From Pasta to Pigfoot (7 page)

But from the minute she entered the luxurious reception area of YMBJ Ads in Chelsea, Faye had felt distinctly uncomfortable. Dressed in smartly tailored navy trousers and a cream top, teamed with the striking navy and gold Hermès scarf her father had given her the previous Christmas, she knew she looked fine but she still felt out of place. Her uneasiness increased tenfold when the elegant blonde sitting behind the reception desk smiled frigidly at her and gestured back towards the lift from which she had just emerged.

‘The interviews for the facilities department are being held on the ground floor,' she said. ‘You'll need to take the lift back down, I'm afraid.'

Resisting the urge to box the woman's pearl studded ears, Faye had politely but firmly insisted that she was there to interview for the PA vacancy for the Creative Director, standing her ground until the disbelieving receptionist finally phoned through to the Human Resources department. One look at the HR Officer conducting the interviews, a glossy blonde called Petra who spoke with an accent that could have cut a two-inch pane of glass, told Faye that this was not going to end well. Petra seemed slightly taken aback at the sight of the young impeccably dressed black woman waiting for her, but smiled brightly
and gestured for Faye to follow her into her office.

When they were both seated, she continued smiling vaguely in Faye's direction as she offered her coffee, looking slightly relieved when Faye shook her head. Continuing to avoid direct eye contact, Petra rattled through a series of questions, barely waiting for the answer to one question before firing the next one.

After ten minutes, Petra sighed, leant forward and shook her head, her smooth blonde bob bouncing gently in sympathy. Gesturing helplessly with long pale fingers tipped with nails elegantly coated in rose pink varnish, her voice took on an earnest and almost conspiratorial tone.

‘Look, the thing is that Conrad – that's our Creative Director – is
absolutely
insistent that he needs someone with at least two years' experience doing this kind of thing. I'm
positive
I told the agency about that. So, Fern, I'm so sorry but you're not really—'

‘Very suitable,' Faye interrupted her grimly. Fighting back tears, she held her head high and scrambled to her feet, leaving the office without another word. Reluctant to wait out on the street for William, who had offered to meet her and take her out for a celebratory drink, she was forced to sit in the reception area, where she tried to ignore the smug ‘I-told-you-so' expression on the receptionist's face. She sat bolt upright in a very stylish and equally uncomfortable armchair and buried her face in one of the glossy magazines featuring horses, dogs and very large country homes that were scattered carelessly on the glass-topped centre table.

When her brother strode into the reception area twenty
minutes later, she had her revenge. The receptionist, taking in at a glance the tall athletic man with the handsome chocolate features and strong muscles clothed in a beautifully cut dark suit, immediately sat up straighter to emphasise her cleavage and patted her already perfect hair. Smiling invitingly at William, she was just about to ask how she could help him when Faye jumped to her feet and walked quickly towards him.

‘Darling!' The word came out in a seductive husky voice totally unlike the normal tone she adopted with her brother. Before the startled William could say a word, she had flung her arms around his neck and whispered urgently in his ear. ‘Bitch alert!'

Instantly picking up on his sister's signal, William turned to the receptionist, whose smile had now frozen comically on her heavily made-up face.

‘Looks like I've found the one I was looking for,' he said, grinning engagingly at the now sulky blonde, before turning back to Faye. ‘All set, angel? Are you ready to leave?'

Tossing her head, Faye slipped her hand inside his arm and said loudly in the most affected accent she could manage, ‘More than ready, darling. I've had quite enough of this place – it's really
not
very suitable!'

Although the sight of the receptionist's livid face as she stalked out of the office kept Faye laughing long enough to avoid the threat of tears, she had been terrified of any further rejection. To avoid any more traumatising interviews, she signed up with a temp agency and was sent to Fiske, Fiske & Partners to cover for a PA who was
away on maternity leave. After six months, when Karen returned to work, Faye was offered the chance to work with Junior to cover for his secretary, who had left the previous week to travel round the world – or at least as far around it as she could get from her boss. At the end of her two-week holiday, she sent an unapologetic email to say that she would not be coming back, and Faye had needed little persuasion to stay on permanently.

