Who's That Girl (35 page)

'So what do you think?' he says, as he stops outside Oliver's granddad's antique shop and flings his arms out wide in a sort of
ta-dah
motion.

I think I'm going to be sick.

Right here and now on the pavement.

Desperately I muster composure from somewhere. 'Um, it's great,' I manage to stammer.

'Just great?' His face drops with disappointment. Obviously that's not enough enthusiasm for someone like Larry Goldstein.

'No, I mean brilliant,' I gush, mirroring his own celluloid smile. '
Awesome
,' I add, with extra emphasis.

He finally looks satisfied. 'I knew you'd approve.' He beams, running his fingers carefully through his ice-grey hair. 'Just imagine' - he does this sort of rainbow gesture in the air - 'Star Smile.'

Dismay stabs. He's going to replace that lovely old sign with his tacky logo.

'Shall we go in?'

'Excuse me?' I'm still reeling with horror at the thought that I'm responsible for Oliver's granddad losing his beloved shop, which he's been in for sixty years. I'm still trying to register that, and trust me, that's bad enough,
but now I've got to go inside
?

I get a flashback of Oliver's granddad giving me a whiskery kiss on both cheeks. Oh my God, I can't. I just can't do it.

'Charlene?'

I look at Larry Goldstein and at that moment I know this is it. My career's on the line. Either I go into that shop and get behind this or I can kiss goodbye to my account with Larry Goldstein. And with it my chance of international expansion.

I can see the headlines now, hear the gossip amongst rival PR companies who won't have any scruples about jumping in on this. It will be seen as a huge career mistake. Career suicide, probably. And for what? A rival firm will take over and the deal will still go ahead. Oliver's granddad will still lose his shop. With or without me.

And I can choose to leave here. With or without a career.

I pause. This is what I've been working towards for years, and I only met Oliver's granddad on Saturday. It's business, remember? Personal feelings don't come into it.

'Sorry.' I smile professionally and throw back my shoulders. 'I was just letting the anticipation build before I went in.'

Now he's pushing open the door and I'm following him inside. And as I step over the threshold, it's like crossing a line. I've made the choice. But the most frightening thing of all is the sudden realisation that Larry Goldstein was right: I am a lot like him after all.

Already waiting for us in the shop is one of Star Smile's design team and I spend the next few minutes trying to hide from Oliver's granddad by skulking behind Larry Goldstein, who's stalking around the shop as if he owns it. Which I suppose he does.

'So we're going to rip out those windows and replace them with a big sheet of top-spec glass…'

the design-team guy is saying now.

I glance with indignation at the windows. They're the most delightful old bow windows. They've been here for years and add character to the place. They can't rip them out - it would be a travesty.

'… And we'll have plasma screens, and concrete floors…'

As he continues talking, I feel a rush of protectiveness. It's all very trendy, and
über-
cool, and I know it will look amazing, but not here. Not in this shop.

'… We'll pull down that old bookcase and totally renovate so that we create a loft-like space, all open-plan…'

Out of the corner of my eye I can see Oliver's granddad listening from the back of the shop. With my hair tied up and still wearing my sunglasses, I look different enough from the girl he met on Saturday that he hasn't recognised me, though I've already been here fifteen minutes. Thank goodness, I reflect, glancing at his face, which looks pinched, and feeling a stab of shame to be part of all this.

'Totally,' nods Larry Goldstein. 'Though at the moment it's hard to imagine. I mean, this place just feels cramped, dark, cluttered…'

He's talking as if Oliver's granddad isn't even here. Doesn't he realise how insulting he's being? I think protectively. He's been here sixty years. He loves this shop. It must be like having your heart torn out.

'And yeah, you're so right, those bookcases are just an eyesore.'

'Those bookcases date back to the turn of the twentieth century,' Oliver's granddad finally says.

'Really?' Larry Goldstein looks unimpressed. 'Well, then, it's time for a facelift, isn't it?' He laughs. 'Get into the new century. Actually, I was thinking acrylic floating shelves that you can suspend from the ceiling.' He turns back to the design guy as if Oliver's grandfather isn't important at all.

I glance at Oliver's granddad. His bright green eyes are flicking over Larry Goldstein, taking him in, weighing him up.

