Cocktails for Three by Madeleine Wickham Page B

he was all right— then closed it again. It wasn’t her place to startenquiring about her boss’s health. She had intercepted a private call; it was nothing to do with her. Besides, it occurred to her, it might be something minor and embarrassing that she didn’t want to hear about.
    â€œI wanted to see you,” she said instead, “about the editorial assistant’s job on the
Londoner
.”
    â€œOh yes?” said Ralph, leaning back in his chair.
    â€œYes,” said Candice, garnering all her courage. “The thing is, I know somebody who I think would fit the bill.”
    â€œReally?” said Ralph. “Well, then, invite him to apply.”
    â€œIt’s a girl,” said Candice. “And the thing is, I don’t think her CV is that spectacular. But I know she’s talented. I know she can write. And she’s bright, and enthusiastic . . .”
    â€œI’m glad to hear it,” said Ralph mildly. “But you know, Justin’s the one you should be talking to.”
    â€œI know,” said Candice. “I know he is. But—” She broke off, and Ralph’s eyes narrowed.
    â€œNow, look,” he said, leaning forward. “Tell me plainly— is there going to be trouble between you two? I’m quite aware of the situation between you, and if it’s going to cause problems . . .”
    â€œIt’s not that!” said Candice at once. “It’s just that . . . Justin’s very busy. It’s his first day, and I don’t want to bother him. He’s got enough on his plate. In fact . . .” She felt her fingers mesh tightly together in her lap. “In fact, he was complaining yesterday about having to read through all the applications. And after all, he is only
acting
editor . . . So I thought perhaps—”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI thought perhaps you could interview this girl yourself?” Candice looked entreatingly at Ralph. “She’s downstairs in reception.”
    â€œShe’s
where
?”
    â€œIn reception,” said Candice falteringly. “She’s just waiting— in case you say yes.”
    Ralph stared at her, an incredulous look on his face, and for a dreadful moment Candice thought he was going to bellow at her. But suddenly his face broke into a laugh. “Send her up,” he said. “Since you’ve dragged her all this way, let’s give the poor girl a chance.”
    â€œThanks,” said Candice. “Honestly, I’m sure she’ll be—” Ralph raised a hand to stop her.
    â€œSend her up,” he said. “And we’ll see.”

    Maggie Phillips sat alone in her magnificent Small-bone kitchen, sipping coffee and staring at the table and wondering what to do next. She had woken that morning at the usual early hour and had watched as Giles got dressed, ready for his commute into the City.
    â€œNow, you just take it easy,” he’d said, briskly knotting his tie. “I’ll try and be home by seven.”
    â€œOK,” Maggie had said, grinning up at him. “Give the pollution my love, won’t you.”
    â€œThat’s right, rub it in,” he’d retorted humorously. “You bloody ladies of leisure.”
    As she’d heard the front door slam, she’d felt a delicious feeling of freedom spread through her body. No work, she’d thought to herself. No work! She could do what she liked. At first, she’d tried to go back to sleep, closing her eyes and deliberately snuggling back under the duvet. But lying down was, perversely,uncomfortable. She was too huge and heavy to find a comfortable position. So after a few tussles with the pillows, she’d given up.
    She’d come downstairs and made herself some breakfast and eaten it, reading the paper and admiring the garden out of the window. That had taken her until eight-thirty. Then she’d gone back upstairs, run a bath and lain in it