The Importance of Being Married: A Novel Read online

  I blushed awkwardly. He thought I looked ridiculous. And he was right.

  “You do your hair? Is nice!” he continued. “Very glamorous lady.”

  “Hardly.” I bit my lip. “It’s far too shiny. Not practical at all.”

  “No, is good.” Gary was still grinning at me. “Is very good. I like.” He wasn’t actually called Gary, he’d told me once; he was Polish and called Gerik but whenever people asked him his name, he’d had to repeat himself about a million times and then the person he was talking to still seemed to think he’d said “Gary,” so eventually he’d given up correcting them.

  He turned around and started to make my cappuccino. Then, when it was finished, he handed it to me. “No money,” he insisted when I tried to hand him two pound coins. “And you take this pastry, too. From me. Present.”

  “Present?” I looked at him in alarm. He felt sorry for me. That was the only explanation. “No, no, you have to take money, Gary. Here…”

  But he held up his hand. And then he winked. Frowning, I turned around to see whom he was winking at. But there was no one there, and when I turned back he winked again. “On the house,” he said, firmly.

  “Really?” My eyes widened in surprise.

  “Really. For brighten up the day.” Brightening up his day? I’d never, to my knowledge, brightened up anyone’s day before. Gary shot me a big grin and I managed to smile back, sort of, before turning uncertainly and making my way out.

  “I’ll brighten up your day if you give me a free croissant,” I heard a woman offer as I pulled open the door.

  “Bright enough, thanks,” I heard Gary say gruffly. “And you keep smiling like that, I make you pay double.”

  Unsteadily, I made my way down the road toward Milton Advertising. As I approached the door, my phone rang and I transferred my coffee and pastry to my left hand, then pulled out my mobile. HOME was flashing on the screen.

  “Hello?”

  “I forgot to say, keep your head up. You always look at the floor. So don’t.”

  I sighed. “Aren’t you meant to be applying for jobs today?” I asked.

  “I am,” Helen said quickly. “But you’re my priority.”

  “Well, thanks,” I said. “And I’ll keep my head up if you get your résumé together.”

  “If you make this work, I won’t need a job. You’ll be a millionaire and I can be your paid companion,” she said.

  “’Bye Helen.” I put my phone back in my pocket. As I did, I saw Anthony through the glass doors. He was on his way out; immediately I felt myself tense up.

  Awkwardly, I pushed the door in front of me, but Anthony pulled it at the same time and instead of walking through, head held high, I fell forward, knocking into him. Quickly I pulled myself backward, but my legs, unused to balancing on high heels the width of a pin, swiveled under me; as I reached out to grab something—anything—to stop me from falling, I let go of my cup of coffee, which tumbled, as if in slow motion, toward the floor, toward Anthony, splashing his shoes, missing his trousers by about an inch. I would have followed it, too, if Anthony hadn’t reached out to catch me.

  “Fuck! I mean, oh God. I’m sorry.” My face drained of blood.

  Anthony looked at me for a moment, his clear blue eyes slightly bigger than normal, a startled expression on his face. Then he grinned and held out his hand, steering me into an upright position.

  “Jessica. Feeling better this morning?”

  I gulped. “Yes. Thank you,” I stammered. “And sorry. About the coffee.”

  “Don’t be,” he said, still smiling. “It was my fault. Nice shoes, by the way. Are they new?”

  I nodded, uncertainly, as he held the door open for me.

  “See you, then.” He winked at me, then turned and strode purposefully toward his office, leaving me staring after him. Shoes? Why on earth did he like my shoes?

  “Jess?”

  I arrived at my desk to find Marcia staring at me.

  “Hi, Marcia.” I sat down heavily on my chair and turned on my computer.

  “You’ve…you’ve done something.” She was looking at me suspiciously.

  “I just had a haircut.”

  “What, yesterday? I thought you were ill?”

  My face flushed. “My…flatmate did it. To cheer me up,” I lied.

  Marcia’s eyes narrowed. “Your flatmate?”

  I nodded, hoping she wouldn’t ask any more questions. Luckily she picked up a file instead.

  “So I take it you’re better now? No more fainting fits to get attention?” she said, archly.

