False Advertising (28 page)

A light tap sounded on the door. ‘Is everything all right?'

‘Yes,' she said curtly. ‘I'll be right out.' Helen stood up on one leg and hopped to the basin. She turned on the tap and splashed a little water on her face. There was a stack of cotton handtowels on a shelf to her right, and she took one, dabbing her face and hands dry before tossing it into a wicker basket under the bench. What a ludicrous waste of resources. Fair enough, at least he wasn't using paper, but who washed his precious handtowels? And pressed and folded them and put them back on the shelf? That kind of conspicuous opulence sickened Helen. It was just as well she wouldn't be working here. She wouldn't have been able to stomach it.

When Helen opened the door a moment later, the MD was standing with his hands in his pockets, looking out through the wall of glass across the city. He came to attention when she appeared, taking a few tentative steps towards her.

‘Are you okay?' he asked, doing a pretty good job of sounding sincere. ‘Were you sick?'

‘No, it passed,' Helen said gruffly. ‘Where are my things? Please.'

‘Um, well, they're right over here,' he said, crossing to a sitting area on the other side of the office.

Helen followed, half hopping, half hobbling, towards a long, low, brown suede couch, the kind she'd seen in ads for European furniture that cost about the same as a small Korean car. It was flanked by two matching armchairs that sat like sentinels either end of an enormous glass and steel coffee table. Helen had only ever seen offices like this in the movies, where they were inhabited by business barons played by Alec Baldwin or Andy Garcia. She hadn't thought they existed in the real world.

Helen spotted her bag and folder on one of the armchairs, her shoes placed neatly together on the floor. On the coffee table was a tray with a jug of water and a glass, as well as a small bottle of soda water, and an ice bucket with what looked like a tea towel draped over its side.

‘I thought you might need a glass of water,' he was saying. ‘I didn't know if you'd prefer soda water if your stomach's upset. But I can get you some tea, whatever . . .'

Helen looked at him, frowning. ‘Thank you, but I'm leaving now.'

‘You can't,' he said. ‘What about the interview?'

‘You've got to be kidding me.'

‘No, I'm not,' he said seriously.

‘I think I'll pass all the same,' she said. ‘I've had enough humiliation for one day.'

‘Helen, stop,' he said. ‘You need to get off that ankle for a while. I've got some ice here.' He gathered together the ends of the tea towel and lifted it out of the ice bucket.

‘This is ridiculous,' she muttered.

‘No, it's actually the sensible thing to do.'

‘And I will do it, when I get home.'

‘How are you going to make it home on that ankle?'

‘That's not your problem.'

‘It is, in fact. You injured yourself on the premises. I want to make sure you're okay before you leave.'

‘I'm not going to sue you if that's what you're worried about.'

‘No, I'm worried about you,' he said loudly. Helen blinked. He took a breath. ‘Are you always this stubborn?'

‘I'm not stubborn,' she protested. ‘I'm never stubborn. No one's ever called me stubborn in my life.'

‘Then prove it.'

The fact was, her ankle was killing her. The pressure was building painfully, it felt like it was about to burst. She had to get it elevated.

‘Fine, if you insist.' She limped around the coffee table and sat down on the couch.

‘Put your foot up here.' He patted the seat further along.

Helen raised her leg and swung it around to rest on the
couch. He gently lifted her foot and propped a loose cushion underneath, then arranged the makeshift ice pack over the site of the swelling. ‘Does that feel about right?'

She nodded. The relief was immediate, the pain recoiling at once on contact with the ice.

‘Now, would you like plain water or soda?'

‘Nothing, thanks,' she mumbled.

He shook his head and poured water into the glass anyway, before pulling the coffee table over closer so she could reach it. Then he sat back in an armchair, shifting it slightly so that he was facing her directly.

‘There's no need to nursemaid me,' Helen said irritably. ‘You can go back to your work. I won't make a sound, and I'll be out of your way in ten minutes. Fifteen, tops.'

‘We might as well do the interview while you're sitting there.'

