‘Well they have, although before you ask, we’ve started ringing around the other drinks companies.’
Amy was sceptical. ‘Someone else might agree in principle to giving us fifty thousand pounds’ worth of alcohol, but it’s still not a lot of time to get things signed off, especially when the invites have been printed.’
‘We can do a contra deal another way . . . maybe give them a few pages of advertising.’
‘That will have to be signed off by Douglas, and I’d rather not involve him at this stage.’
‘We can do this, you know,’ said Tracey reassuringly.
Right now, Amy didn’t feel her deputy’s confidence. With the Mode job interview due any day, she had to push all her chips into the middle, go for the big win. Douglas had been suspicious of the Fashion 500 gala from the start. The company were sinking a lot of money into it, and it had to be a big success. It wasn’t just the magazine’s reputation riding on it; it was Amy’s too.
‘We start every month with empty pages and out of nothing we create three, four hundred pages of brilliance,’ said Tracey, as if she had sensed Amy’s stress. ‘We do that twelve times a year. So there’s no reason to think we can’t put together some crappy party.’
‘The world’s greatest ever party, you mean.’
‘Yes, that.’
Amy smiled warmly. Her team were the best. Loyal, resourceful, happy to get their hands dirty. It wasn’t the norm in the media world, where back-stabbing and office politics were almost an art form. Given the car crash of her personal life right now, it was good to know that there was something she could rely upon.
Chapter 23
‘Are you sure you’ve got everything?’ Chrissie looked at her as if she were a trainer about to give her prized athlete a pre-race pep talk. Amy was half expecting her to stretch over and Swedish-massage her shoulders.
‘What do I need? I’ve got my laptop for the PowerPoint, the mock-up covers, and my mood board. Tell me if I’ve forgotten anything or forever hold your peace.’
‘Just go and kick ass,’ grinned Chrissie.
Amy was glad she had confided in her assistant that she was going for the job. She’d been a huge help pulling everything together, scanning photos and working Excel. It was just as well that Tilly was with her grandparents, because Amy hadn’t been home until nine every night, preparing for the interview that Douglas had sprung on her on her first day back in the office. She’d wanted to throw everything into it, because the Mode job traditionally only came up every ten or twenty years. But it wasn’t just that: work had kept her from focusing on the looming loneliness at home. Her dream house, which she had loved from the moment she had set foot in it, felt cold and hollow.
She grabbed her tote bag and headed out towards the lifts. She had spent almost a mont
h absorbing every scrap of information she could find about Mode, its history and current performance. She knew who its advertisers were and how much they were paying – one of the advantages of sharing an in-house ad team. She had analysed which covers had done well and which had failed. She knew the strengths and weaknesses of the editorial team. Above all, she had thought about what she would do with the magazine if by some miracle they decided to give her the job. No, that wasn’t the attitude, was it? she told herself, checking her hair in the lift mirror. She deserved this job; she was more qualified than any other potential candidate and she would do it better than anyone else.
She exhaled slowly. This was it. The thing she had been working towards for almost twenty years. She didn’t want to let herself down.
The lift doors opened and she strode out, trying to centre that sense of purpose. Yet still she felt as if she hadn’t got sufficient armour; only Chrissie knew about the interview, and although her PA had wished her luck, it didn’t seem quite enough.
It didn’t feel that long ago since she had gone for the Verve editor’s job, which at the time had been a big step up from the features director position she held. She was newly married at that point, and for the first time in a long time, not completely focused on her career. David had encouraged her to go for it, even though Amy knew she was woefully underqualified. He’d sent her a huge bouquet of peonies the morning of the interview, saying it didn’t matter whether she aced it or not, but his quiet belief that she was good enough had helped Amy to wow William Bentley and win the job.
This time round, David didn’t even know she was having the interview. They’d barely communicated since he’d left with Tilly the previous Monday morning: just the odd text to say that he’d arrived in Hong Kong, and to check how Tilly was doing with her grandparents.
Breathe, breathe, Amy told herself. You can do this.
She gripped the handle of her tote bag tightly as she moved down the photograph-lined corridor towards Douglas’s office. She was momentarily thrown when she saw an unfamiliar blond woman sitting at the PA’s desk, before remembering that Douglas’s assistant Grace had been fired after William’s party.
‘Oh, hi,’ she said. ‘I’m Amy Shepherd. I have an appointment with Douglas.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said the blonde. ‘He’s actually with someone at the moment, but if you’d like to take a seat, he’ll be with you shortly.’
Amy was just turning towards the nearby sofa when the office door opened and she felt the floor drop away. For a moment, she thought she was seeing things. But no, it was her. It was Josie, coming out of Douglas’s office, wearing a tight white blouse just like Amy’s, a smile on her face.
Amy stood rooted to the spot as Douglas followed the girl out. He was saying something to her and they were laughing together. Amy’s mind spun.
‘Amy,’ said Douglas, catching sight of her. ‘Look who’s here.’
Josie raised her eyebrows at Amy and gave a half-smile.
‘Josie,’ said Amy, barely able to catch her breath.