‘Then please take a seat.’ She lifted a phone receiver. ‘Who shall I say it is?’
I sighed. ‘Hattie.’ Sauntering over to the faux leather sofa, I plonked myself down. Disappointed I no longer had the advantage of surprise, I cursed the receptionist’s gate-keeping efficiency. I scowled at her. She was obviously power mad.
The receptionist put the phone to her ear and pressed a couple of buttons. Waiting a moment, she drummed her manicured nails on her desk. ‘The line’s busy,’ she said, replacing the receiver. ‘You can leave a message if you like?’
Having driven forty minutes to get there and already given my name, I didn’t see the point in leaving. ‘It’s okay. I can wait.’
While the receptionist turned her attention to her computer screen, I scanned my surroundings. My gaze fell on a huge abstract art canvas that hung on the brilliant white wall to my right. Angling my head this way and that, I soon gave up trying to understand it and instead, focused on the five-foot-tall artificial ficus tree that reflected on the white ultra-gloss tiled floor. I wrinkled my nose. Apart from a string of tinsel that lined the edge of the reception desk, there was no sign it was Christmas.
I recalled my very first visit. Back then, everything about the place had seemed modern and slick but looking at it now, it felt soulless and lacked personality. The atmosphere was as cold as the weather outside. I didn’t know how the receptionist stomached sitting there all day. Wishing she’d try Gideon’s extension again, I’d only been in the space five minutes and had had enough.
The building’s entryway automatically swished open, and a motorbike delivery man dressed neck to toe in leather made his entrance. He carried his helmet in one hand and a padded envelope in the other. The receptionist’s eyes lit up at the sight of him and as the two of them chatted, mine darted from them to the internal corridor.
Rising, I tried to appear casual. Pretending to stretch my legs, I manoeuvred towards plate glass doors and seizing the opportunity, slipped into the building’s inner sanctum. A quick glance back and I was relieved to see my movements continue to go unnoticed and tootling along at pace, I made my way to Gideon’s office.
Reaching his door, I could hear him talking and pressing my ear against the wood, I strained to listen, wanting an idea of what I was about to walk in on.
‘I’ll show you my spreadsheets if you show me yours.’
Hearing Gideon’s tantalising tone, I frowned. Unable to remember him ever talking to me in that manner, it was uncomfortable listening. I didn’t catch the response, but Gideon’s subsequent chuckle told me it was favourable.
‘How do you feel about the double-entry method?’ he asked.
My eyes widened. This was a side of Gideon I didn’t know about.
‘If you don’t like it, I can always withdraw.’
I put a hand up to my chest. As accountancy conversations went, his was beginning to sound pornographic.
‘You’re sure you’re okay with this?’
With what?Whomever he was talking to might have been, but I wasn’t.
‘Fantastic.’
Having heard enough, I pulled my ear away from the door and flinging the entrance open ready to catch him in whatever act was taking place, I burst into the room.
Phone to his ear, Gideon nearly jumped out of his seat. Sat behind his huge leather-inlaid desk, his jaw dropped at the sight of me. ‘Hattie, what are you doing here?’ he asked, his surprise turning to confusion.
He could play innocent all he wanted, but after what I’d just heard he obviously wasn’t alone, and I refused to let him get the better of me. I marched over to him, grabbed his chair and with one quick yank, wheeled him out of the way. ‘I just wanted to see what you were up to,’ I said, as I checked the void where his feet had been.
Gideon indicated the receiver still in his hand, staring at me like I’d lost the plot. ‘I’m on the phone. To a client.’
I scanned the room in search of other potential hiding places. Plusher than reception, Gideon’s office held a line of bookcases filled with accountancy manuals, while tasteful and bland pieces of artwork hung above a bank of filing cabinets. My heart sank. Unless there was a femme fatale squeezed in a drawer or between the sofa and the wall, I’d clearly got the situation wrong and what I’d overheard was, indeed, a legitimate professional exchange.
Realising my mistake, I closed my eyes for a second. Having made a colossal fool of myself, I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. My mind raced as I tried to come up with a credible excuse for my actions.
With no choice but to take my earlier advice and play it cool, I fixed a smile on my face and spun round. ‘A mouse,’ I said. I made a point of checking where Gideon’s feet had been for a second time. ‘A mouse ran under your desk.’
CHAPTER8
Closing Gideon’s office door behind me, I made my way back down the corridor. Head down, every step felt like the morning after the night before. Admittedly, an actual Sunday morning walk of shame would have been preferable. At least I’d have had fun beforehand.
As I skulked along, I cursed myself for my stupidity. Be it on the benefits of fancy underwear, the marital downfall of Gloria Chalmers, or anything else connected to their idea of relationship counselling, I was never listening to Erin and Joyce again. Twice their not so wise words had left me humiliated. No way was I going for a hat trick.
I sighed, aware that as much as I wanted to blame other people for my predicament, the responsibility was all mine. No one had strong-armed me into turning up at Gideon’s office. Everything I’d done was of my own free will. The only person I’d told about my visit was Wills, and even then, I hadn’t been honest. As for Erin and Joyce, for all they knew I was back in Settledown, safe and sound at The Knitting Nook.
Getting to the end of the corridor, I pushed on the heavy glass doors that took me back into the reception area and despite the excitable chatter, I was too embarrassed to even look at the people gathered at the reception desk as I passed by.
