The Chic Boutique On Baker Street. Rachel Dove

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СКАЧАТЬ said goodbye and the line clicked off. Passing the newsagent stand, Amanda’s eye was distracted from her fast walk to the office when she spied the latest craft magazines on the stands. Striding up, she smiled at the stallholder, then picked up half a dozen of her coveted magazines and passed the armful to him.

      ‘Wrap them up please, Terry,’ she said, handing over the cash.

      ‘I know, I know, can’t have those fancy lawyers knowing about your secret knitting habit, eh?’ he teased, as he wrapped up the magazines in brown paper and then sheathed them into a large carrier bag.

      Amanda laughed. ‘Something like that, Terry.’

      Moments later, she entered her office on the fourth floor, coffee still warm in her hand, fired up her computer and walked over to her filing cabinet. Opening the bottom drawer with a small key from her bag, she stashed the package of magazines inside, relocked the cabinet and double-checked it was locked. Relieved to have once again smuggled them in undetected, she walked across the plush grey carpet, her tiny stiletto heels leaving small dents in the thick floor covering. At the large low window, she reached across with a manicured hand and drew back the fabric blinds, letting the early morning London sun dance across her workspace. Amanda loved her office, with its stark white walls, huge cherry-red desk and a small seating area, complete with table and elegant carved chairs. Although the decor was a little too bland for her personal tastes, it was perfect for meeting clients in comfort. She preferred to work this way, rather than using the impersonal and imposing meeting rooms on the first floor. In fact, other than being in court, Amanda would be quite happy to spend all of her working hours in her office. She liked the logical side of the law, seeing through a project from start to finish, undertaking each stage, piece by piece, layering the work needed to be done in neat piles, all in colour-coded trays on top of the large mahogany surface she slaved at. The cut-throat side of the business always left her cold. She was tough, and fierce in the courtroom, but she had no passion for it. She always felt like her mother when she turned on the ball-breaker side of herself, and her grandma’s voice would ring in her head: You are not like them, my little duck, their world is not for you. She still wondered from time to time whether her grandmother was right. There must be more to life than feeling the need to conceal half of your personality every day. Did anyone know the real her? Didn’t anyone notice how conflicted she was? She sighed to herself. They don’t know, because you don’t show them. She knew what they thought of her.

      Amanda was well liked in the office; in fact she was pretty much considered a maverick in the law firm of Stokes Partners at Law. She was a shark; an organised, keen-eyed, methodical-minded shark and her billable hours were always stellar, month on month. Even when she had been knocked down with the flu, she had worked from her couch, sending in dictation via email to her disbelieving PA Elaine.

      The partners were considering a new addition to the partnership in the next few months, as Mr Ford, one of the oldest and most senior members of the firm, was retiring, much to his neglected (and at the moment, very insistent) wife’s delight.

      Amanda, as oblivious as she was to such things as office gossip and the buzz around the water cooler, was the clear front-runner, and tipped to be the first ever female partner at the firm. The other contenders were few and far between, and it was widely accepted that the partnership spot was between Amanda and Marcus Beresford, a guy with more years at the firm under his designer belt.

      Amanda wasn’t even sure how she felt about the partnership. After all, what was the point of more money if you never left the office to spend it? And who would she spend it with? Other than her work colleagues, she didn’t even speak to anyone, let alone socialise. Last Saturday night, whilst her colleagues were all with their families, or knocking back overpriced drinks in loud sweaty clubs, she had been sat in her flat, knocking back wine, flicking through Plenty of Fish for a possible date and screening calls from her parents, both eager to give her pep talks about ‘the last push for partner’. Her mother had even taken to sending her daily emails, suggesting ways of clinching the partnership, whilst simultaneously disparaging her for not cutting her hair short or returning their calls.

      As though summoned by Amanda’s mind, Elaine buzzed through.

      ‘Miss Perry, I have your mother on line one.’

      Amanda rolled her eyes, groaning.

      ‘Tell her I am in a meeting please, Elaine.’

      ‘Er …’ Elaine’s hesistant voice came through the speaker. ‘I have told her that excuse the last five times, and she says if you don’t speak to her now, she will come to the office.’

      Amanda grimaced. ‘Well played, Mother,’ she said under her breath. ‘Fine, put her through please, and hold my calls.’ She knew this would take a while, like root canal treatment and about as pleasant.

      ‘Hello, Mother,’ she sighed into the line.

      ‘Hello, darling, meeting go well?’ She didn’t wait for an answer, knowing full well there was no meeting. ‘Did you get my email this morning, with the picture?’ Amanda fired up her email, putting the phone receiver between her cheek and shoulder.

      ‘Do you see it?’ her mother pestered.

      ‘Yes,’ Amanda said, looking at the woman clad in an astronaut suit, minus a helmet, that now filled her email screen. ‘I like my hair though,’ she said, running her fingers through the ends of her hair as though to comfort the strands under threat.

      ‘No, no, it’s too girly, too feminine. Think Anne Hathaway in Interstellar, elfin like, efficient. Would save you valuable billable time too, dear. How much money must you lose every month just by straightening that mop of yours?’

      ‘Well, if I stopped going to that overpriced muscle gym you made me sign up to, I would save even more,’ she retorted like a sulky teen being made to take French for her options against her will.

      ‘The gym is not a waste of time, it’s an investment. Trust me, when you get to my age, you will be thanking me for making you exercise. Now, have they made an announcement about the partnership yet? My sources tell me it is due any time. Kimberley is threatening divorce if he doesn’t step down soon,’ her mother declared, referring to Mr Ford’s wife. Sometimes, it felt like Amanda was still at school, getting regular reports from her teachers and having to sit through parents’ evenings with her mother and father barraging her poor subject teachers on every aspect of her education. She half expected her mother to check her homework too. Amanda deleted the email and short hair Hathaway disappeared from the screen.

      ‘Look, Mum, I have to go, I am busy,’ she said, bringing up her schedule on the screen.

      ‘That’s fine, Amanda dear, go get some work done, get this partnership nailed down. Think about the hair, OK?’

      Amanda strangled the receiver a little between her fingers, before putting it back to her ear. Marcus sidled into the room and she pointed a finger at him to stay silent. The fact that she was sleeping with her colleague and partnership rival was something for another day. Like the twelfth of never.

      ‘I have thought about it, and the answer is still no. Bye.’

      Celine Perry let out an elaborate sigh designed to guilt trip her spawn, and hung on the line, her disapproval making the phone lines jangle. Amanda put down the receiver like a woman handling a live grenade, staring at it ticking away in its cradle. Marcus cleared his throat, and she jumped at the noise, turning her gaze to her visitor, her demeanour tightening further.

      ‘Marcus, СКАЧАТЬ