Cecelia Ahern - P.S. I Love You

Holly turned around and pointed to the folders sitting on the other applicants' laps and turned to face the secretary with a smile on her face.

The lady smiled and motioned her to come closer with her finger.

Holly tucked her hair behind her ears and moved nearer. “Yes?”

“Sorry honey, but they're actually portfolios that they brought themselves,” she whispered to her so that Holly wouldn't be embarrassed.

Holly's face froze. “Oh. Should I have brought one of them with me?”

“Well, do you have one?” the lady asked with a friendly smile.

Holly shook her head.

“Well then, don't worry about it. It's not a requirement, people just bring these things to show off,” she whispered to her and Holly giggled.

Holly returned to her seat and continued to worry about this portfolio business. Nobody had said anything to her about any stupid portfolios. Why was she the last to know everything? She tapped her foot and looked around the office while she waited. She got a good feeling from the place, the colors were warm and cozy and the light poured in from the large Georgian windows.

The ceilings were high and there was a lovely feeling of space. Holly could sit there all day thinking. She suddenly felt so relaxed that her heart didn't even jump as her name was called.

She walked confidently down toward the door of the interview office and the secretary winked at her to wish her good luck. Holly smiled back at her; for some reason she already felt part of the team. She paused just outside the door of the office and took a deep breath.

Shoot for the moon, she whispered to herself, shoot for the moon.

Thirty-four

HOLLY KNOCKED LIGHTLY ON THE door and a deep gruff voice told her to enter. Her heart did a little flip at the sound of his voice, feeling as if she had been summoned to the principal's office at school. She wiped her clammy hands on her suit and entered the room.

“Hello,” she said more confidently than she felt. She walked across the small room and held out her hand to the man who had stood up from his chair and was extending his hand to her. He greeted her with a big smile and a warm handshake. The face didn't seem to match the grumpy voice at all, thankfully. Holly relaxed a little at the sight of him, he reminded her of her father.

He looked to be in his late fifties with a big cuddly bear physique, and she had to stop herself from leaping over the desk to hug him. His hair was neat and almost a sparkling silver color and she imagined he had been an extremely handsome man in his youth.

“Holly Kennedy, isn't it?” he said, taking his seat and glancing down at her CV in front of him.

She sat down in the seat opposite him and forced herself to relax. She had read every interview technique manual she could get her hands on over the past few days and had tried to put it all into practice, from walking into the room to the proper handshake to the way she positioned herself in her chair. She wanted to look like she was experienced, intelligent and highly confident. But she would need more than a firm handshake to succeed in proving that.

“That's right,” she said, placing her handbag on the ground beside her and resting her sweaty hands on her lap.

He put his glasses on the end of his nose and flicked through her CV in silence. Holly stared at him intently and tried to read his facial expressions. It wasn't an easy task, as he was one of those people who had a constant frown on his face while he read. Well, it was either that or he wasn't at all impressed by what he was seeing. She glanced around at his desk and waited for him to start speaking again. Her eyes fell upon a silver photo frame with three pretty girls close to her age all smiling happily at the camera. She continued to stare at it with a smile on her face, and when she looked up she realized he had put the CV down and was watching her. She smiled and tried to appear more businesslike.

“Before we start talking about you, I'll explain exactly who I am and what the job entails,” he explained.

Holly nodded along with him, intending to look very interested.

“My name is Chris Feeney and I'm the founder and editor of the magazine, or the boss man as everyone likes to call me around here,” he chuckled, and Holly was charmed by his twinkling blue eyes.

“Basically we are looking for someone to deal with the advertising aspect of the magazine. As you know, the running of a magazine or any media organization is hugely reliant on the advertising we receive. We need the money for our magazine to be published, so this job is extremely important. Unfortunately, our last man had to leave us in a hurry, so I'm looking for somebody who could begin work almost immediately. How would you feel about that?”

Holly nodded. “That would be no problem at all, in fact I'm eager to begin work as soon as possible.”

Mr. Feeney nodded and looked down at her CV again. “I see you've been out of the workforce for over a year now, am I correct in saying that?” He lowered his head and stared at her over the rim of his glasses.

“Yes that's right,” Holly nodded. “And I can assure you that was purely out of choice.

Unfortunately my husband was ill, and I had to take time off work to be with him.”

She swallowed hard; she knew that this would be an issue for every employer. Nobody wanted to employ someone who had been idle for the past year.

“I see,” he said, looking up at her. “Well, I hope that he's fully recovered now,” he said, smiling warmly.

Holly wasn't sure whether that was a question or not and wasn't sure whether to keep talking.

Did he want to hear about her personal life? He continued to look at her and she realized he was waiting for an answer.

She cleared her throat. “Well no, actually, Mr. Feeney, unfortunately he passed away in February

. . . he had a brain tumor. That's why I felt it was important to leave my job.”

“Gosh.” Mr. Feeney put down the CV and took his glasses off. “Of course I can understand that. I'm very sorry to hear that,” he said sincerely. “It must be hard for you being so young and all . . .” He looked down at his desk for a while and then met her eyes again. “My wife lost her life to breast cancer just last year, so I understand how you may be feeling,” he said generously.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Holly said sadly, looking at the kind man across the table.

“They say it gets easier,” he smiled.

“So they say,” Holly said grimly. “Apparently gallons of tea does the trick.”

He started to laugh, a big guffaw of a laugh. “Yes! I've been told that one too, and my daughters inform me that fresh air is also a healer.”

Holly laughed. “Ah yes, the magic fresh air; it does wonders for the heart. Are they your daughters?” She smiled, looking at the photograph.

“Indeed they are,” he said, smiling also. “My three little doctors who try to keep me alive,” he laughed. “Unfortunately the garden no longer looks like that anymore, though,” he said, referring to the photograph.

“Wow, is that your garden?” Holly said, wide-eyed. “It's beautiful; I presumed it was the Botanic Gardens or somewhere like that.”

“That was Maureen's specialty. You can't get me out of the office long enough to sort through that mess.”

“Oh, don't talk to me about gardens,” Holly said, rolling her eyes, “I'm not exactly Ms.

Greenfingers myself, and the place is beginning to look like a jungle.” Well, it did look like a jungle, she thought to herself.

They continued to look at each other and smile, and Holly was comforted to hear a similar story from someone else in her position. Whether she got the job or not, at least she was comforted that she was not entirely alone.