marital disappointment that she’d suffered with Steve.
She was grateful to him for them, at least. Overwhelmingly grateful to have them, to love them, to be their mum. All the same, if she ever came across her ex-husband in a drowning situation again, next time she might be tempted to carry on walking.
Chapter Five
Polly felt as if she had been dumped in a parallel universe. There might be the same anxious face as ever staring back from the bathroom mirror, but Polly wasn’t sure who the person in the reflection was any more.
For so many years her job had defined her, it had completely shaped her life. The long hours, the corporate uniform, the meetings, the number-crunching, the conferences, the kudos, the glamour, the top-whack salary – that was her. She’d always had an office to go to, always had a diary stuffed with appointments for months in advance.
All those things had gone now, in the blink of an eye. What, Polly wondered, was left? London, Paris, New York, Hong Kong . . . the world had suddenly shrunk to the space within her flat.
The first day of her redundancy she’d tried to act as if everything was normal. She’d abandoned the TV when she couldn’t find the remote (that wretched cleaner must have hidden it somewhere) and decided to be proactive instead. Treat this whole incident as a challenge, she’d instructed herself. Jump straight back on that horse before it tramples you into the mud. She’d fired up her computer and unearthed her CV, then spent an hour or so buffing it to perfection, adding every shred of experience and expertise she could think of. During her career she’d had to sift through hundreds of other people’s CVs and application letters over the years. She knew how to make hers utterly killer.
She nodded with satisfaction when she’d got it to her liking. Damn, she was kick-ass on paper. Almost as kick-ass as she was in person. Getting another job was not going to be a problem for Polly Johnson, not with this document in her armoury.
The next task was to hunt for the perfect new employer. The big four were always hiring and firing, and she knew plenty of names in them all, thanks to her years of tireless networking. She’d pull a few strings, milk her contacts and get her CV in to the very best in-trays, just see if she didn’t.
It was only a matter of time.
‘Hi, yeah, could you put me through to Alison Rothman. This is Polly Johnson.’ She perched on the edge of her seat, tapping her pen impatiently as she waited to be connected. ‘Alison, hi, it’s Polly Johnson from W— It’s Polly Johnson here,’ she said, correcting herself at the last second. She wasn’t ‘Polly Johnson from Waterman’s’ any longer. Her name felt odd without the usual addition, as if she’d been abruptly shorn. ‘Just putting the feelers out that I’m looking to take on a new challenge at a different firm,’ she went on breezily, ‘and wondering if . . . Oh.’ The words dried on her tongue. ‘Really? Okay. Do you think . . . Oh. All right then. Thanks, Alison. Let’s hook up soon, yeah? Bye.’
Damn. CVDS weren’t hiring. In fact, Alison said, they were undergoing a similar reshuffle involving redundancies. Not a good time to be jumping ship, babe, Alison had said in her breathy, Sloanesville voice. Polly didn’t think it worth mentioning that she’d already been pushed overboard.
Still, she’d wing her CV to the HR department anyway, mention her old friendship with Larry Truman, the Vice-President of the European Investment Banking division, see if that stirred any sparks. There was no old friendship of course, they’d merely sat next to each other at a conference dinner in Zurich about five years ago, but it was better than nothing.
She picked up the phone and dialled again. ‘I’d like to speak to Henry Curtis,’ she said in her most clipped tones. You had to talk to receptionists like that, she’d learned, not wuss about with a simpering ‘please’ and
She was grateful to him for them, at least. Overwhelmingly grateful to have them, to love them, to be their mum. All the same, if she ever came across her ex-husband in a drowning situation again, next time she might be tempted to carry on walking.
Chapter Five
Polly felt as if she had been dumped in a parallel universe. There might be the same anxious face as ever staring back from the bathroom mirror, but Polly wasn’t sure who the person in the reflection was any more.
For so many years her job had defined her, it had completely shaped her life. The long hours, the corporate uniform, the meetings, the number-crunching, the conferences, the kudos, the glamour, the top-whack salary – that was her. She’d always had an office to go to, always had a diary stuffed with appointments for months in advance.
All those things had gone now, in the blink of an eye. What, Polly wondered, was left? London, Paris, New York, Hong Kong . . . the world had suddenly shrunk to the space within her flat.
The first day of her redundancy she’d tried to act as if everything was normal. She’d abandoned the TV when she couldn’t find the remote (that wretched cleaner must have hidden it somewhere) and decided to be proactive instead. Treat this whole incident as a challenge, she’d instructed herself. Jump straight back on that horse before it tramples you into the mud. She’d fired up her computer and unearthed her CV, then spent an hour or so buffing it to perfection, adding every shred of experience and expertise she could think of. During her career she’d had to sift through hundreds of other people’s CVs and application letters over the years. She knew how to make hers utterly killer.
She nodded with satisfaction when she’d got it to her liking. Damn, she was kick-ass on paper. Almost as kick-ass as she was in person. Getting another job was not going to be a problem for Polly Johnson, not with this document in her armoury.
The next task was to hunt for the perfect new employer. The big four were always hiring and firing, and she knew plenty of names in them all, thanks to her years of tireless networking. She’d pull a few strings, milk her contacts and get her CV in to the very best in-trays, just see if she didn’t.
It was only a matter of time.
‘Hi, yeah, could you put me through to Alison Rothman. This is Polly Johnson.’ She perched on the edge of her seat, tapping her pen impatiently as she waited to be connected. ‘Alison, hi, it’s Polly Johnson from W— It’s Polly Johnson here,’ she said, correcting herself at the last second. She wasn’t ‘Polly Johnson from Waterman’s’ any longer. Her name felt odd without the usual addition, as if she’d been abruptly shorn. ‘Just putting the feelers out that I’m looking to take on a new challenge at a different firm,’ she went on breezily, ‘and wondering if . . . Oh.’ The words dried on her tongue. ‘Really? Okay. Do you think . . . Oh. All right then. Thanks, Alison. Let’s hook up soon, yeah? Bye.’
Damn. CVDS weren’t hiring. In fact, Alison said, they were undergoing a similar reshuffle involving redundancies. Not a good time to be jumping ship, babe, Alison had said in her breathy, Sloanesville voice. Polly didn’t think it worth mentioning that she’d already been pushed overboard.
Still, she’d wing her CV to the HR department anyway, mention her old friendship with Larry Truman, the Vice-President of the European Investment Banking division, see if that stirred any sparks. There was no old friendship of course, they’d merely sat next to each other at a conference dinner in Zurich about five years ago, but it was better than nothing.
She picked up the phone and dialled again. ‘I’d like to speak to Henry Curtis,’ she said in her most clipped tones. You had to talk to receptionists like that, she’d learned, not wuss about with a simpering ‘please’ and
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