Cathy Kelly 6-Book Collection: Someone Like You, What She Wants, Just Between Us, Best of Friends, Always and Forever, Past Secrets

Hannah also knew that the ladies’ toilet had an extractor fan problem (recounted in a whisper by Gillian), that the young Steve Shaw would try and chat her up as soon as he saw her even though he was only back from his honeymoon, and that Donna Nelson, the firm’s newest senior agent, was a single mother, ‘although she seems like a nice enough girl,’ Gillian sniffed, as if single motherdom and niceness were mutually exclusive. Hannah said nothing.

Gillian herself had back problems: ‘My chiropractor says I shouldn’t work, but what would I do with myself at home?’ she tittered. Hannah forbore to suggest, ‘Contribute to a gossip column?’ She was married to Leonard, had one son, a deeply unsuitable daughter-in-law, and a budgie named Clementine, who was a boy.

Hannah, who was supposed to be learning the intricacies of the firm’s reception with Gillian as her guide, would have preferred to hear more about dealing with clients and which agents dealt with which areas, and less about how clever Clementine was and what he could do with his mirror. It was soon clear that Gillian, having given so much of herself, was now looking for payback from Hannah in the form of her life story.

Hannah hadn’t divulged one bit of personal information all morning, despite Gillian’s avalanche of intimate chat. Neither had Hannah mentioned that her job was actually going to be that of office manager but that she’d been asked to start on reception as a way of learning more about the firm. One of her first jobs as office manager would be to train the new receptionist starting the following week. Judging by how Gillian appeared to enjoy her lofty position as Mr Dwyer’s assistant, she wouldn’t be pleased to find Hannah was actually her senior in the company structure. She’d find out soon enough.

‘Are you married?’ Gillian asked, pale eyes twinkling in her rosy face, discreet pearl earrings catching the light. She was a monster, Hannah decided. A monster who traded in stories of human misery and who needed Hannah’s story to add to her collection of scalps.

‘Or engaged…?’

Hannah hadn’t grown up in a remote western town where disapproving gossip was the lifeblood of half the residents for nothing.

‘Neither,’ she said bluntly. Then she gazed coolly at Gillian, holding the other woman’s eyes for at least thirty seconds until Gillian looked away uncomfortably.

She’d got the message, Hannah decided.

‘I’ll make us some tea,’ Hannah said warmly. It was vital not to upset Gillian, after all. Just to let her see that Hannah would not be revealing any delicate personal details for the office bulletin board.

It was nearly lunchtime before David James, who had interviewed Hannah in the firm’s city-centre office for the job, arrived. ‘He’s been busy with the Dawson Street office but he still drops in here from time to time,’ Gillian revealed, searching for her frosted pink lipstick when Mr James’s Jag pulled up outside the door.

He doesn’t drop in often enough, Hannah felt, looking around the rather run-down premises which was a total contrast to the stylish Dawson Street branch. There, the minimalist look ruled with architect-designed furniture, modern prints on the walls and an air of discreet wealth simmered gently in the background.

The Dun Laoghaire branch of Dwyer, Dwyer & James looked like somebody’s idea of an elegant office circa 1970. The walls were coffee-coloured, the seats for clients were the sort of low squashy things fashionable when Charlie’s Angels were famous the first time, and big brown felt screens divided up the private bits of the office from the public bits. The address was prestigious but the office was a shambles.

In between Gillian’s monologues, Hannah had been wondering whether she’d made a huge and hideous mistake in giving up her nice job for this place. Dwyer, Dwyer & James were a big, powerful firm and she’d felt it was a step upwards to work for them as office manager. But this branch was like the office that time forgot.

David James, tall, strongly built and with the sort of commanding presence that reduced the place to silence, walked in, shook hands with Hannah, said he hoped she was settling in and asked to see her in the back office. He threw a raincoat on to the back of a chair and pulled off his suit jacket to reveal muscular shoulders straining under a French blue shirt. He was quite handsome really, she realized. She hadn’t noticed it at her interview; she’d been too nervous. But there was something attractive about that broad, strong-boned face and the sleek salt-and-pepper hair. He was probably in his early forties, although the lines around his narrow eyes made him appear slightly older. Immaculate in his expensive clothes, he somehow looked as if he’d be just as at home wielding an axe to chop wood in the wilderness as wielding a Mont Blanc pen in a swish office. He certainly had the colour of someone who liked outdoor pursuits. Not a man to mess with.

‘Have you spoken to my partner, Andrew Dwyer, yet?’ he asked, settling himself into a big chair, not looking at her as his eyes raked over the papers on the desk that required his attention.

