Kate Forster - The Perfect Retreat

Eliza slammed down the phone and screamed from her white wood and glass desk. ‘Lucy! Lucy!’

A harassed girl with thick ankles and premature worry lines ran into Eliza’s office. ‘Yes Mrs Wimple-Jones?’ Lucy felt ridiculous calling her boss by her surname. The last place she had worked at, she had known all three of the directors by their first names.

When Eliza had personally headhunted her and wooed her Lucy had felt flattered. Eliza made all the noises of a woman who wanted to share her vision with Lucy, dangling the possibility of a partnership with her in the new PR firm she was setting up, and speaking at length about her belief in a well-run business that didn’t require the crazy hours Lucy was putting in as an account manager at her current firm. Lucy had taken the job with Eliza even though her old bosses had pleaded with her to stay and offered her a higher salary. Times were tight; they’d already let go of all the juniors and Lucy was scared that she might end up as one of the unemployed if she stayed there, however much they liked her. She had been heady on Eliza’s dream.

It didn’t take long for the dream to turn into a nightmare. Every night, Lucy dreamed of walking into the office and stabbing Eliza with her silver Asprey letter-opener. Instead she sucked up Eliza’s demands and her constant bitching and dreamed of a day when she would open her own place.

Lucy imagined a PR company where people rang and had their queries answered. Where they were billed for actual work, not for Eliza’s dry cleaning and lunch bills, which padded out clients’ invoices as ‘project disbursements’. Eliza had forced Lucy to include the costs of her most recent art installation on a client’s bill, much to Lucy’s horror.

Eliza had come from the most successful modern art gallery in London, and through her network she had turned herself into a PR maven. Her clients in the art industry and her marriage to Johnny Wimple-Jones meant she had in her BlackBerry some of London’s best-known people, whom Eliza always referred to as friends. She always said to anyone who would listen that her agency wasn’t a job, it was just catching up with friends every night of the week.

Lucy groaned internally whenever she heard this catchphrase. True, it wasn’t work for Eliza; it was left up to Lucy to ensure the guests had drinks and the photo shoot was set up and the reputation of the latest art enfant terrible was saved.

Eliza had the network, but Lucy had the smarts. She was sure that one day karma would assert itself and she would be at the top of the PR game.

The truth was that most of Eliza’s clients only stayed at EWJ Agency because of Lucy. Her calmness and sensible advice had saved the day on many an occasion. Whether she was talking down a waiter high on coke and threatening to set fire to the hostess’s hairpiece with the chef’s blowtorch, or consoling a WAG whose husband’s philandering had just been made public, Lucy was in control.

Eliza was looking at Lucy shrewdly. ‘You’ve lost me the Piper Esprit Champagne account.’

Lucy looked at her boss confused. ‘I don’t think we ever had that account,’ she said.

‘Well we could have, but now I’ve just found out that they are launching with Karin Burchill.’ Eliza spat out the name of her biggest competition, as though it left a bitter taste in her mouth just to speak it.

‘I didn’t know they were looking,’ said Lucy.

‘You should have known. That’s your job,’ snapped Eliza.

Lucy felt a myriad of things rise to the surface that threatened to fall out of her mouth, so she closed it firmly, thinking of her small flat in Islington that she was paying off.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said instead.

‘You should be,’ snapped Eliza.

Lucy looked down at the diary in her hands.

‘You have two appointments back to back. Willow Carruthers first. She’ll be here in ten minutes,’ placated Lucy.

If there was one thing Eliza loved more than herself, it was celebrity. Eliza raised her eyebrows as if in disdain, but she was wondering if what she was wearing was impressive enough for the most stylish woman in the world. When she had got ready that morning, Eliza hadn’t known Willow would be coming; if she had she would have pulled out all the stops. Instead she looked down at her black silk Burberry dress, worn with the double strand of Wimple-Jones family pearls and her towering black patent leather Jimmy Choos, and figured it would have to do.

Eliza had decided that she would only dress in black and white once she started the agency. ‘Like the news,’ she told people when they asked. Lucy was always tempted to remind her that more and more people were reading their news online and that perhaps she should wear a Google logo dress, but she knew to keep her mouth shut.

Lucy left Eliza’s office and went back to her small desk, where she also acted as a receptionist and did whatever else Eliza decided to throw her way.

Sitting down, she opened JobSearch on her computer, typed in ‘PR’ and started to trawl through the results. She was either overqualified or underqualified for everything. No middle-entry positions, she thought. So fucking depressing.

The bell sounding Willow’s arrival startled Lucy from her gloom. She pressed the buzzer to let Willow into the upstairs office.

Eliza had made the EWJ offices look like a small gallery. Modern art covered the walls, changing constantly as Eliza rotated her sizeable collection between her three houses in London, the country estate and the house in Ibiza.

Today Willow was greeted by a giant installation of latex fried eggs hanging at different heights up the stairs. She pushed open the heavy glass doors. Lucy walked forward to greet her, but Eliza had pushed past and stretched out her long thin hand towards Willow before Lucy had had time to even open her mouth.

‘Hello, I’m Eliza Wimple-Jones,’ she said, with her most welcoming smile plastered on her face. ‘Please come in and we’ll have a chat, OK?’ She guided Willow to the small boardroom and tossed a look at Lucy over her shoulder. ’Coffee and mineral water please, Lucy.’

Willow smiled at Lucy almost apologetically and Lucy smiled back. Lucy was used to Eliza’s rudeness and dismissive tone. She knew that eventually Eliza would tire of her new client and then all the work would fall to her. She took a tray into the boardroom, notebook and pencil under her arm, and placed it down quietly on the glass table. A giant sculpture of a woman in pieces was strung above their heads. While it was ugly, it was better than the baby in utero talking on a mobile phone that had hung there a few months ago.

Willow sat nervously as Eliza talked about her boutique agency. ‘I don’t publicise. My job is to ensure you are in the media for the right reasons, and seen with the right brands and the right people. Your comeback, if you want to call it that, needs to be carefully orchestrated; by not only me but also your agent and manager, both here in London and back in LA.’

Willow nodded.

Eliza went on, liking the sound of her own voice. She was great at the pitch and she knew it; this was where she did well. She just wasn’t so great at doing the work.

‘This could take several months actually, so we need to be careful about how quickly we push you out into the marketplace. Slowly, slowly is the key.’

Willow thought about her dwindling current account and felt sick. ‘Actually I was hoping to move faster than that.’

Eliza nodded, ‘I understand. Want to show the world you’re fierce and fabulous, huh?’ She smiled conspiratorially. ‘I get it, I did the same after my first marriage went down the gurgler. OK, well then to launch you sooner – that’s a different plan altogether.’