She glared at him. ‘Why are you doing this? Haven't you had enough fun at my expense yet?'

He was clearly bewildered. ‘I didn't find what happened to you funny, Helen, and I don't know what I did to give you that impression. I was only trying to help.'

He looked almost wounded. Helen felt bad: of course he'd helped her, she'd thought he was lovely till she'd realised he'd hoodwinked her.

‘Look, I am grateful, you were very kind, but . . .'

‘But what?'

‘You lied to me. You took advantage of the situation to get me to tell you things I never would have said if I'd known who you were. And you knew that.'

He nodded. ‘Okay, I can understand how you might see it that way. But I didn't mean to take advantage, and I won't use anything you said against you.'

‘Or Gemma? The things I told you that she said –'

‘You don't think I'm aware that the staff say negative things about me behind my back? When you're in my position it's par for the course. I've whinged about bosses behind their backs, everybody does. People say things all the time they never expect to get back to the person. My ego is not so great that I'd penalise someone for it.'

Helen considered him, still guarded. ‘So you're not going to sack Gemma?'

‘Of course not.'

She wasn't convinced.

‘I told you that anything you said would stay in the garage,' he said, placing a hand to his heart as he had earlier. ‘You have my word.'

‘I don't know if your word is worth all that much,' Helen countered. ‘You lied to me. You should have told me who you were.'

‘I didn't know who
you
were till I was crouched on the floor at your feet,' he reminded her. ‘Tell me how you would have handled it if I'd suddenly said, “Oh, hey, I'm the MD, by the way. I'll be doing your interview today.”'

Helen imagined the scene. She probably would have thrown up all over him.

‘You were shaken, and hurt,' he went on. ‘I wasn't going to make it any worse for you.'

‘Then you shouldn't have grilled me for information afterwards.'

‘I didn't grill you –'

She looked at him dubiously. ‘Come on, “Get it off your chest,”' she mimicked. ‘“You'll feel better.”'

He sighed, sitting forward in his chair as he clasped his hands together. He met her eyes directly. ‘Let me explain something to you, Helen. Ever since I started here, people have been lying to me, left, right and every place in between, keeping things from me, picking and choosing what they tell me. Gemma's a prime offender. I don't know if there's anyone I can trust around here. At best they just tell me what they think I want to hear, which isn't any good to me either. As soon as people know who I am, straightaway they start treating me differently. You don't know what that's like, Helen.'

Oh yes she did. She knew exactly what that was like.

‘So I admit, I enjoyed being incognito for a while, hearing what you really had to say, instead of answers you were probably coached to say.'

How did he know that?

‘But I wasn't lying in wait to snare you, Helen. Call it coincidence, or call it fate, but I think it just may have given us a
golden opportunity to have an honest working relationship,' he said. ‘And I can't tell you how invaluable that would be to me right now.'

Helen regarded him curiously. ‘Despite the fact that you know I detest advertising?'

He shrugged. ‘Well, you know what they say – “Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.” Not that I consider you an enemy,' he added quickly. ‘But I think you might bring an interesting perspective to the job. That's if you'll consider taking it.'

Helen's head was spinning. This was all getting a bit much. This whole scenario was nothing like she'd expected. The MD was far from being a pig, and he certainly wasn't coming across as some kind of evil captain of industry. Sure, the office was over the top, but Helen was beginning to feel rather naïve, and very unworldly.

He was watching her closely. ‘Do you need some time to think about it, Helen?'

She nodded. ‘Maybe, yes.'

‘Why don't you sleep on it over the weekend? See how you feel then.'

‘Thanks . . .' Helen realised she still didn't know his name. ‘I don't know what I'm supposed to call you,' she said tentatively.

‘Everyone around here calls me MD.'

She hesitated. ‘You meant it when you said you wanted me to be honest?'

He nodded. ‘Absolutely.'

‘Well, truth is, I'd feel a bit silly calling you MD.'

