Page 5 of Never Gonna Happen

The question took Emily by surprise, but her gut instinct was as clear as a bell. ‘I think we might tolerate each other pretty well, actually.’

‘So do I,’ said Mr Hunter, sitting back in his chair and looking triumphant. ‘Now. I have a question for you.’

Uh oh, thought Emily, sensing incoming danger. She smiled and tried to look calm. ‘OK.’

‘I’ve read your CV, and now I’ve met you in person,’ said Mr Hunter, his eyes boring into her like an airport scanner inspecting every item of emotional baggage. ‘And it seems to me that you could have your pick of every professional services business in London – any one of them would snap you up in a heartbeat.’

Emily accepted the compliment nervously, not sure where he was going with this.

‘And yet here you are,’ he said, gesturing vaguely around his office, ‘interviewing for a PA job that wouldn’t even register on your radar unless you had specifically asked the recruitment agency to tell you about jobs that were live-in.’

Here it comes, thought Emily.

‘So my question is,’ said Mr Hunter, making a steeple out of his fingers and tilting his head to one side, ‘why are you really here?’

Emily said nothing for a long moment, organising her thoughts. There was nothing to be gained from not being honest, and everything to lose. She took a deep breath and cleared her throat. ‘I’ve recently come out of a relationship. The person involved works at the place where I used to work, so I really need to work somewhere else.’

‘I see,’ said Mr Hunter, waiting for her to continue.

‘Also my flat burned down in a hair-straightener fire,’ Emily added, hoping that a dramatic comedy twist might lighten the mood, ‘so I don’t have anywhere to live. Pretty much all that survived was this suit.’

‘It’s a very nice suit,’ said Mr Hunter, his mouth twitching as he tried not to smile.

‘Thank you,’ replied Emily, instinctively smoothing down the skirt. ‘I guess a lot has happened in the last few weeks, all of which has led me to look for a new challenge and a fresh start. Somewhere I can focus on my work and my well-being.’

‘Hmm, I can see that.’

Emily decided she’d said enough, so she looked at him expectantly and waited. Mr Hunter tapped his forefinger on his lips, evidently deep in thought.

‘Well, this has been very interesting,’ he said, his face soft and friendly, like they’d just had a very pleasant date. ‘I think I have everything I need. The agency will be in touch.’

Chapter Five

Emily left Charles Hunter’s house in Mayfair with a thousand butterflies in her stomach, wondering if she’d done enough, and if maybe this was the beginning of a huge and exciting opportunity. Everything about the interview had felt right – the job description, the distance from her mess of a life, Mr Hunter himself. There was something about him that she’d really liked; a sense that he wasn’t your usual self-absorbed rich person, that maybe he had his feet in the real world. It was hard to explain, but it had felt like the same kind of connection she’d had when she first met Mark. Not the physical attraction, obviously – more a sense that they got each other without either of them having to say very much.

She swapped her heels for trainers in the street, then walked south towards Green Park, stopping at Starbucks on Berkeley Street for a coffee. She needed to regroup and think about her next steps – the recruitment agency was already hassling her for a response to a job offer from one of the other interviews, but now she wanted to buy herself more time. It was assistant to a South Korean businessman who travelled for a large part of the year, so she’d be based wherever he was, which seemed to be mostly very expensive hotels. The interview had been conducted by his London lawyer, with Mr Lee popping in for the final five minutes to introduce himself. He’d been polite and friendly, but impossible to read in such a short time. She didn’t have the smallest idea if she would enjoy working for him.

The other interview had been at a very expensive boys’ school in Surrey – a combination of PA to the headmaster and general administrative dogsbody. She definitely wasn’t keen on that one, but they hadn’t been in touch yet anyway. Her suspicion was that they wanted someone a lot posher than her, who understood how the public school system worked and could rally the staff and governors with a bit of ra-ra-jolly-hockey-sticks energy. Not her scene at all, never mind living in a crumbling old building with hundreds of feral teenage boys.

She sipped her coffee, wondering how long it would be before Mr Hunter made his decision, and if she could fob off the agency on the job for Mr Lee until then. But he didn’t seem like the kind of man who liked being kept waiting, and the idea of ending up without any of these jobs and going back to the drawing board was not very appealing. Perhaps she should call the agency this afternoon and explain her dilemma. Maybe they could chivvy Mr Hunter along and get a decision early next week.

Her phone buzzed with a WhatsApp message, so she put her cup back on the saucer and scrolled her finger across the screen. To her surprise, it was from Mark.

Can we talk? I’m at my flat.

She stared at the screen for a moment, considering her options. There was nothing on her list today other than getting the tube to Victoria then taking the train back to her parents’ house in Chichester. It was Friday, and she really didn’t fancy spending the weekend in her empty room in Stratford. But ‘I’m at my flat’ was very clear in its intent. It screamed I’m alone in my flat in London, not at home with my wife in Oxford.

Emily gave her head a tiny shake and tapped her reply. I’m in Green Park, best I can do is a phone chat.

There was nothing for a minute, then three dots appeared to show that Mark was writing a message.

Mildreds in Kings Cross in half an hour? Please?

Emily couldn’t help but smile. In sixty seconds he’d checked where was a sensible meeting point on the Victoria Line between Emily in Green Park and his flat in Highbury, and pinpointed a half-decent restaurant within walking distance of the tube. She’d taught him well.

Fine, she replied. If it was a choice between a proper sit-down lunch or an M&S sandwich on the Southern Railway Helltrain, she was willing to spend some time in Mark’s company.

There was no advance booking for tables at Mildreds, but she and Mark arrived early enough to miss the main lunch rush and get a table more or less straight away. Emily had been to the Soho branch a few times with her best friend Kelly after a West End show, but this one was much more airy and spacious. Kelly identified as vegetarian but fell off the chicken wagon on a regular basis. The food at Mildreds was entirely veggie or vegan, and good enough to make you wonder why anyone bothered with meat.