Meanwhile I'm loitering in the back, trying to keep my head down.

'So what do you think…'

Please God, don't let him say my name, don't let him say ray name.

'… Charlene?'

For the first time I'm relieved he's got my name wrong. There is a God.

'Um…yeah… great.' I nod vaguely, trying to hide behind a large grandfather clock.

'No other suggestions? About decor? Colour? Design?' Larry looks at me, waiting for my input. I swallow hard. 'Well, obviously I'm brimming with ideas about this place. It's a total blank canvas,' I begin in my best PR spin, 'and I think we're all looking at creating something clean, modern and totally organic' - I glance quickly at Oliver's granddad, who's now looking at me suspiciously - 'but naturally your design team will have all the ideas, as they're the experts in this field,' I finish quickly.

Shit, I've got to get out.

'Excuse me, miss.' Oliver's granddad motions towards me.

I try to ignore him, but it's impossible. 'Um, yes?' I say, dipping my head as I turn to him.

'Do I know you from somewhere? Your face seems familiar.'

'No, definitely not,' I say hastily. 'One hundred per cent. Nope. Never been in here before.' I realise I'm blabbering, 'But anyway, I think I just want to pop outside, have a look at the frontage again.' I lunge for the door. It's stuck, but after struggling with it for a few moments, I manage to yank it open. 'I'll see you outside, Larry,' I say quickly, and letting the door swing closed behind me, I stumble outside on to the pavement.

Chapter Thirty-three

Afterwards the design guy shoots off in his Mini Cooper and Larry joins me outside to wait for a cab to take him back to his hotel. He offers to drop me at my car, but I make an excuse and tell him I need the exercise - all two hundred yards of it - and I'll walk back.

'Good girl, firm up those glutes,' he says approvingly as he pats me on the bottom. I flinch. But it's done in that jokey, all-in-good-humour kind of way, so I know I can't say anything, otherwise
I'll
be the one who looks bad.

'So I'll put those finishing touches to the presentation this afternoon,' I say briskly in my most professional voice. 'I've still to finalise one or two things, but then we're all set for the launch tomorrow.'

'Awesome.' He smiles broadly.

'Unless of course there's anything else you'd like to add?'

'Only that it's been incredible working with you on this,' he says, and fixes me with those piercingly blue eyes. I'm sure he's wearing contact lenses. Nobody's eyes can be that blue. I take a step backwards. 'Er, great, thanks. You too,' I add, hastily returning the compliment.

'Let's hope this is just the beginning of things.' His gaze is still fixed on me. In fact he's not even blinking, I notice, feeling a little unnerved. 'You know, you and I could go a long way together. A long way,' he repeats quietly.

I don't know if it's because he's looking at me so intensely as he says it, or just the
way
he says it, but I get a sense of unease that makes the hairs on my arms stand up and my body stiffen.

'Oh, look, there's a taxi,' I cry, changing the subject. Hinging out my arm, I start waving furiously. It's going in the other direction, but it immediately performs a U-turn and deftly pulls up alongside the kerb. I feel a beat of relief.

'Um, thanks,' says Larry Goldstein, giving me a peculiar look.

'No problem. It's all part of the service,' I quip, slightly breathless.

'Service? Are you sure you don't want that
ride
?' Pulling open the door, Larry Goldstein looks at me, his carefully groomed eyebrows raised questioningly.

'No, I'm fine, thanks.'

'OK, well, we'll speak tomorrow, before the press launch.' Jumping in the cab, he slams the door behind him, then pulls down the window. 'I'm looking forward to it.'

I feel another stab of apprehension, but I ignore it. I always get really anxious before a press launch, especially one done on such short notice. It's totally normal.

'Yes, me too.' I smile brightly, and as the cab pulls away, I hitch my bag over my shoulder, grip my briefcase and stride out energetically on my power walk.

Which lasts about five seconds.

