Transplanting Holly Oakwood (23 page)

Her head filled to the brim with thick lumpy soup, and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Had she heard correctly? Court case, defend or settle? What in the bloody hell was Brittany talking about? “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t understand?” asked Brittany coolly, raising an eyebrow and regarding her as if she was a half-wit.

“Surely Mr Cornelius will have to drop the court case now?” she stammered.

Disdain blanketed Brittany’s countenance, rendering her features hard and cruel. “Mr Cornelius is much more likely to win his case,” she said in biting tones, “now we know you’re lying.”

“What happened next?” Tessa’s eyes were wide with disbelief, and she put down the corn chip she’d picked up a moment earlier.

“Brittany said the police told Ann they hadn’t attended the accident.”

“What?”

“As far as they’re concerned it never happened.”

“But how can that be?” Tessa’s forehead furrowed and she shook her head vigorously. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“I know.” She dipped a corn chip into the creamy guacamole, shovelling up a small mound of avocado. “But I’m telling the truth.” She popped the chip into her mouth and crunched it aggressively, the bite of the chilli bringing tears to her eyes.

“I know you are. You don’t have to defend yourself here.”

“Sorry, but no one at the office believes me, and the end result is that Brittany fired me.”

“Fired you? That’s ridiculous. Anyway, she can’t do that, it’s illegal.”

“That’s what I said, or words to that effect, but Brittany waved my contract at me.” A tear spiked the edge of her eye and she drew her hand across it. “Ouch. Got chilli in my eye.” She wiped her eye again, this time with her sleeve. “Bringing the Consulate into disrepute is grounds for dismissal and the upshot is she’s given me a month’s notice.” She smiled ruefully. “Brittany said she was only obliged to give me a week’s notice, but she wants me to finish up the reports I’m doing.”

“That’s outrageous. There must be something you can do, surely.”

“What?”

“Go back to the police?”

“I would’ve if it’d been Brittany that dealt with them. But it was Ann and she believed me, so that’s a dead end.” She swallowed, tasting bile in the back of her throat. “I got the impression Brittany was delighted to fire me.”

“You’ve got to move forward then. LA’s a big city, and you’ll find another job.”

“It’ll be hard to find something else as good. But more importantly, who’ll employ someone who got fired from the Consulate?”

“You don’t have to tell anyone. You can say you’ve been staying with a friend since arriving from London.”

“Mmm, yes, that’s an idea. The one thing I can’t figure out,” she said, leaning over and covering another chip in guacamole, while deliberately avoiding eye contact with Tessa, “is why Guy didn’t stick up for me. I got the impression he believed me too.”

“I bet he doesn’t know Brittany’s fired you. You need to speak to him.”

“I can’t. He’s away again.”

“In that case you need to stay out of Brittany’s way until he gets back, and speak to him then. At least things can’t get any worse in the meantime.”

Holly swore softly as she saw the appointment Brittany had sent her. Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t avoid her boss any longer and she walked to her office with slumped shoulders and dragging heels.

“Take a seat. Have you brought all your job files with you?”

She nodded dismally. “They’re all pretty much finished.”

“Pretty much? What does that mean?” asked Brittany, clicking her pen.

“There’s only a couple more people to speak to, but they’re all away this week at the trade fair. I should be able to get them next week, and with luck I’ll be able to finish these reports then.”

“Good. I don’t want the next person to inherit a mess.” Brittany clicked her pen furiously. “We’re in enough of one already with this lawsuit you’ve got us into.”

“That wasn’t my fault. That man, Mr Cornelius, is clearly a con or something.”

“Do you think I’m stupid? You can fool everyone else around here, Holly, but don’t try it on with me.”

“I’m not trying to fool anyone,” she said, bristling with indignation. “I’m telling the truth. Why don’t you believe me? Why would I lie?”

“More to the point, why would the police lie?” Brittany clicked the pen in a staccato fashion. “Is that what you’re suggesting?”

