were rumors we were going to have big layoffs. So when Natalie suggested a start-up, I jumped at the chance.

The truth is, I’ve always been a bit in awe of Natalie. She’s so glossy and confident. Even when we were at school, she always had the latest slang and could blag us into pubs. And when we first started off the company, it all worked brilliantly. She brought in some big bits of business for us at once and was constantly out networking. I was writing our website and supposedly learning all the tricks from her. It was all going in the right direction. Until she disappeared and I realized I hadn’t actually learned any tricks at all.

Natalie’s really into business mantras, and they’re all on Post-its around her desk. I keep sidling over and studying them, as if they’re the runes to some ancient religion, trying to divine what I’m meant to do. For example, The best talent is already in the market is stuck up above her computer. That one I do know: It means you’re not supposed to go through the resumes of all the bankers who were fired from an investment bank last week and try to make them sound like marketing directors. You’re supposed to go after existing marketing directors.

But how? What if they won’t even speak to you?

After doing this job for several weeks on my own, I have a few new mantras, which go as follows: The best talent doesn’t answer the phone itself. The best talent doesn’t ring back, even if you leave three messages with its secretary. The best talent doesn’t want to move into sports retail. When you mention the fifty percent employee discount on tennis rackets, the best talent just laughs at you.

I pull out our original crumpled, coffee-stained long list for the millionth time and flick through it gloomily. Names glitter off the page like shiny sweeties. Employed, bona fide talent. The marketing director of Woodhouse Retail. The European marketing head at Dartmouth Plastics. They can’t all be happy at their jobs, surely. There must be someone out there who would love to work for Leonidas Sports. But I’ve tried every single name and got nowhere. I glance up to see Kate standing on one foot, surveying me anxiously, the other leg wrapped around her calf.

“We have precisely three weeks to find a tough-thinking, hard-hitting marketing director for Leonidas Sports.” I’m trying desperately to stay positive. Natalie landed this deal. Natalie was going to woo all the starry candidates. Natalie knows how to do this. I don’t.

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