The Importance of Being Married (26 page)

“Oh, everyone knows hedge fund managers are really boring,” Marcia interjected.

“Yes, well,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment. Of course they weren’t from Anthony. What had I been thinking? “That’s all very well, but I think I’d better get back to work. So…thank you. For the vase, I mean. I’ll just…I’ll just put them here, I think.” I shifted the vase to the right of my computer screen, blocking my view of Anthony.

“Yeah. Better get back to reception,” Gillie said reluctantly, and she and Marie drifted off, turning to look at the flowers every couple of seconds.

“So, this afternoon,” Anthony said. “We’ll talk then?”

I nodded, then threw him a light smile.

“Great. I’ll, um…catch you then,” he said, and walked back toward his office.

Chapter 18

PROJECT: MARRIAGE DAY 17

To do

1. Keep being generally fabulous.

2. Do best to revive Marcia’s potted plants…

I followed Sean’s advice to the letter and didn’t get a chance to talk to Anthony on Monday afternoon after all. Every time I saw him approaching, I found an excuse to leave my desk. Even when I didn’t manage to escape, our short conversations were invariably interrupted by my phone ringing and I would shoot him an apologetic look before telling “Sean” that I needed time to think.

“Sean” was variously Helen, Ivana, or Sean—apparently they’d decided not to tell me about the flowers because they wanted me to look genuinely surprised and they weren’t convinced by my acting abilities. I wasn’t either. Every time I put down the phone from “Sean,” I looked around nervously, convinced that everyone knew that there was no ex, that the whole thing was a ridiculous fabrication. But I was wrong. Gillie and Marie kept popping over to look at my flowers and Marcia kept shaking her head as though utterly shocked by their very existence; by the end of the day I almost believed in “Sean” myself.

Tuesday morning saw the Milton Advertising companywide meeting, where everyone gathered in the lobby to hear about highlights (new clients), lowlights (lost clients, failed pitches), and housekeeping issues (the decision to replace the two kettles in the kitchen with a wall-mounted water heater was causing a great deal of consternation and debate). I usually used the opportunity of these meetings to take copious notes and to think of at least one insightful question that I would keep coming really close to asking and then would, eventually, not be able to, because it would mean everyone looking at me, because I’d probably stutter, or because when I said it out loud it probably wouldn’t sound that insightful after all. Today, though, I didn’t have any questions prepared. Today I was going to be presenting instead, something that would usually have filled me with excitement, with anxiety, with a whole host of emotions. Instead, I felt strangely detached from the whole thing.

Anthony opened the meeting, with his usual pizzazz and enthusiasm, listing clients won, clients lost, upcoming campaigns. Then Max pitched in to discuss the kettle situation, along with the recent change to pension legislation, which inevitably meant that everyone switched off and started checking their phones for messages. And then it was my turn.

Nervously, I stood up. “I guess, really, I just wanted to say that the Jarvis account, Project Handbag, is a really exciting account for Milton Advertising,” I said, forcing a big smile onto my face. “And one that I think we can really make our mark with. There’s a lot of work to do, but a lot of scope, too. So if anyone has any ideas or suggestions, I’d love to hear them.”

I looked around, wondering if anyone was going to ask something; no one did, so I sat down again.

“Great. Thanks, Jess,” Anthony said. Our eyes met briefly, and I saw his flicker and forced myself to smile again.

“So, next,” Anthony continued, “we’ve had some great news in the creative department in that we’ve been nominated for Best Ad Design in the Advertising Today Awards. The ceremony isn’t for another six months, but I think this is a tremendous achievement that really demonstrates our commitment to being at the forefront of…”

He frowned. “Of…”

Anthony was looking at the back of the lobby, where the doors to the street were. “Sorry,” he said, a quizzical look on his face. “Can I help you?”

Everyone turned around—four men had just walked in through the doors wearing navy-and-white-striped blazers.

“Does a Jessica Wild work here?” one of them asked.

I gulped.

“Yes, she does,” Anthony said. “Do you want to talk to her?”

