And she had savings.
She’d manage.
‘No, I haven’t had a better offer,’ she said quietly. At least, not ‘better’ in the way that any businessman would see it.
Concern flickered in his face. ‘Is there a problem you’re not telling me about? Harassment of any sort?’
‘Of course not.’ She found Tim a bit wearing, for precisely the reasons that Jake had outlined, but she enjoyed working with Matt and Adam.
‘Then I don’t see any reason for you to resign. Except maybe the fact that you’re undervaluing yourself.’
Maybe she was. Which was why she’d become a lawyer in the first place. In some ways, although it had meant years of hard work, it had been an easier option. Easier to give in instead of being stubborn and holding out for what she knew she really wanted out of life. To paint. She’d wanted to paint for years, but when she’d told her parents she wanted to take Art as one of her A levels they’d reacted badly. Why would the daughter of a QC and a top solicitor want to become an artist—to go and starve in a Parisian garret, doing a job that wouldn’t even pay her rent? Ridiculous. And they’d refused to listen to her art teacher, too.
So she’d tried to please them. She’d studied History and Economics and Law, ending up with top marks and a place to read law at university. She’d trained as a solicitor and found herself a job as a corporate lawyer.
And she’d kept her sketching a secret between herself and her godmother, Polly.
‘I don’t want to be a lawyer any more,’ she said.
He leaned back in his chair. ‘You’ve fallen out of love with your job? It happens.’
He actually seemed to understand—and she really hadn’t expected that. So Jake knew other people who’d reached a point in their career where they just stopped wanting to do it?
Almost as if she’d asked the question out loud, he said, ‘Been there, done that, myself.’ For a brief moment, there was something in his eyes, but he’d masked it before she could read it. ‘And the way round it is to give yourself a new challenge. I think this job might do that for you.’
She wasn’t convinced. She’d stopped loving what she did a long time ago. If she was honest, she’d never really loved it in the first place. She’d just done it because she’d thought it was the right thing to do.
And over the years it had begun to feel so very much the wrong thing. She didn’t see how she could ever fall in love with her job again. ‘What if it doesn’t?’
‘Do this one job for me,’ he said, ‘and if you still feel the same way afterwards, then I’ll accept your resignation—backdated to today.’
Put that way, it seemed reasonable. And what difference would another few days make? ‘All right.’
He glanced at his watch. ‘I imagine this gives you enough time to rearrange your meetings for the next couple of days?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Now, clothes.’ He appraised her. ‘Your suit’s fine for business. We’ll be in the south of the country, so it won’t be quite as cold as the north, but you’ll still need a windproof coat and boots—do you have any?’
Jake clearly didn’t believe in social chat. And this was the longest conversation Lydia could remember having with him. It was the only meeting she’d had with him, one-to-one, in the three years she’d been working at Andersen’s; though she remembered he’d been just as incisive in the presentations and meetings she’d attended along with Matt or Adam.
‘Coat and boots?’ he repeated, raising his eyebrows.
Oh, great. Now he’d think she had the attention span of a gnat. ‘Yes, I have a coat and boots.’
‘Good.’
‘How long are we going for?’
‘Until Friday—though if there are complications we might need to work on Saturday morning and fly back on Sunday. Have you been to Norway before?’
‘No. Though I’ve always wanted to see the fjords and the Northern Lights,’ she admitted. To sketch them—to capture the pure, clean Nordic light in pastels.
He regarded her thoughtfully. ‘If you wanted to stay for a couple of days afterwards and take the chance to do a bit of sightseeing, I can arrange for you to have an open return flight. Andersen’s will pick up your hotel bill, to make up for eating into your weekend and evenings.’
That was an offer she definitely wasn’t going to refuse. ‘Thank you. I appreciate that. Though I’d better call Matt and check it’s OK for me to take time off next week.’
‘Sure. I’ll get Ingrid to sort out the travel details and let you know what’s happening.’
It was a dismissal. Polite enough, but still a dismissal. She smiled politely, and left his office.
Jake couldn’t settle back to work when Lydia had gone; every time he looked at the figures on his computer screen, his mind kept supplying a picture of Lydia.
On the face of it, Lydia Sheridan was the perfect corporate lawyer, with her power business suit, her mid-brown hair groomed into a sleek, shiny bob, and the ‘barely there’ makeup that told you she was serious rather than playing up her feminine charms.
She looked the part. He knew that she could certainly do the part; Matt had said several times that Lydia quietly picked up details other people missed.
But something in her dark eyes had told him that it wasn’t who she was.
She’d even said it herself: I don’t want to be a lawyer any more.
Ha. He knew that crossroads well. The point in your life when you wondered if you’d wasted years doing something you hadn’t really wanted to do all along—something you just didn’t want to do any more. The point in your life where you wondered just what it was that you really, really wanted.
And he stood by his own advice. The way forward was to give yourself a new challenge. Something to strive for. Something to help you ignore the questions.
He dismissed the thought that he hadn’t found his own challenge yet. Or that he was filling his hours with a ridiculous level of work so he didn’t have to think about what he really wanted from life—and how far it was from what he could actually have.
Jake shook himself and went back to poring over a set of figures. But then his email pinged: his PA had organised the flights and booked the accommodation.
Really, he should ask Ingrid to email the details to Lydia.
Then again, he still needed to brief her about the deal in Oslo.
It was something he could do perfectly adequately—and probably more quickly—by email. Or by sending Ingrid over to Lydia with the file. But somehow he found himself with the file in his hand, striding towards the legal department.
Lydia looked up from her desk as he walked into the openplan office.
‘You might want to read this before tomorrow,’ he said, handing her the file. ‘It’s the background to the deal I’m setting up with Nils Pedersen’s company in Oslo. Call me if you have any questions. I’ll leave my mobile switched on this evening.’
‘Noted,’ she said coolly, and he knew she wouldn’t call him.
He should go back to his own desk. Right now. Not linger and try to work out what that soft perfume was. Not wonder if her mouth was as soft as it looked.
‘Did you manage to move your meetings?’
She nodded. ‘No problem.’
‘And you’ve spoken to Matt?’
‘Via his wife, yes.