The Lavender Bay Collection: including Spring at Lavender Bay, Summer at Lavender Bay and Snowflakes at Lavender Bay
questions about the proposed contract. A flicker of hope kindled in her stomach; they wouldn’t have bothered to probe so deeply into the deal unless they were very interested. There was a lot of dross in the emails, but also some pertinent information for the response piece.
Scrolling back to the latest message, Beth highlighted all the text and dumped everything into a blank word document. The hubbub of conversations, ringing phones and the ever-present tap-tap of fingers on keyboards melted into the background as she began to work her way through, deleting the superfluous headers and footers, highlighting sections of text she thought she might need and annotating comments with the name of the contributor to ensure she didn’t lose track. Warming to the task, she reached for her headphones and plugged them into her phone, clicking on a familiar playlist she knew by heart which would melt into the background.
Once she felt sufficiently caught up, she moved on to the draft response document Darren had tasked another member of their team to prepare. Scanning the first few paragraphs, Beth assumed she’d opened an early version of the file and stopped to double check their shared drive. With a sick feeling in her stomach, she tugged loose one of her earbuds and reached for the phone. ‘Marco? I’m trying to find the latest version of the Sampson response doc.’
‘Hello to you too, Beth.’ She rolled her eyes to the ceiling at the snippiness in his voice. Marco had been with them only a few months, but was already Darren’s blue-eyed boy. What he lacked in work ethic and ability, he more than made up for in sycophantic crawling. He deferred to Darren in everything, and was one of his regular drinking buddies.
‘Sorry, Marco. It’s been a rough couple of days, you know.’
He sniffed. ‘Yes, I do bloody know. You left us right in the shit when you buggered off without a word.’
‘A very good friend of mine died, it’s not like I was on holiday.’ Beth swallowed the urge to snap further, terrified she’d break down and start crying again. ‘If you could just confirm which version I should be working on, please.’
Marco sighed like she was asking him to sacrifice his first born. ‘It’s in the J: drive, version 1.3. Darren and I have put a lot of effort into it, so it shouldn’t need much work, just the last couple of responses which came through overnight.’
Beth stared at the file extension name on the document in front of her. Shit. She would be better off starting from scratch, because there was no way she could do anything with the incoherent crap they’d cobbled together. ‘Okay, thanks. Just remind me when this needs to go up to the director.’ Crossing her fingers, she prayed she had at least another full day to fix the mess.
‘It went up to Bruce earlier today. Like I said, it only needs a bit of tarting up.’
Beth swallowed a laugh at the way Marco dropped the name of the director of key accounts. As if he’d call him anything other than Mr Turner to his face, pompous git. The implication of his words sank in. The nonsense on her screen had been submitted to the director…she choked at the very idea.
Undeterred by her coughing, Marco continued to speak. ‘Darren was well impressed with the amount of work I’ve put into it, so I used a bit of initiative.’ Good God, he actually sounded pleased with himself. Wondering if it was worth putting a call into the director’s office to try and intercept the email, she almost missed Marco’s next boastful words. ‘Between us, the boss has given me the head’s up that the supervisor’s job is as good as mine.’
Her vision narrowed as a strange roaring filled her ears. All that work she’d put in, all the late nights and weekends and for what? To be usurped by some useless idiot who knew how to suck up? Knowing she’d been silent too long, she forced herself to speak. ‘Well, I guess I should offer you my congratulations.’
‘Cheers, Beth. Don’t worry, I won’t make you call me Mr Travelli when you’re reporting to me.’ The nasty edge to his laugh made her stomach flutter, but thankfully he hung up before she had to respond further.
She replaced the receiver, picked it up again and dialled the first three digits of the extension for Nadia, Mr Turner’s PA, before stopping. Why was she even bothering? She could make some excuse about the wrong file being sent, spend the rest of the afternoon trying to turn the rubbish in front of her into something halfway decent and get exactly zero bloody credit for it. Anger bubbled in her gut. After everything she’d done, this was how Darren repaid her loyalty? She stood so quickly her chair rolled back, causing the wheels to bang against the filing cabinet behind her desk.
‘Everything all right, Beth?’
Turning to meet Ravi’s concerned gaze, she shook her head. ‘Not really, Rav. I need some fresh air.’ Beth hurried over to retrieve her coat from the rack before he could press her for more details.
‘Come on, come on…’ Tapping her foot, she waited impatiently for the lift to arrive. Needing to keep moving, she was on the verge of abandoning her wait in favour of the fire escape beside it when the indicator bell dinged. The doors slid open, enveloping her in a waft of beer fumes and ribald laughter.
A man stepped backwards through the doors, intent on his conversation with the rest of the lift occupants and Beth was forced to side-step to avoid being banged into. She recognised the slicked-back hair, the dark suit with gangster-wide white stripes and her stomach lurched. ‘Yeah, yeah, mate, I’m sure she said that.’ His sarcastic drawl was greeted by another howl of laughter.
Beth reached for the handle for the stairwell door, and had it halfway open when he spotted her. ‘Hey, Beth. You finally decided to grace us with your presence then?’
Shoving a hand in her pocket, her fingers brushed against the crisp rectangle of the envelope containing Eleanor’s letter. ‘I need some fresh air.’ She threw the comment back over her shoulder and took a step into the stairwell.
Darren barged his way through the door, his voice echoing loudly off the concrete walls. ‘You must be joking, you can’t have been at your desk more than five minutes. Bruce wants a copy of the response document ready for him to review tonight.’
Grabbing the handrail with her free hand, Beth backed down another couple of risers wanting to put some distance between herself and the whole bloody mess. ‘But Marco’s already sent him a copy of the draft…’
Her team leader’s face drained to an unpleasant shade she could only equate to the colour of lard. ‘He did what?’
Beth shrugged. ‘Maybe I got the wrong end of the stick, but I’m sure that’s what he just told me.’
‘Christ!’ Darren spun on his heel, holding the door wide as he did so. ‘Come on, come on. We need to get this sorted out.’
A strange sense of calm settled over her as Beth stood her ground. ‘Did you promise Marco the supervisor’s position?’
Her boss glanced back over his shoulder. ‘I haven’t got time for that now, we need to get this cock-up sorted out before Bruce sees that draft.’ His lack of denial told her everything she needed to know. Stroking the edge of the envelope in her pocket, Beth took a deep breath as the full significance of her conversation with Mr Symonds sank into her exhausted brain. She had choices; options.
Freedom.
Releasing the handrail, she trotted back up the stairs to a visible smile of relief from Darren. ‘Good girl. Go and grab your laptop and meet me in my office. I’ll try and head Bruce off at the pass.’
Beth watched him jog towards the tiny walled-off space in the corner before returning to her desk. She undocked the laptop, flicked off the monitor and tugged open her top drawer. A jumble of Cup-a-Soups, pens and sticky notes stared back at her and she slid it closed again then bent to collect her handbag. She’d come straight from the station, so her suitcase stood next to the window. Bag over her shoulder, laptop under her arm and the handle of her case in the opposite hand, she smiled across the partition at Ravi. ‘I’ll call you later.’
‘Ooo-kay. You sure you’re all right, mate?’
‘Never