  I nodded, checking that my phone was safely in my pocket. “I’m fine.”

  “Good.” She sighed and leaned back in her chair. “So, listen, you know the Jarvis account?”

  I slipped off my shoes. “Sure. The bank.” It was a new account that Marcia had taken on, in spite of her protestations that she knew nothing about finance.

  Marcia nodded. “It’s just that I need a PowerPoint presentation done,” she said. “And you’re so good at them…You wouldn’t help me out, would you?”

  I looked at her archly. “Marcia, I’ve explained how to use PowerPoint. It’s really very simple…”

  She smiled. “I know, I know. But you’re so much better than me. I just thought, since you were out all day yesterday, you might give me a hand…”

  “Fine,” I said, sighing and taking the file. “So when do you need the presentation by?”

  She flinched slightly. “Ten AM.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Today.”

  I stared at her. “Today? That’s in…like…one hour.”

  “I know, I know.” Marcia’s eyes widened like a puppy’s. “I should have gotten it done before, but I’ve been so busy. I mean, I haven’t managed to have my hair cut in weeks…” She looked at me hopefully and I reddened. I knew the haircut was a bad idea.

  “Sure,” I said levelly. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thanks, Jess. You’re a star.” Marcia winked at me, waited for me to smile back, then picked up her phone. “Hi, Net-A-Porter? Yes, I wonder if you could tell me a bit more about a Marc Jacobs dress I’ve got my eye on…”

  I opened the file. Inside was a twenty-page spec from Jarvis Private Banking, which was planning to launch a new investment fund specifically aimed at women—young professional women who had never considered investment funds before—and it wanted an advertising firm to come up with a name, a brand, and a concept that would make it sound fun, cool, aspirational, and desirable.

  Attached to the spec were two sheets of A4, on which Marcia had scribbled some barely legible notes. They read:

  • Chester Rydall, chief exec. From New York. Smart suit.

  • Blue chip, needs weight.

  • Women—young. Colors? Logo? Bright, not cheap, not tacky. Expensive.

  • Aspirational? How to…?

  • Organic farmers market—find out what kale is??

  • Angel book. Do I have Guardian Angel? Can I harness?

  • Sample sale, Kensington Church Street, Sat. 12 PM. MUST REMEMBER!!!

  On the other page, she had helpfully written a shopping list of all the things she was hoping to buy at the sample sale, including a pair of black trousers and a cocktail dress that worked with her new handbag.

  I stared at the list. These weren’t notes for a pitch. They weren’t even close. Was this some kind of a joke that I didn’t understand?

  “Working hard?” I lifted my head to see Anthony leaning over me and quickly closed the file again. “Only I thought you might like one of these. You know, since your other one got…knocked over. I’m terribly sorry about that, by the way.”

  He put a coffee down in front of me and I stared at it, uncomprehendingly. “You…you got this for me?” I asked.

  “I didn’t know how you took it,” Anthony continued easily. “So I brought you some sugar.”

  “Sugar,” I repeated blankly. Anthony Milton had just bought me
a coffee. It was just so…unexpected.

  “That’s right. I hope you don’t mind?”

  “Mind? No, no, I don’t mind,” I managed to say. He smiled at me; immediately Marcia appeared next to him.

  “Anthony,” she chided flirtatiously, “Jessica has work to do. And we need to talk about Chester Rydall.”

  He turned, and I hurriedly looked back at Marcia’s notes.

  “Of course,” he said. “My office?”

  “Perfect.” Marcia smiled and stood up, brushing her skirt down in a seamless movement.

  “You’re going?” I said quickly, looking in her direction. “Only…before you go, I think you gave me the wrong notes.”

  “The wrong notes?”

  “For the presentation. I don’t have the information I need.”

  Marcia rolled her eyes. “It’s all in there,” she said irritably, before shooting another smile at Anthony. “Look, just be a bit creative, can’t you? I mean, this is a creative agency.”

  “Be creative?” I raised an eyebrow. “Okay, but…are you absolutely sure I’ve got the right file? Or do you want me to base the presentation on the spec instead?”

