Perfect on Paper by Gillian Harvey (top 20 books to read txt) 📕

home – after all, the bus wasn’t leaving until all the acts had finished and she needed to resume normal life. It occurred to her that if she kept calling cabs like this, she’d have wasted the price of a small run-around within a few weeks.

Just as she entered the hallway, her mobile rang as if on cue. Nigel.

‘Hello, erm, Clare,’ he said, getting her name right for once. ‘I … are you feeling better?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ she replied, feeling her face get hot.

‘Good … I mean, obviously can’t be helped. But we did have a bit of a to-do with your client in the office today.’

‘Oh dear. I’m sorry to hear that.’ Clare felt an unusual spike of anxiety. What had happened with Camberwaddle?

Nigel cleared his throat noisily. ‘It’s just … well, perhaps next time you could brief one of the others to take over the meeting? Will, for example, was available. Just to keep continuity, you know?’

‘Of course.’ Clare had to bite her tongue to avoid pointing out that a) Camberwaddle was her client and Nigel had shown no previous interest in him and b) if she really had been throwing up all morning, the only thing she’d have been able to share with her colleagues would have been the contents of her stomach.

‘Anyway, the good news is your office is almost ready. So we’ll get some of the juniors to start moving filing cabinets and so on soon,’ Nigel said, his tone so upbeat that she had to remind herself he was talking about her move into a shoebox rather than upscaling her to a glass-windowed power office.

‘Thank you,’ she said, through gritted teeth, wondering why she didn’t feel able to say how she really felt.

‘Well, see you tomorrow.’

‘Yep. See you tomorrow.’

She took off her coat and hung it and her straining tote bag over the hallway hook, then dialled Ann’s number.

‘Hi Clare, feeling better?’

‘Yes,’ she said, guiltily. ‘Yes, much better, thank you.’

‘That’s good.’

‘Yes, look, I’m sorry to call you, but I just wanted to see if everything was OK in the office this morning? Nigel rang and said something about a to-do?’

Ann snorted with laughter.

‘Oh, no! What happened?!’

‘Well, of course, you had that awful Camberwaddle bloke coming in – the one who thinks because he’s a billionaire or whatever, people have to roll out the red carpet for him at all times.’

‘Yes, about that …’

‘Well, I tried to ring him, but couldn’t get through. So obviously when he came in, I had to tell him you’d called in sick at the last minute, and he was a bit put out.’

‘Oh.’

‘Yes, which was ridiculous. No one can help being sick. I gave him my best glare on your behalf.’

‘Thank you.’ Clare tried to suppress her growing sense of guilt.

‘Anyway, he looked me up and down and asked me whether there was anyone “senior” he could speak to – meaning I was obviously not good enough for him.’

‘Oh, Ann. I’m sorry,’ Clare said. In reality, Ann would have been more than capable of answering any queries that Camberwaddle had – probably more so than anyone else in the office.

‘Don’t worry. I’m used to it. Nobody expects a secretary to have a brain.’

‘Well I certainly know you do!’

‘Anyway, I thought I’d better knock on Nigel’s door to see if he could come and smooth things out a bit, you know? But when I told Mr Camberwaddle I was going to speak to the senior partner, he sort of tagged along at my heels rather than waiting in your office as I’d thought …’

‘Right?’

‘And, I got to Nigel’s room, and knocked and, well, we went in and …’

‘And?’

‘Sorry,’ Ann snorted. ‘I just … well, I opened the door and …’ more snorts of laughter.

‘Don’t keep me in suspense!’

‘Oh, Clare, it’s not funny really. But Nigel was there with Will. And they were … well they’d both taken their trousers off.’

‘What?!’

‘But … well, they still had their shirts and ties on, you know? And, well, pants. Bare feet. Sitting on gym mats …’

‘What? Seriously?’

‘Yes! They were … they had their eyes closed, doing this meditation thing. And humming.’

‘Humming?’

‘Yes, you know, hommmm,’ Ann mimicked.

‘Oh god, what did Camberwaddle say?’ Clare was torn between dissolving into laughter and baulking in horror.

‘Well, I’d already … well, when I opened the door and saw them, I just said, sorry – but they heard me and both sort of sprang up.’

‘Yes?’

‘Nigel was in these … these floral baggy boxer things, long black socks, hairy legs. Will was in these little tighty whities …’ Another snort.

‘Good grief.’

‘So there I was standing with this billionaire client, bringing him to see the senior partner and instead he got greeted by a bald, little man and a tall, young boy sitting around in their pants.’ Ann’s voice quivered with laughter.

No wonder Nigel had been so put out.

‘They said they were doing an inspiration exercise … Will’s idea, of course. Then Nigel went and sat behind his desk and asked Camberwaddle to take a seat. Will had kind of ducked out of the room by then. I think Nigel did the whole meeting … in his pants. You know – like a newsreader: all dressed up on top, but nothing under the table.’

Clare felt laughter bubble up inside. It was bad. Embarrassing. She hated to imagine what Camberwaddle would have made of it. But, well. It was pretty funny. And Ann’s laughter was infectious.

‘Oh, Ann,’ she said. ‘I’m really sorry you had to go through that.’

‘Oh, it’s OK,’ Ann replied. ‘Nothing that a couple of glasses of wine won’t wipe from my memory … or at least I hope so.’

‘I’ll buy you a bottle to make up for it.’

‘I’ll hold you to that!’

Once Clare had ended the call with Ann, and sent another apologetic email to Camberwaddle, she finally allowed herself to walk through to the kitchen. There to greet her was all the mess from breakfast. In her rush for the bus this morning she hadn’t even made it to