Welcome to My World (25 page)

Nus groaned and grabbed a tube of expensive hand cream from her desk, busying herself with the important task of keeping her elegant fingers moisturised.

George punched his pudgy hands onto his hips and jutted his chin forward. ‘Problem, Nusrin?’

Nus looked up at him, eyes as innocent as a small puppy’s. ‘No, boss.’

‘Good. So, this week we need to pull out all the stops to sell those lovely coach tours, OK?’

‘Why?’ Tom asked, peering at George through particularly lank curls this morning.

‘Sorry?’

‘Why do we need to push coach tours, seeing as they’re what we sell the most of anyway?’

Harri resisted the urge to smile, her inner amusement at the volcano-on-the-edge that was her boss trying to stay positive in the face of increasing ridicule, lifting her heavy mood.

‘
Because
, Thomas, STD have generously offered to increase our commission on each sale to thirty per cent, provided we sell four more coach tours each week. This is an opportunity for all of us to get behind our brand-new initiative . . .’ He turned and began to write squeakily on the whiteboard, the letters large and veering at a steep angle from left to right. Then, swinging back round, he gestured magnificently towards the two wonky words on the board: ‘. . . OPARATION SELLMORE!’

‘You’ve spelled it wrong,’ Nus offered, shooting a wry look in Harri’s direction. ‘Operation has an “e” after the “p”, not an “a”.’

George’s neck flushed and he reached for his handkerchief to wipe his forehead. ‘And well done to you, Nusrin, for passing my hidden spelling test. You weren’t expecting me to sneak one of
those
in now, were you? See, that’s why I am the owner of the most successful travel business in Stone Yardley and why, only last week, I was personally asked by the Mayor of Brindley to be the Secretary of the local Chamber of Commerce.’ He paused for his staff to soak in the news of his prestigious appointment.

‘Don’t secretaries have to be able to spell?’ Tom asked. George’s smile faded. ‘Mock all you want, Thomas, but I don’t see you attempting to better yourself.’

‘So, you’re saying we have a new target for coach tour sales?’ Harri interjected as the front door opened to reveal Auntie Rosemary carrying a huge bouquet of flowers and a very odd expression. ‘Would you excuse me?’

‘Go ahead,’ George replied, his eyes switching straight back to Tom and Nus. ‘You see, that’s the kind of enthusiasm that’s going to make the difference here . . .’

Auntie Rosemary was patiently waiting by the brochure rack when Harri walked over. ‘Sorry to interrupt you when you’re in the middle of a meeting,’ Rosemary whispered, ‘but I didn’t think you’d want to wait to receive these.’ She handed Harri the bouquet.

‘Wow, they’re gorgeous, Auntie R! Thank you so much.’ Auntie Rosemary smiled broadly. ‘I think you should read the card, Harriet.’

Harri looked between the bronze arum lilies, burnt orange chrysanthemums, dark green foliage and gold gerberas to find the card, clipped to a wooden stick with a heart-shaped peg. Opening its tiny envelope, she read the message in her aunt’s loopy handwriting:

Harri felt a whoosh of joy shake her like the backdraught from a speeding lorry as she read Rob’s message. ‘Wow, I can’t believe it! When did he order them?’

‘His secretary called this morning. Apparently he was very specific about the wording.’

‘Thank you so much for bringing them round,’ Harri said, squeezing her aunt’s arm. ‘They’ve really cheered me up.’

‘You’re welcome, my darling. Well, you have a lovely day and I’ll call you later on in the week.’

As Rosemary left, Tom and Nus hurried over to enthuse about the surprise bouquet with Harri, leaving George gesticulating impotently by the wonky whiteboard.

At lunchtime, Harri went to Wātea to grab a sandwich. Alex was stacking thickly cut, gooey squares of chocolate brownie on the glass-dome-covered cake stands and waved to her with the pair of silver tongs in his hand as she walked in.

‘Hey, H. How was Oxford?’

‘Gorgeous. The spa was amazing.’

Alex pulled a face. ‘Ugh, not my idea of a day out to be slathered in expensive crud and pummelled to within an inch of your life, but each to their own.’

‘Well, I enjoyed it,’ Harri smiled ruefully. ‘And when all’s said and done, that’s what matters. What can I get you?’