  Marcia glanced at the file on my desk. “Yes, it’s the right file. And why would anyone want a presentation based on a spec that the client gave us in the first place? Look, Anthony and I have got some important things to discuss. So I’d really appreciate it if you’d just put a presentation together for me like I asked. Okay, Jess?”

  “Fine,” I said, with a sigh. “Fine, I’ll just type them up then.”

  “Thanks, Jess.” Marcia smiled sweetly before marching off. “That would be really great. And I do love the hair. Really suits you.”

  By 9:50 AM Marcia was back at her desk and I’d managed to come up with a whole six slides, one of which, to my immortal shame, said BRIGHT, NOT CHEAP, NOT TACKY. I cringed slightly, imagining Marcia’s face when the slides came up in front of a team of serious bankers, but it wasn’t my problem. Checking the spelling one last time and trying not to look at the presentation too closely, I saved it and e-mailed it to Marcia, then turned back to get on with some of my own work.

  But two minutes later Marcia was at my side of the desk, her face white.

  “Is this it?” she asked, staring in horror at the single sheet of A4 that contained all six slides.

  I nodded.

  “But there’s nothing to it!” she said, her voice barely audible. “I’ve got to present in ten minutes. In front of Jarvis’s chief executive. This isn’t a presentation. It’s…it’s a joke! Jessica, I thought I could trust you to put this together. I was counting on you.”

  Carefully, I pulled out the notes she’d given me. “Marcia, these are the notes you had me work from. I followed them precisely.”

  Marcia picked up the notes and stared at them. Then she moved her hand out to my desk to steady herself.

  “Oh fuck. Oh bollocks, wrong notes. These were…” Her eyes were focusing on the bottom of the second page, the bit where she’d started to write out her shopping list. “These were just…I mean, they were the preliminary…”

  “So, ready for the meeting? Anthony says you’re really confident about this pitch, Marcia. Anything you want to share with me?”

  Marcia and I both looked up at once to see Max right behind us. Marcia’s face was now slightly greenish. Mine immediately went red. It always did when Max wandered over, I noticed. I was thinking about getting treatment for it.

  “No, no, everything’s fine,” she said, looking anything but. Then she looked at me, a funny look in her eye. “Actually, Max, I was thinking that maybe Jessica should be in on this one. You know, come to the meeting.”

  I looked at her in surprise. She never invited me to any of her pitch meetings.

  “Good idea. Where is she, by the way? Is she in today?”

  I raised an eyebrow at Max and forced a grin. “Very funny.”

  Max frowned and stared at me. “Jess?” He came closer and peered at me. “Bloody hell. It is you! What happened? What did you do to your hair?”

  “She had her hair cut,” Marcia said. “And she’s got some great new clothes, too. Amazing that she had the time, considering how ill she was.”

  “I thought you were a new intern or something,” Max said, frowning, ignoring Marcia’s jibe.

  I forced a smile. “No, just me.”

  He looked at me suspiciously for a few seconds, as if to reassure himself that it really was me.

  “Anyway, what do you think, Max?” Marcia persisted.

  “About Jess’s hair? I like it. I suppose. I mean, it’ll take a bit of getting used to…”

  “About her coming to the meeting.” Marcia sighed impatiently.

  Max flinched slightly. “Right. Of course. Well, I think it’s a great idea. Jess, you up for it?”

  I nodded. “Of course. I mean, it would be really useful…”

  “Good,” Marcia interjected, “because Jess has been working with me a lot on this pitch and it could be a really great development opportunity for her to give the initial presentation.”

  It took me a few seconds to register what she’d said.

  “No…I mean…I couldn’t…” I stammered.

  “Of course you can. I mean, you virtually wrote it,” Marcia said, avoiding my eye.

  “I didn’t! I didn’t at all…” I stared at her in horror.

  “Great idea!” Max said, easily, ignoring my protests. “I’ll okay it with Anthony, but as far as I’m concerned Jessica’s more than welcome on the team. I’ll see you both in a few minutes, then.”

  Before I could say anything else, he had disappeared. I immediately rounded on Marcia.

  “I can’t give that presentation!” I protested. “There is no presentation. Plus you know I can’t talk in public. Marcia, you can’t do this to me.”