“No, of course not,” she said, heat burning her cheeks. Her fingers twitched as Brittany continued her pen-clicking symphony. She’d love to rip the pen right out of her manicured talons, snap it in two and shove the sharp end right up–

“How do you explain the police not confirming your story then?”

“I can’t. None of it makes sense to me. But I wasn’t lying about the accident, and I’m not lying now.”

“I haven’t got time for all this.” Click, click, click. “We’ve been through it before. Let’s have a look at your reports.”

Click, click, click went the pen as she showed Brittany the documents she’d finished. Black spots pulsed in front of her eyes and lava bubbled in her core, but she bit her lip to stop her from telling Brittany to put the bloody thing down. There was a long silence and Brittany looked at her expectantly. Damn. Had she asked her a question?

“Sorry, what did you say?”

“I asked how you came to this conclusion.” Brittany tapped the summary page of the report with one shiny red nail.

“What do you mean?”

“New Zealand has a strong relationship with the States, and there’s no trading barrier to these products.” She picked up the pen again, clicking it for emphasis. “So what’s the problem for this exporter? This doesn’t make any sense.”

She held out her hand for the page Brittany was waving at her, and tried to concentrate on the printed words. Click, click, click. “I’m sorry,” she said finally, after reading it twice. “I didn’t proofread it properly. I copied the summary from an earlier report, and I didn’t change one of the paragraphs.”

Brittany spun the pen like a majorette twirling a baton. “This isn’t acceptable, and you know it. Imagine if I hadn’t caught this and it had gone out to the client.” She tapped the pen on the desk forcefully. “I’m relieved you’re going.” She dropped the pen with a clatter, picked it up again, and clicked it furiously. “We can do without this sort of shoddiness.”

The black dots in front of her eyes became frayed red ink spots and her temples pounded. “Shut up,” she said, clenching her fists.

Brittany’s jaw dropped and the clicking stopped momentarily. “How dare you speak to me like that?” The pen started up again in a faltering rhythm.

Each click jabbed into the part of her brain that controlled hatred and anger. “I’m sick of this, I’m sick of you and I don’t care that you’ve fired me from this stinking job.” As Holly spoke, her words eroded the walls of her thinly-veiled composure. “You can stick your job, and your bloody pen, right up your bum. LA is a big city. I won’t have any trouble finding a new job.”

Brittany’s mouth formed an O and she paled as white as her expensively-bleached-perfectly-even teeth. “You should care,” she said, stretching her mouth back into a cruel smile. Click. She snapped the pen unhurriedly, as if to taunt her. “You clearly didn’t read your contract carefully.”

Click. Click. “You have an A2 visa,” Brittany continued, “issued for you to work at the Consulate.”

Click. Click. Click. “Your visa will be cancelled when you leave this office and you know what that means?”

Holly shook her head dismally.

Brittany snapped the pen viciously. “You won’t be able to work anywhere in the US. You’ll have to return to England.”

THIRTY-FIVE

Charlie

Charlie lifted the lid of the saucepan and sniffed the coq au vin appreciatively. He stirred it absently, then checked his watch for the third time. The girls would be here shortly but after a fortnight at a hairdressing expo, with long days on his feet and longer nights partying, he was exhausted, and couldn’t wait for a drink. He uncorked a bottle of red and poured himself a generous measure.

What he really needed was a quiet night, but the moment he’d pulled his bag from the taxi Tessa appeared with the alarming news Holly was on the verge of a breakdown. She wouldn’t be drawn further, saying Holly wanted to tell him everything herself. As tired as he was, he felt flattered to be the strong shoulder, and more importantly, whatever Holly’s problem was, he’d rearrange the stars, sun and moon to fix it.

At seven a light rap on the door signalled the girls’ arrival, and he opened it to find Tessa propping up a pale and drawn Holly, eyes red from crying.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, ushering them into the apartment.

Holly slumped against him, her fragile composure cracking.

“Let’s get you both a drink,” he said, “and you can tell me what’s going on.”