Harri looked up at the large chalkboard behind Alex’s head to read the tempting options available to her. ‘Oh, blimey, I don’t know. My head’s a shed today. What would you recommend?’

Alex observed her carefully. ‘The brie and pancetta’s hard to beat if you don’t mind waiting for me to toast it for you. Tough night?’

‘You could say that.’

‘Hmm. How about I get us both a coffee and you can tell me all about it?’

‘I’d love to, but I really should be getting back. George is on a charm offensive with STD coaches and Tom and Nus are threatening to resign. I daren’t leave them alone with each other for too long.’

‘Right you are then. That boyfriend of yours hasn’t upset you, has he?’

‘No he hasn’t.’ She felt pride swelling inside her. ‘Actually, he just sent me the most amazing bouquet of flowers.’

‘Excellent, that’s what we like to hear. So your love life’s sorted, but what about mine? When am I meeting your next friend?’

‘I have three for you to choose from, actually,’ Harri replied, the morning’s surprise giving her a shot of boldness she maybe should have checked before firing back at him.

Alex chuckled and his brown eyes sparkled. ‘Why not set up dates with all of them and I’ll decide from there?’

Harri nodded. ‘Absolutely. Leave it to me.’

Harri can feel her toes beginning to lose their feeling as the coolness of the ladies’ creeps further into her bones. She stamps her feet on the magnolia floor tiles, hearing the sound of her heels echoing around the walls, as empty as the cavernous hole in her own heart.

I should have said something
. For the past hour she has been trying her best to ignore the insistent voice of her conscience, but now it pushes its way to centre stage in her mind.
I shouldn’t have just run.

After all, running away had created the problem in the first place . . .

There is a lot to be said for organisational skills, and Harri’s aptitude for organisation was flawless. From her very first class at primary school, her abilities were noted and utilised by almost every teacher in each successive year. Often, Harri wished that she could have been blessed with something more exciting: like Angela Hartley who, from the age of about twelve, was known for her beautiful singing voice in school productions and church events; or Liam Richardson, whose razor-sharp wit marked him out as a popular comedian and eventually paved the way for his moderately successful career on the stand-up circuit; or Fiona Dart, who had hearts breaking all over Stone Yardley as soon as she hit her teens, with her periwinkle-blue eyes, porcelain skin and thick, lustrous black hair. Still, at least Harri’s gift was always going to be
useful
.

But even Harri’s considerable aptitude for organisation was struggling now. Trying to juggle work, Rob (whose work schedule was especially erratic this week)
and
arrange to vet three new dates for Alex was turning out to be a much more complicated proposition than she had bargained for. Not least because of the tricky problem of thinking up plausible stories to explain how she knew each of the ‘Free to a Good Home’ applicants.

‘So I’m a friend of a friend?’ the tall, blonde woman sitting opposite her asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Which friend?’

Harri smiled as best she could. ‘It doesn’t matter. Make a name up – Alex won’t bother to ask.’

‘But what if he does? I’ve got to say, Harri, this whole thing doesn’t sit easy with me. I mean, if Alex turns out to be the love of my life then how am I going to feel knowing that I lied to him right at the start of our relationship?’

Blimey, thought Harri, and I thought I was a forward-planner. ‘OK, let’s think of something else, Becky. How about we got chatting last year when you came into the travel agency to book your holiday?’

Becky considered this for a moment, twisting the stem of her wine glass as she did so. ‘That would be easier to do, I think. So when am I meeting him?’

Harri pulled out a small notebook from her bag and flicked the pages until she found the list that seemed to be running her life this week. ‘Today’s Tuesday, so you’ll be meeting him tomorrow evening, if that’s good for you?’

‘Or I could do tonight?’ Becky’s eagerness was impossible to conceal.

‘No, not tonight,’ Harri replied quickly. ‘He’s busy tonight.’

‘Alex, I’d like you to meet Lucy. Lucy, this is Alex.’

Alex looked down at the diminutive brunette standing before him and smiled broadly. ‘Great to meet you, Lucy.’

Lucy shook his hand. ‘I’ve heard so much about you,’ she rushed, letting out a laugh that sounded like a donkey on helium.

Startled, Alex stared at Harri, who smiled reassuringly and shrugged. Leaving them chatting, she beat a hasty retreat from the Star and Highwayman, checking her list again in the car park.
‘7.15 p.m. Charlotte Manning, Asda café, Lornal.’