  Marcia grabbed my shoulders. “Come on, Jess. Please. You’re always asking for more involvement—and now you’re getting it.”

  “But I can’t present this. It isn’t even a presentation. It’s a load of drivel!”

  “I know,” Marcia said, pulling herself upright. “But that’s not my fault. You did put it together, Jess. You have to take some responsibility.”

  “Me? I was doing you a favor. I had nothing to do with—”

  “Look, this is your first presentation,” Marcia interrupted flatly. “If it’s crap, everyone will just chalk it up to inexperience. I’ll defend you. It’ll be fine. But if I screw it up…” She sighed, dramatically. “Max is already gunning for me. He’ll use any excuse to get me fired.”

  “You won’t get fired,” I said desperately. “But I will be if I present this. Marcia, I can’t. I really can’t. You have to do it.”

  “No,” Marcia said, shaking her head. “No, I don’t. So if I were you, I’d start practicing. Okay?” She smiled awkwardly, then turned back to her desk. As for me, for the second time in as many days, I wished I was dead.

  Chapter 7

  I WALKED INTO the meeting room on unsteady legs—and it wasn’t the shoes’ fault. Immediately Max came over.

  “So, your first pitch, huh?” He smiled, which would usually make me feel better, but this wasn’t usually. “About time, too.”

  “Right,” I said, trying to stay calm. “So which one’s Chester Rydall?”

  Max pointed to a man with silvery hair and tanned skin talking to Anthony—he looked like he’d just stepped off a yacht. Around him, everyone was fluttering—offering him coffee, offering him orange juice, asking him if he was hungry. Only Anthony and Max seemed unfazed by this giant of the financial world.

  “Max! Come and meet Chester Rydall.” Anthony appeared beside him and grabbed him by the shoulders.

  “Of course. And Jess should meet him, too,” Max said immediately. “She’s presenting today, after all.”

  “Absolutely!” Anthony smiled at me benevolently, and I looked back uncertainly. It was the second time he’d smiled at me today, and
it was slightly unsettling. “Love the hair, by the way,” he whispered. “Suits you.” I stared at him in surprise, but before I could say anything he’d put his arm around Chester. “Chester, meet Max, my deputy. And Jessica. Jessica Wild.”

  “Anthony, can I have a quick word?” Marcia appeared at his side, suddenly, her face one big simpering smile.

  “Sure. No problem.” Anthony nodded and disappeared, leaving me and Max alone with Chester.

  “Jessica Wild,” Chester said, shaking my hand. “Great name. So, you been with the firm long?”

  I cleared my throat. “Um, well, awhile,” I managed to say. “You know, a couple of years.”

  “Jess is one of our best account executives,” Max said, seriously. I looked at him in surprise. He’d never said that to me before.

  “She is? Well, great,” Chester said, smiling. “In that case I look forward to hearing your presentation, Jess.”

  “The presentation. Right.” As I spoke, my heart sank. It was bad enough that my presentation was going to be appalling; now I had to contend with high expectations, too. It was the worst of all worlds. I could already picture Max’s stern stare as I messed up the pitch, could already feel the weight of his disappointment.

  But before I could say anything, think of an excuse to run from the room, or even have another fainting fit, Anthony appeared again. “Right guys, it’s ten fifteen. What do you say we get this show on the road? Ready to present, Jess?”

  I felt my heart thudding in my chest; I nodded weakly.

  He guided Chester to the table, then sat down next to him. Marcia sat next to Anthony, and Max sat opposite with two men Chester had brought with him. I took a chair next to Marcia and tried to calm my heart rate even though I knew the only thing that would really slow it would be my leaving the room and never coming back.

  “I’ve loaded your presentation onto the projector,” Marcia said to me, smiling. I gulped.

  “It’s not really my presentation,” I said, feeling everyone’s eyes on me. “I mean, I wasn’t really involved in it that much.”

  “Don’t be silly Jess, you wrote it,” Marcia said sweetly, and I felt a wave of nausea wash through me. I was having one of those out-of-body experiences, looking down at the situation from the ceiling and shrugging at the Jessica sitting at the table. All the work I’d put in since getting this job was about to be forgotten. Any dignity I’d managed to carve out for myself was about to be decimated.