“Here you go,” said Tessa. “This could be a long session.” She passed three bottles over while Holly tried valiantly to compose herself.

“Someone please tell me what’s going on,” said Charlie, putting the unopened bottles in the fridge. He poured two glasses to the brim, and handed them to the girls. “It’s clearly something pretty bad.”

Holly drained her glass before answering. “God, Charlie, I had an accident…he’s suing the Consulate…wasn’t my fault…can’t find the police…no one believes me…he wasn’t hurt…”

He leaned forward in his seat, frowning. “Slow down, love, you’re talking nonsense.”

“Sorry,” she sobbed. “I had an accident and…” She broke down completely, and he looked to Tessa for help.

“Holly was in a car accident while you were away.” Tessa recounted the story quickly. “Then Holly was told Mr Cornelius was suing the Consulate for a million dollars.”

“Bastard, I’d like to put him in a wheelchair myself,” said Charlie. He ground his cigarette into the ashtray, wishing it was Mr Cornelius’ hand.

“Wouldn’t we all,” said Tessa, “and then we’d kill him.”

“Anyway,” said Holly, “it gets worse, much worse.”

“It couldn’t get any worse,” said Charlie, “a million bucks is a shitload of money.”

“Ann, the office manager, has been on my side the whole time, and darling that she is, she’s been trying to track down the police.”

“That’s good,” he said soothingly.

“No it’s not. The police have come back to Ann, and they say they’ve checked and no one attended the accident.”

“But that doesn’t make sense,” he said, rubbing his eyes.

“I know.” Holly stopped momentarily, and sniffed loudly. “I can’t explain it, but the worst thing is, they all think I’m lying.”

“Lying? Of course they wouldn’t think that. They know you wouldn’t lie.” He reached for a cigarette, and picked at the end of it.

“Charlie, you don’t understand, they
do
think I’m lying. I think Ann believes me, but she can’t do anything.”

He lit the cigarette, inhaling deeply. “What do you mean she can’t do anything?”

“Brittany called me into her office and said they have to let me go.”

“Let you go?” His mouth was dry and his chest hurt. He looked from Holly to Tessa, then back again. “They can’t fire you, I mean, you haven’t done anything wrong.”

“That’s what I said to Brittany, but she said my contract says if I do anything to bring the Consulate into disrepute that’s grounds for letting me go.”

His pulse was pounding so forcefully he feared an artery would burst. “But you didn’t do anything, it was an accident.”

“Brittany says the main issues are me lying and the lawsuit. She says it’ll tarnish the Consulate’s reputation.”

“Reputation bollocks.” He slammed his palm with his fist. “Who the hell does this woman think she is?” He picked up the cigarette from the ashtray, took a long hard drag, then exhaled noisily.

“The Trade Commissioner, and her role is hiring and firing. I have to leave in two weeks’ time.”

“Two weeks.” He moved over to sit beside her and took her small cold hand. “Don’t worry, it’s not the end of the world.” She squeezed his fingers and a soft fuzzy sensation moved through his chest, dousing his anger.

“Not the end of the world? How can you say that?”

“It’s only a job. Isn’t it, Tessa?” Tessa was shaking her head, but he ignored her. “There’s loads of jobs in LA, you’ll get a better one. Stuff the Consulate.”

Holly’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Fine for you to say, you’ve got a green card.” A drop slid from her eye and tracked down her smooth cheek. “Brittany told me today I have an A2 visa, which means I can only work for the Consulate.”

He stiffened, the cigarette midway between mouth and ashtray. Had he understood her correctly? The girls’ expressions told him he had, and he shook his head slowly, unwilling to accept it. A line of ash fell to his trousers, and he tried to flick it off, instead smearing it into the light fabric.

“If I leave my job in the Consulate,” said Holly with a sob, “I’ll have to return to England permanently.”

He took a long drag at the burning butt, tamped it out in the ashtray, then examined his fingernails, because he couldn’t think of anything helpful to say.