‘No. Gillian has been filling me in,’ Hannah said.

A flash of brief understanding passed between them, David’s dark eyes glinting.

‘Ah, Gillian, yes,’ he murmured. ‘It’s not really suitable for Gillian to be doing two jobs. That’s why I’ve hired you. I’m sure you’re wondering what you’ve done, coming from the Triumph Hotel to this place.’

That’s exactly what Hannah had been thinking but she was too clever to show it. She kept her face carefully blank.

‘This was our first premises and it’s ten years since I left,’ he said.

Hannah was surprised. Listening to Gillian, you’d have thought Mr James had been gone from Dun Laoghaire for a mere six months.

‘My nephew Michael set up the Howth office eight years ago and he was due to come back here to take over but personal reasons prevented him doing it. I didn’t have the time to sort this place out. Things have gone downhill here recently since the other Mr Dwyer died. There’ll be a lot of changes and I thought we needed a good manager for the place. I need someone who can get on with the existing staff and be able to work with any new ones. That’s why I hired you. I know you’re a hard worker and I like your style, Hannah.

‘We never had an office manager before. Gillian ran the office when it was a small concern, but we’ve barely been ticking over for a long time. We need a proper office manager, someone who can keep us running smoothly, getting auction brochures printed, etc. From the point of view of security, we need someone who is always aware of where the agents are. When you have people on their own showing houses, you have to be security conscious. I want the female agents to be contacted every hour to make sure they’re safe. I’m very confident that you can do it.’

‘Thanks,’ she said briskly.

‘Now, if Donna Nelson’s back, perhaps you could send her in. I need to have a talk with her.’

Hannah was glad she was working directly with David James. Direct and blunt, he clearly didn’t waste any time on chatting. He was just the sort of person Hannah enjoyed working for. With someone like him, there’d be no need for extraneous conversations about the state of the weather or how strong the office coffee was.

Gillian was dying to know how she’d got on.

‘Isn’t Mr James a pet,’ she sighed. ‘His marriage broke up and he’s never really got over it. I mean, he went out with a few women, but nothing worked out. I think he’s lonely, don’t you sense it too?’

What Hannah sensed was that Gillian would have given poor hubbie Leonard and the talented Clementine the push if she could have comforted Mr James in a very unplatonic way.

By close of business, she’d met all the firm’s agents and had liked Donna Nelson best of all. A rather chic woman with a dark bob, navy suit and an efficient air, she was obviously very wary of Gillian and had greeted Hannah with a guarded smile that said, She’s been telling you all about me, hasn’t she?

Hannah responded with her warmest smile and said pleasantly: ‘Perhaps we could have a chat during the week and you can tell me how you’d like your calls handled.’

‘That would be great,’ Donna said, looking pleased. Probably sick and tired of Gillian’s sharp manner with clients, she was relieved to find someone who knew how to answer a phone without cutting the nose off someone.

Business didn’t appear to be brisk, but Gillian’s put-on phone voice, as frosty as her lipstick, wouldn’t have enticed cold callers to put their homes for sale through Dwyers.

One caller looking for Donna received a particularly sharp remark: ‘If she has time, she’ll get back to you.’

‘Personal call,’ Gillian said disapprovingly, hanging up.

Hannah said nothing again but vowed that when she had sole charge of the office, things would be vastly different. No receptionist she’d train would ever be so rude on the phone.

David James had chatted to her briefly before he left the office that afternoon, balancing his big frame awkwardly on the edge of her desk.

‘How are you getting on?’ he asked.

Beside her, Hannah could feel Gillian sitting up straight in her office chair, hoping to be noticed.

‘Fine. I think I’ll have the hang of it in a few days, although it’s easy enough to lose calls on this switchboard. The one in the Triumph was more modern and more efficient,’ she said frankly.

This time, she could sense Gillian bridling with shock that a new employee had dared say such a thing to the boss, but David James merely nodded.

‘We’ll talk about it,’ he said. ‘Goodbye.’

‘You’re the forward madam, I’ll say that for you,’ sniffed Gillian when he was gone.

‘You said exactly the same thing about the switchboard earlier,’ Hannah reminded her gently. ‘I was merely telling him.’

‘Mr James doesn’t want to be bothered with things like that,’ hissed Gillian.

Hannah said nothing.

She’d felt pleased as she drove home that evening, pleased that she had made the right choice in moving jobs and confident that she’d do well there. Bloody Harry and his ill-timed letter had ruined that sense of pleasure.

She went into her flat, threw her coat on the hanger and opened the letter.

Dear Hannah,