“Actually, we’re here to sing for her.”

I reddened and stood up. “I’m…I’m Jessica Wild. I’m kind of in a meeting right now, though. Could you possibly come back a bit later?”

The man shook his head. “Would do, but I’m afraid we’re booked up all day today.”

“Well, look, maybe you could just sing later. Over the phone?” I suggested. Everyone was staring at me, and I could feel myself getting hot. I took a deep breath and managed an unconvincing smile.

“We get paid for personal appearances,” the man said, shrugging. “Got to do it properly, otherwise it’ll affect our reputation. It won’t take long, honest.”

“How long?” Anthony asked. People were giggling, and my palms were getting clammy.

“Three minutes, tops.”

“Well all right, then. Bit of entertainment for the troops,” Anthony said. He was grinning, but I could sense that he wasn’t entirely comfortable. That made two of us.

“Right you are. Thanks, mate. Jessica, this comes to you from Sean. Straight from the heart.”

The man hummed a note, then they all started to sing.

“…Dum dum dum Dum

My lovely Jess

Dum dum dum Dum

Oh what a mess

You’ve really got me going with your

To-ing and a fro-ing

Lovely Jess

Dum dum dum Dum

Let me impress

Dum dum dum Dum

Upon you that I love ya

Don’t want to live without ya

Lovely Jess

Dum dum dum Dum

I must confess

Dum dum dum Dum

You’re all I want in my life

I wish you would be my wife

Lovely Je——ee———ss!”

There was an awkward silence for a moment or two. A couple of the creatives started to clap, then a couple of other people whooped, and before I knew it everyone in the company was cheering them. I even heard someone shout, “Encore.” Anthony stared at me uncomprehendingly.

The group’s leader grinned. “Sorry, can’t do encores,” he said, shrugging. “But thanks for listening.” Then he did a little bow, and the four of them trooped out of the office, leaving me staring speechlessly after them.

“Well,” Anthony said, his eyes flickering over to me and then away again, “that was very…entertaining. Does anyone else have any marching bands planning to make an appearance?” His face was smiling, but I could hear the slight irritation in his voice. No one said anything.

“Good,” he said. “Then, as I was saying, the Advertising Today Awards are in six months, and we’ll be taking a table, so watch this space. Which leaves only the kettle situation in the kitchens to resolve. Now, as Max has just explained, the immersion system we’ve introduced is recommended under health and safety rules, and really it should make no difference to the quality of tea that can be made…” He looked over at the door again. “Yes?” he said, sighing. “Can I help you?”

“Delivery for Jessica Wild.” I turned around, along with everyone else, to see a man carrying a vast bouquet of flowers.

“Thank you. Can you just leave them on the reception desk, please?” Anthony said, smiling thinly.

“Needs a signature,” the man said.

Quickly I jumped up and squeezed my way to where the man was standing. He had a huge long floppy fringe covering most of his face. A huge long floppy fringe that I thought I’d seen before. I looked more closely. I had seen it before. It was Sean. He’d actually come to deliver the flowers himself.

“So, back to the immersion heaters. I think if we can give them a proper trial—say, a month or so—we’ll be in a better position to assess…”

“Boyfriend sent you these, did he?” Sean asked, a little grin popping out behind his straggly hair, his voice ringing out loudly into the high ceilings of the lobby.

I nodded, suppressing a giggle. “Ex-boyfriend, actually,” I managed to say.

“Ex? Blimey. Not bad for an ex. Trying to get you back, is he?”

Anthony cleared his throat. “Yes, a month will help us assess the pros and cons. I think that wraps things up for today’s meeting…”

“He is trying,” I said, keeping my voice low.

“And you’re going to take him back, are you?”

He was throwing his voice on purpose, I realized. Anthony might have closed the meeting, but no one was moving.

“I’m…I’m thinking about it,” I said self-consciously.

“He’s a good-looking chap, your ex,” Sean continued, holding out a motorbike shop receipt for me to sign. “If the bloke in the shop was him, that is. Tall bloke. Dark. That the one?”