He sighed with obvious relief. ‘Good, because I feel pretty silly being called MD. I promise you it wasn't my idea. Makes me feel like a position, not a person. Somehow I think that's the way they like it.' He stood up and held his hand out to her. ‘Myles Davenport, but please call me Myles. It would be a welcome change to have someone around here call me by my name.'

Helen shook his hand a little shyly. ‘Okay, Myles.'

He smiled. ‘Good.' He released her hand and walked over to the main door, opening it. ‘Gemma, could you come in here, please?' He waited by the door till she walked through. She looked surprised when she saw Helen reclining on the couch.

‘Are you all right, Helen?'

Helen was nodding, but the MD answered the question for her.

‘She's probably sprained her ankle. She won't be able to get home on her own, so I'd like you to go with her, please. Take a taxi voucher.'

‘My car's down in the garage,' Helen piped up.

‘Oh, fine then. Can you drive her car?' he asked Gemma.

‘Can I?' Gemma asked Helen in turn.

‘Sure, thanks, if you don't mind.'

Gemma turned back to look at the MD. ‘So, will I come back to work afterwards?'

He was shaking his head. ‘No, take the afternoon off. Besides, I guess you'll need someone to pick up your little boy later, Helen?'

‘How do you know I have a little boy?'

Gemma flinched, but the MD didn't miss a beat.

‘Gemma told me,' he said, matter-of-factly. ‘You're available to work the days he's at preschool, right?'

Helen nodded. ‘Right.'

Gemma could only assume the interview had gone well, but she'd like some confirmation. She caught Helen's eye, gesticulating wildly using only the features on her face, which was not an easy thing to do.

‘Gemma,' the MD interrupted, watching her, ‘in case you're wondering, I've offered Helen the job, and she's going to think about it over the weekend.' He was at the end of the couch now, carefully lifting the ice pack off Helen's ankle. ‘How does that feel?'

‘A lot better,' she said. ‘Thanks, Myles.'

What did she just call him? Gemma felt as if she were on that TV show where the actor walks through the door and has no idea of the scenario on the other side, or the role they have to play. She'd suddenly become driver to the Queen of Sheba who was on a first name basis with the MD. It was bizarre.

Helen was gingerly getting to her feet, with the attentive assistance of the MD.

‘Grab her bag and things there, will you, Gemma?' he ordered. ‘You're not putting those shoes back on, okay, Helen?'

‘Okay,' she relented with a sheepish smile.

And getting more bizarre by the minute. Gemma bent down to pick up the shoes, while the MD walked Helen across to the door.

‘Have a good weekend, both of you,' he added as Gemma joined them. ‘I'll talk to you soon, Helen. It was good meeting you.'

‘You too, Myles,' said Helen.

‘Support her arm,' he instructed Gemma. ‘Don't let her take too much weight on that foot. And keep the ice on it when you get home.'

Gemma led her away, waiting till they were out of earshot. ‘What the hell was all that about?'

‘What do you mean?' asked Helen guilelessly.

‘Did you give him a blow-job in there or something?'

‘Gemma!'

‘Sorry, I've just never seen him act like that before.'

‘I think you might have the wrong impression of him,' said Helen. ‘He's really a very nice man.'

Gemma was waiting for the hooter to go off and Shane Bourne to pop out of a doorway.

‘I've been working for him for months and you meet him for ten minutes –'

‘No, listen to me,' said Helen. ‘He was the nice guy from admin down in the basement.'

‘What?'

‘Myles, he was the –'

‘Why do you keep calling him that?' Gemma interrupted.

‘What?'

‘Myles.'

‘Because that's his name.'

‘But no one calls him that.'

‘Yes, and he doesn't like it,' Helen retorted. ‘Amazing what you can learn in ten minutes.'

‘Now you're going to get smug?' said Gemma. ‘And what do you mean, he was the guy in the basement?'

‘When I fell, he was the lovely man I told you about, who helped me.'

‘But you said he was from admin?'

‘That's what he told me, because he didn't want to embarrass or startle me after my fall. Mind you, it threw me when I first walked into his office and realised it was him. I thought he was playing some kind of trick on me. But we sorted it out.'