Her head was buzzing with everything she needed to do as she drove the seven miles from Stone Yardley towards the larger town of Lornal. The scenery began to change from fields to houses and on into the industrial heart of the Black Country, once the cradle of the Industrial Revolution. The road rose to skirt the edges of what Harri learned in school had been a volcano in prehistoric times, past houses, the large new hospital and the shiny new office complexes rising from the ashes of the old steelworks. Turning past the gleaming steel and glass constructions, Harri headed for the twenty-four-hour super-store nestled between office buildings, shopping outlets and restaurant franchises.

Having parked in the enormous car park, Harri hurriedly made her way to the café. As she entered the bustling space she pulled a photo from her bag and scanned the customers for the elegant face smiling up at her. An eclectic selection of people populated the busy cafeteria: mums struggling to squeeze overstuffed pushchairs into the small space between cream vinyl tables and white plastic swivel chairs bolted to the floor; elderly couples tucking into fish, chips and peas, still wrapped up in overcoats and hats despite the warm summer evening; two off-duty store security guards reading decidedly dog-eared copies of the
Sun
and the
Mirror
over the remnants of their all-day breakfasts; a group of sniggering teenage girls pointing at a very embarrassed teenage boy at the next table, who looked like he was willing the laminate pine-effect flooring beneath his feet to gape open and swallow him whole; and a young couple dressed in office clothes, holding hands across the table as they sipped frothy cappuccinos from oversized white cups.

Finally, the lady from the photograph came into view. She was sitting by the window, managing to appear both completely out of place in her designer suit yet utterly at home with her easy smile. She uncurled her long fingers from the stem of her tall latte glass and waved to Harri. One thing was certain: her photograph did her no justice whatsoever – she was stunningly beautiful. Her long, ebony hair was pulled back into an efficient ponytail and the single row of pearls she wore at her neck shone against her coffee-hued complexion. Alex’s dropping jaw was going to cause serious damage to Wātea’s stylish slate floor when he met this lady . . .

‘Hi, Charlotte, sorry I’m late.’

‘No problem. The office was crazy so I only just got here myself. I took the liberty of buying you a coffee – hope that’s OK?’

Harri sat down and grasped the proffered mug gratefully. ‘Thank you so much. You have no idea how lovely this is. I don’t think I’ve stopped all day.’

‘You’re a travel agent, right?’

‘Yes, although today I found myself wondering if any of our customers actually realise they can travel more than a couple of hundred miles.’

Charlotte’s dark chocolate eyes sparkled. ‘Sounds like fun. Mind you, I’d kill for a holiday right now. But the way my schedule’s looking, I’ll be lucky to even get a skiing trip in this year. Maybe I should come in to see you about booking something for next year?’

‘You’re welcome any time. I’m sorry, what is it you do again?’ Charlotte smiled over the top of her latte glass. ‘Barrister. Just qualified.’

‘Wow. That’s amazing.’

‘Thanks. It’s taken a long time to get there but I’m glad I made the effort. So tell me about Alex.’

Charlotte listened intently while Harri repeated the details of her best friend, a speech that already felt like an aged script in her head.

‘Great. And I’m meeting him Thursday?’

Harri nodded. ‘Yes. Now there’s just one more thing I need to mention. It’s about how we know each other . . .’

When Harri arrived home later that evening she was exhausted. It had taken longer than she’d bargained for to convince Charlotte to adopt the ‘how we know each other’ story she’d hastily concocted on the drive to Lornal. Even now, she wasn’t entirely sure that she could trust the beautiful barrister to stick to the story. Still, at least it was one more thing to tick off the List of Doom, which meant one less thing to demand her attention this week.

She flopped down on the sofa and glared at the piles of letters still claiming squatters’ rights on her coffee table.

Never again. Next time, I’ll say no and buy a new travel book instead, she told herself. That’s more than enough adventure for me, thank you very much.

After grabbing one of her woefully underused Nigella cookbooks and toying with the idea of swanning into the kitchen and rustling up a ‘divine little supper’, she quickly abandoned the idea and called Stone Yardley’s only Chinese takeaway instead.

Twenty minutes later, a knock summoned Harri to her front door. Taking her purse from her bag, she skilfully avoided Ron Howard’s ginger and white striped tail that was unhelpfully laid across her route and opened the door.