manufacturers etc., whether they wanted leather walls,
floors, desks, tables, chairs, rugs, sofas, beds or steering wheels. Simon, on the other hand, dealt with the less sexy accounts, invoices, sourcing and production functions.
She, by comparison, was called the Press and Marketing Manager, but it wasn’t lost on anyone that Alderton Hide didn’t advertise, they weren’t in retail or wholesale, and in
the five months she’d been taking up office space, she’d managed only two one-line mentions in
World of Interiors
magazine. If she was honest, she mainly just answered the
phone and flirted with the clients when they were examining the colour wheels.
Her phone bleeped in her bag and she groaned as she reached down to retrieve it.
‘Where you been? Keep missing you. Electric tonight? New Scorsese on.’
She tapped back in the affirmative, feeling her spirits lift slightly. Stella would have some words of wisdom to impart; she always gave sound advice – not including the time she said
necking vodka shots through your eyeballs was the low-cal way to get drunk. Tom might not want her help, but surely there had to be something she could do. Stella always said she was charmed, born
lucky. Something would come up to make everything right again. It always did – in the end.
Chapter Five
‘Wassup?’ Stella demanded, shrugging off her khaki parka and collapsing into the seat Clem had reserved for her as Clem poured her an enormous glass of red wine
from the carafe on the antique-mirrored table between them.
‘Bike-gate’s gone to a whole new level,’ Clem grimaced, handing the glass over. ‘Perignard’s pulled the account.’
‘No!’ Stella breathed dramatically.
‘Yep. No bike equals no lovely leather-clad, diamond-twinkly showroom.’
‘Shit.’ Stella’s eyes were wide over the rim of her glass.
‘Oh but no! That’s
nothing
! Apparently the bike was also the big
raison d’etre
for Berlin, which is where we get all our new business, and an
“I-could-tell-you-but-then-I’d-have-to-kill-you” confidential pitch to Bugatti, which was the big prize all along. Over three hundred thousand in projected revenue, gone. Just
like that.’ She took a big glug of her wine. She’d almost fallen over when Simon had told her the figure after his meeting. He hadn’t even looked angry, just scared.
‘Holy mutha.’ Stella tried stretching her legs out on the footstool, but it was too far away, perched as it was, comfortably under Clem’s ankles. She reached inside the stool
and pulled out the black cashmere blanket instead, wrapping it around her legs. ‘You’d better drink up.’
Clem did as she was told and scanned the room absently, looking for familiar faces in the queue for the bar. She had bagged seats towards the back as usual. The Electric was one of her favourite
haunts. At the front, the heavy red velvet curtains were still closed, and smug couples were lying stretched out on the signature velvet beds. Almost all the leather club chairs were filled with
couples or groups, laughing and dipping flatbreads into hummus before the lights went down.
‘Well, I had thought this might impress you,’ Stella said, rummaging in her jeans pocket and pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. ‘But after hearing that, probably
not.’
‘What is it?’
‘An ad I saw in Ajeep’s. Cleaner looking for work.’
‘Oh right, great,’ Clem said, taking it from her lethargically.
‘Give her a ring,’ Stella insisted. ‘Remember what we talked about? That could be one way of making things up to Tom at least.’
Clem shot her a look. ‘He’s just lost three hundred grand because of me; you really think he’s gonna care if I hire a cleaner?’
‘You know what they say,’ Stella tutted. ‘A tidy house equals a tidy mind.’
‘Who says that?’ Clem frowned as the lights began to drop.
‘Just ring her. And make sure you check the references,’ Stella hissed as blackness fell like a
floors, desks, tables, chairs, rugs, sofas, beds or steering wheels. Simon, on the other hand, dealt with the less sexy accounts, invoices, sourcing and production functions.
She, by comparison, was called the Press and Marketing Manager, but it wasn’t lost on anyone that Alderton Hide didn’t advertise, they weren’t in retail or wholesale, and in
the five months she’d been taking up office space, she’d managed only two one-line mentions in
World of Interiors
magazine. If she was honest, she mainly just answered the
phone and flirted with the clients when they were examining the colour wheels.
Her phone bleeped in her bag and she groaned as she reached down to retrieve it.
‘Where you been? Keep missing you. Electric tonight? New Scorsese on.’
She tapped back in the affirmative, feeling her spirits lift slightly. Stella would have some words of wisdom to impart; she always gave sound advice – not including the time she said
necking vodka shots through your eyeballs was the low-cal way to get drunk. Tom might not want her help, but surely there had to be something she could do. Stella always said she was charmed, born
lucky. Something would come up to make everything right again. It always did – in the end.
Chapter Five
‘Wassup?’ Stella demanded, shrugging off her khaki parka and collapsing into the seat Clem had reserved for her as Clem poured her an enormous glass of red wine
from the carafe on the antique-mirrored table between them.
‘Bike-gate’s gone to a whole new level,’ Clem grimaced, handing the glass over. ‘Perignard’s pulled the account.’
‘No!’ Stella breathed dramatically.
‘Yep. No bike equals no lovely leather-clad, diamond-twinkly showroom.’
‘Shit.’ Stella’s eyes were wide over the rim of her glass.
‘Oh but no! That’s
nothing
! Apparently the bike was also the big
raison d’etre
for Berlin, which is where we get all our new business, and an
“I-could-tell-you-but-then-I’d-have-to-kill-you” confidential pitch to Bugatti, which was the big prize all along. Over three hundred thousand in projected revenue, gone. Just
like that.’ She took a big glug of her wine. She’d almost fallen over when Simon had told her the figure after his meeting. He hadn’t even looked angry, just scared.
‘Holy mutha.’ Stella tried stretching her legs out on the footstool, but it was too far away, perched as it was, comfortably under Clem’s ankles. She reached inside the stool
and pulled out the black cashmere blanket instead, wrapping it around her legs. ‘You’d better drink up.’
Clem did as she was told and scanned the room absently, looking for familiar faces in the queue for the bar. She had bagged seats towards the back as usual. The Electric was one of her favourite
haunts. At the front, the heavy red velvet curtains were still closed, and smug couples were lying stretched out on the signature velvet beds. Almost all the leather club chairs were filled with
couples or groups, laughing and dipping flatbreads into hummus before the lights went down.
‘Well, I had thought this might impress you,’ Stella said, rummaging in her jeans pocket and pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. ‘But after hearing that, probably
not.’
‘What is it?’
‘An ad I saw in Ajeep’s. Cleaner looking for work.’
‘Oh right, great,’ Clem said, taking it from her lethargically.
‘Give her a ring,’ Stella insisted. ‘Remember what we talked about? That could be one way of making things up to Tom at least.’
Clem shot her a look. ‘He’s just lost three hundred grand because of me; you really think he’s gonna care if I hire a cleaner?’
‘You know what they say,’ Stella tutted. ‘A tidy house equals a tidy mind.’
‘Who says that?’ Clem frowned as the lights began to drop.
‘Just ring her. And make sure you check the references,’ Stella hissed as blackness fell like a