they used for work meetings but it was a soulless building and Helene badly needed to be somewhere she could relax, even a little. The headache that had been threatening was in danger of developing into a real humdinger – the result of too much caffeine and fretting about work, Richard and life in general.
She thought of the new coffee shop, which was near enough to the office. She had gone back there on Saturday, curious about the sense of expanding horizons she’d felt when she was looking at the big wall map of the world. And she’d found herself wondering how Matt, the owner, was getting on with his target of having the café up and running in a week.
When she got there, she’d been amazed to find the little café had been transformed in just a few days. The words ‘ Travel Café ’ were painted boldly in blue and white above the door, and the windows were framed with blue-and-white gingham curtains. When she pushed open the door, it no longer creaked and inside all the clutter had been replaced with polished pine tables, cosy-looking old yellow lamps, more world maps hanging in glass-fronted frames on the walls and shelves stuffed full of travel books.
For a few seconds Helene had just stood there, breathing in the atmosphere. Matt had managed to magically conjure up a sense of time being plentiful here – something to be enjoyed rather than endured. For Helene, whose life was tormented with to-do lists – things to do for work, or before she was forty, or even before she died – it was intoxicating.
“Repeat business! We must be doing something right!” Matt smiled broadly when he saw her. “It’s good to see you here again. I didn’t catch your name last time?”
“It’s Helene. Helene Harper.” She looked around at the transformed café. “This place looks fantastic. You’ve worked miracles to get it finished.”
“I know.” Matt looked around the café as if he couldn’t believe it either. “I had to pull a few all-nighters, but I did it. We’re open!”
But Helene had still been his only customer and she reckoned now he could do with a boost. On impulse she suggested to Paulina they meet there. It was pretty near the office, and the atmosphere was exactly what she needed.
“It’s a new, trendy little café,” she began.
“The address?”
Helene told her and began to give directions, but Paulina cut her off.
“I’ll find it,” she said and hung up.
Helene put the phone down and sat back in her chair, her hand unconsciously rubbing the nape of her neck. Insomnia was wrecking her life, she thought wearily. Last night she’d fallen into an exhausted sleep only to wake as usual at four, her mind racing over the implications of this new situation at work.
Where would she fit into the hierarchy if Atlantic 1FM was sold? That was her main concern, really, and Richard had been of no help to her whatsoever. She’d hardly seen him since that night in her apartment in fact, because he was up to his eyes in whatever machinations were going on behind the scenes.
Helene pulled a mirror out of her desk drawer and scrutinised her features. At least the stress wasn’t showing in her face. Her strict pampering regime was standing her in good stead, she consoled herself. Her skin looked dewy, as it should after all the serum and primer and sunscreen she’d lavished on it. The tired bags under her eyes were camouflaged under layers of concealer, foundation, blusher and bronzer and her hair was still gleaming after her expensive salon appointment yesterday.
Satisfied, Helene put away the mirror, swallowed two painkillers with the cold dregs of her coffee and settled down to finish her appraisal of the This Morning programme. Ninety minutes later she was putting the finishing touches to the report. Pleased with her work, she reached under her desk for her high heels, slipped on her charcoal jacket like a suit of armour, squared her shoulders and left the building.
A frisson of excitement
She thought of the new coffee shop, which was near enough to the office. She had gone back there on Saturday, curious about the sense of expanding horizons she’d felt when she was looking at the big wall map of the world. And she’d found herself wondering how Matt, the owner, was getting on with his target of having the café up and running in a week.
When she got there, she’d been amazed to find the little café had been transformed in just a few days. The words ‘ Travel Café ’ were painted boldly in blue and white above the door, and the windows were framed with blue-and-white gingham curtains. When she pushed open the door, it no longer creaked and inside all the clutter had been replaced with polished pine tables, cosy-looking old yellow lamps, more world maps hanging in glass-fronted frames on the walls and shelves stuffed full of travel books.
For a few seconds Helene had just stood there, breathing in the atmosphere. Matt had managed to magically conjure up a sense of time being plentiful here – something to be enjoyed rather than endured. For Helene, whose life was tormented with to-do lists – things to do for work, or before she was forty, or even before she died – it was intoxicating.
“Repeat business! We must be doing something right!” Matt smiled broadly when he saw her. “It’s good to see you here again. I didn’t catch your name last time?”
“It’s Helene. Helene Harper.” She looked around at the transformed café. “This place looks fantastic. You’ve worked miracles to get it finished.”
“I know.” Matt looked around the café as if he couldn’t believe it either. “I had to pull a few all-nighters, but I did it. We’re open!”
But Helene had still been his only customer and she reckoned now he could do with a boost. On impulse she suggested to Paulina they meet there. It was pretty near the office, and the atmosphere was exactly what she needed.
“It’s a new, trendy little café,” she began.
“The address?”
Helene told her and began to give directions, but Paulina cut her off.
“I’ll find it,” she said and hung up.
Helene put the phone down and sat back in her chair, her hand unconsciously rubbing the nape of her neck. Insomnia was wrecking her life, she thought wearily. Last night she’d fallen into an exhausted sleep only to wake as usual at four, her mind racing over the implications of this new situation at work.
Where would she fit into the hierarchy if Atlantic 1FM was sold? That was her main concern, really, and Richard had been of no help to her whatsoever. She’d hardly seen him since that night in her apartment in fact, because he was up to his eyes in whatever machinations were going on behind the scenes.
Helene pulled a mirror out of her desk drawer and scrutinised her features. At least the stress wasn’t showing in her face. Her strict pampering regime was standing her in good stead, she consoled herself. Her skin looked dewy, as it should after all the serum and primer and sunscreen she’d lavished on it. The tired bags under her eyes were camouflaged under layers of concealer, foundation, blusher and bronzer and her hair was still gleaming after her expensive salon appointment yesterday.
Satisfied, Helene put away the mirror, swallowed two painkillers with the cold dregs of her coffee and settled down to finish her appraisal of the This Morning programme. Ninety minutes later she was putting the finishing touches to the report. Pleased with her work, she reached under her desk for her high heels, slipped on her charcoal jacket like a suit of armour, squared her shoulders and left the building.
A frisson of excitement
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