Junior was a dedicated hypochondriac and, once he discovered that Faye's father was a doctor, hardly a week went by without a plea from him for her father's advice about whichever symptom was plaguing him at that particular point in time. Having only accepted the job to prove to her father that she could actually stick at something, Faye had little choice but to put up with him. To her surprise, as time went on, she found herself growing fond of the bumbling solicitor who, despite his quirks, was happy to let her do pretty much as she liked. His father's quiet pleas to the other partners meant that Junior was rarely overburdened with any serious legal work and, consequently, apart from the very occasional moment of stress like this morning, both Faye and her boss usually led a quiet life during office hours.

Now, looking around the so-called sitting room, she felt the familiar feelings of frustration welling up and wondered yet again how she had allowed herself to become so stuck.

Her dead-end job was probably about the only subject that William and Michael agreed on – although, typically, for different reasons. William was appalled that Faye
could spend so much time in such a staid, old-fashioned and unchallenging job while Michael was equally appalled that Faye was supporting ‘a bourgeois legal system that works to oppress the people of colour'.

Waving aside Faye's protests that Fiske, Fiske & Partners were involved in conveyancing and property law and not in civil rights litigation, Michael had cornered poor Junior during the Christmas staff party and lectured him sternly for allowing Faye ‘to collaborate with the system'. While Faye had squirmed in embarrassment, Junior, who had been too busy collaborating with the sherry to understand a word the excitable young man was saying, had smiled politely at him while his eyes roamed around in search of a waiter. After patting Michael on the shoulder several times and muttering, ‘Yes, yes, indeed, my good fellow!' he had finally given up all pretence of listening and headed straight for the bar with as much speed as his heavy form allowed.

Forcing her mind back to the present with another deep sigh, Faye finished her coffee and rinsed out the blue “It's better in the Bahamas” mug that Michael had given her for their first Christmas together. As she turned to leave the room, the door opened and a small middle-aged lady entered. The only other “person of colour”, as Faye laughingly described her, at the firm, Miss Mildred T. Campbell had worked at Fiske, Fiske & Partners for almost twenty years. Until his retirement, she had been the senior Mr Fiske's private secretary and, although she now worked for one of the other Partners, she still carried herself with the same majesty she had acquired in her former role.
Such was the awe she inspired among the staff that she was only ever referred to as “Miss Campbell” and it had been nearly three months before Faye had discovered that her first name was Mildred.

‘Oh, Faye, there you are!' Miss Campbell exclaimed. ‘Junior Mr Fiske is looking for you.'

Guiltily aware that her fifteen-minute tea break had stretched to nearer thirty, Faye moved quickly towards the door but was soon stopped by Miss Campbell's genteel voice.

‘Actually, he asked me to let you know that he was on his way out to see a client and should be back in an hour or two.' Miss Campbell walked towards the coffee machine. Aware of the younger girl now hovering awkwardly in the doorway, she added cheerfully.

‘Since your boss won't be back for some time, dear, why don't you keep me company while I have my coffee.'

Faye perched on the edge of the faded chintz sofa that took up one side of the room and watched Miss Campbell's precise movements as she made herself a cup of extremely sweet coffee and selected several biscuits from the biscuit tin in the cupboard.

Barely five feet tall with dark skin whose smoothness was only now beginning to show signs of the encroaching years, Miss Campbell reminded Faye of a neat little mouse. Her clothes were all of the same style – a simple A-line wool skirt reaching just below the knee, a pale blouse that tied at the neck in a loose bow and a soft cardigan that matched the colour of the skirt. In the summer the wool skirt was exchanged for one in brushed cotton, while the
cashmere cardigan was replaced by lacy cotton.

Settling herself on the sofa beside Faye, Miss Campbell placed her coffee and the saucer of biscuits carefully on the glass coffee table and turned to Faye.

‘So, how have you been, my dear?' She peered at Faye through the small gold-rimmed bifocals she always wore. Miss Campbell's voice still held more than a trace of her native Jamaican accent, although the years spent working with upper middle class English lawyers had added a clipped precision to her words.