As soon as the cab disappears round the corner, I drop my bag and briefcase on the ground and flop on to a nearby bench. Resting my elbows on my knees, I bury my face in my hands and exhale deeply. It's, as if I can literally feel the stress coming out of my pores, oozing all over this bench and trickling on to the pavement in one great big sticky, gloopy, stressful puddle. Right now I should be me happiest girl in the world. My newest, biggest client loves me, we've found the perfect location for the first UK Star Smile clinic, and the press launch is less than a day away. It can't fail. It's going to be a resounding success. This is going to propel my career into a whole new stratosphere. I'll get my picture in all the trade mags. The business will get tons of publicity, more clients. And then there's Larry Goldstein's talk of Merryweather PR taking on his contract full-time, not just in the UK, but globally. We'll have to expand, take on new staff, get more offices… God, it's everything I've dreamed of.

Except…

Oliver.

My mind flashes back to Saturday afternoon. Walking through the park with him and Welly. Laughing as he threw sticks and had to fetch them himself. Chatting about anything and everything. Drinking tea and eating shortbread fingers with his granddad.
His granddad.

I feel my heart plummet. I can't do it. I can't take away his shop, his livelihood, his life. I recall his words: 'I met my late wife, Betty, here. She came in to buy a china teapot… Antiques are in my blood, and look at me, I'm a bit of an antique myself now.'

But then again, he was probably going to retire soon anyway, I tell myself comfortingly. I mean, he must be over eighty. I'm sure Oliver will understand. Though it's doubtful I'll ever be able to face him again, anyway, or his granddad, I think sadly.

'Beautiful day we're having, isn't it?'

A voice snaps me back and I turn round to see an old woman sitting along from me at the other end of the bench. Resting her swollen ankles, her wrinkled face tilted to the sky, she's like a white-haired cat basking in the sunshine.

If she was there earlier, I didn't notice her, but then it could have been snowing and I probably wouldn't have noticed.

'If you say so,' I manage glumly.

Turning her head sideways, she looks at me. 'Let me guess. It's a man.'

'Excuse me?'

'That sigh. It nearly knocked me over.' She smiles, raising her eyebrows. Honestly. Why does everyone think a woman's woes are always to do with a man? 'No, not at all,' I say, a little indignantly. 'I've got a problem at work.'

'I see.' She nods, but something in the way she looks at me tells me she doesn't believe a word of it.

'Well, actually, it's not a problem as such,' I add. 'The client's really happy with everything, it's just…'

'
You're
not really happy,' she prompts.

I glance at her. She says that so authoritatively it's almost as if she knows exactly how I'm feeling, but of course she can't possibly know. She's an old lady, with snow-white hair, a thick winter coat even though it's summer and a walking stick, I muse, looking at her hand wrapped round it and noticing the sunlight catching her pretty emerald ring, shaped like a flower, next to her gold wedding band. She must be about eighty. What can she know about my life, or how it feels to be me?

'Well, it's not as simple as that,' I try to explain. 'You see, there are other people involved - Oliver and his granddad. And I'm the reason his granddad is going to lose his shop.' It's like now I've started I can't stop and it all comes spilling out. 'Which means Oliver is probably going to hate me, like he no doubt did ten years ago when I ignored him.' For a brief moment I jump back to the moment when I tried to introduce Lottie to him, how she wasn't paying attention, how the whole time her entire head was filled with thoughts of Billy Romani.

'But that's not really my fault, because back then I didn't notice the nice guys. In fact it's only because a few days ago I went to my birthday party from ten years ago, and I was in my thirties, that I met him again, when he was in his twenties, and I got a second chance.' An image of Oily behind the bar in that tight T-shirt releases a butterfly in my stomach. 'And then of course when I found out he was the barman at the gastropub…' Suddenly I realise I've got completely carried away. I stop talking.

At the other end of the bench, the old lady is regarding me with a slightly bemused expression.

'Like I said, it's complicated.' I shrug defeatedly.

But she just smiles and, leaning across, pats my arm reassuringly. 'Life isn't complicated. It's very simple, really. It's us who make it complicated.'

I decide not to go back to the office. I just can't face it. Instead I make a quick call to Beatrice to let her know I'll be working from home for the rest of the afternoon and drive back to my flat. Still, at this rate, at least things can't get any worse, I console myself, as I sit in traffic along Holland Park Avenue staring at the parking ticket stuffed underneath my wipers. The shrill ring of my mobile causes me to hold that thought as I click on my Bluetooth earpiece.