Despite the age gap, a warm friendship had developed between the two women since Faye had come to work at Fiske, Fiske & Partners. Miss Campbell tended to keep to herself and had precious little time for the other secretaries in the company.

‘No sense of decorum, my dear,' she would say to Faye, tutting in distaste. ‘Most especially the younger ladies – just look at those short skirts and showy necklines. As my mother used to say, “A woman who shows her geography tells her history!”'

Rarely exchanging more than a nod with the younger admin staff, Miss Campbell had been nevertheless charmed by the tall, slightly gawky Faye with her compulsive good manners and ready smile. Having worked for his father for many years, Miss Campbell knew only too well the poor opinion the older Mr Fiske had of his son. But she had always had a soft spot for the clumsy younger lawyer whom she had known since his school days. Seeing how kindly Faye handled him had brought her up in Miss Campbell's estimation.

Faye watched the older lady cautiously sip her sweet coffee.

‘I'm very well, thank you, Miss Campbell,' she said, suppressing a smile at the look of sheer bliss on the older woman's face as she took a sip of the syrupy warm drink. ‘Are you having a busy day?' she added politely.

‘Oh not too bad, you know. These days the work is nowhere near as busy as it was in Senior Mr Fiske's day. And what about you? Although I probably don't need to ask if you're busy,' she chuckled. ‘How are things with that young man of yours?' she added with a conspiratorial smile, taking a delicate bite of her biscuit.

Miss Campbell had also met Michael at the staff party and while, in her private opinion, she'd thought him to be an ill-mannered and extremely self-centred man, she had treated him with the same formal courtesy she extended to everyone.

‘He's fine, thanks.' Faye answered automatically. Glancing across at the placid figure seated next to her, she asked impulsively, ‘What made you decide to come to England, Miss Campbell?'

Startled by the suddenness of the question, Miss Campbell choked slightly on the coffee she had been swallowing. Turning to look at Faye, she asked curiously, ‘Why on earth would you be interested in the details of my unexciting life?' The gentle smile robbed the words of any sting.

‘It's just that I had a cultural clash, for want of a better word, with a friend of Michael's at the weekend and now I can't stop thinking about what he said to me,' she admitted with a sigh.

She narrated the events of the previous weekend to Miss Campbell, who listened intently and without interruption. By the time Faye had ground to a halt, the older lady had finished her last biscuit and was sipping the dregs of her coffee.

‘So he said you were culturally disconnected,' Miss Campbell summarised in her slightly clipped tones. ‘But, even if you choose to believe him, what does that have to do with my coming to this country?'

‘Well, I suppose I'm just curious about why you chose to leave Jamaica,' Faye said. ‘I came to England because my father brought me here as a child. But you once mentioned that you were a grown woman when you emigrated from your country.'

The older woman nodded slowly and settled back as best as she could on the overstuffed sofa. ‘You're quite right, Faye,' she said with a small smile. ‘I was a grown woman when I came here. So you want to know why I left?'

She paused thoughtfully and her eyes were unfocused as her gaze wandered over the slightly tatty striped paper covering the walls of the small room. In a low voice and with her Jamaican accent suddenly more marked, she continued.

‘Well, I was born and raised in Kingston, as I may have told you. My family had a very successful small business in town – they printed stationery and business cards and sold all kinds of office equipment. My mother would work out front in the shop while my father spent most of his time in the printing shed at the back. Now, Mummy was a woman who just loved people and loved to trade gossip.
She must have known half the town. From the salesmen who came to have cards made up with big titles to impress their clients, to the buyers for the big companies who came to order their office stationery. They always knew that at our shop they could get good prices as well as a fresh cup of coffee and some juicy tidbit of gossip!

‘My sister Millicent – we are twins, you know – and I would help Mummy out in the shop whenever we were on holiday from school. And when we finished school, we both came to work full time at the business. We got used to seeing many of the successful people in town and, it's fair to say, we also knew more than our fair share about the goings-on in Kingston society!'