Page 4 of One Summer Weekend
Chapter Two
On Monday I was in the office for eight o’clock. It had been a weekend of self-distraction – with only limited success. A trip to the gym, the first in a while, to punish my mind through my body. An evening with a couple of friends, both first-time mothers whose babies dominated the conversation even when tucked up in bed. A long Skype call with my parents, includingan inch-by-inch survey of their new retirement villa in Spain. Cleaning the flat, which turned into a physical workout on a par with the gym.
In the end, it was a relief to go to work. As I drove through the business park on the grassy outskirts of Helsingham, I couldn’t help contrasting its flowering shrubs and fountains with the concrete wastes of Grimshaw. What chance did people haveof functioning effectively when they were surrounded by ugliness? Not that this excused Jack Smith’s behaviour in the slightest, but the view from his office window must be a lot more depressing than mine.
I knew that my director, Stuart Carson, would already be at his desk. It was usually worth gauging the depth of his Monday gloom and checking whether it had been sweetened by his morninglatte. But the need to exorcise Jack Smith from my life had been gnawing at me all weekend, and I wanted to get this interview over.
The door of Stuart’s room was closed; always a bad sign. Either he’d been landed with entertaining the kids on Sunday, or he’d overdone the nineteenth hole at the golf club. I gave a firm knock and entered without waiting for an answer. As I clicked the doorshut behind me, he looked up from his iPad. Grey face, bloodshot eyes – a nineteenth-hole extravaganza, obviously; and I suspected he’d barely touched his latte.
‘Just a quick update on Leo Components,’ I said brightly.
‘Is the contract signed?’
‘Not yet, but—’
‘That’s not like you. It was the on-boarding meeting on Friday, wasn’t it? Is there a problem?’
‘Possibly.’
He sighed and folded his arms above the rounded summit of his stomach. ‘You’d better sit down and tell me what’s going on.’
Which I did, more or less. As I had no intention of jeopardising my career prospects, I gave him an abridged version of my meeting and omitted certain facts entirely. Like how Jack Smith had succeeded in reintroducing me to the darkest moments from my past andprompted my first anxiety attack in at least two years.
Stuart reached for his latte. ‘So he eyed you up and said things that had a double meaning? Are you telling me that’s never happened to you in a coaching situation?’
‘Never.’ An automatic response that consigned the past to a sealed container, gathering dust; until my meeting last Friday, it wouldn’t even have registered as alie.
‘Perhaps with older clients you don’t tend to notice—’
‘I’ve never had a problem withanyof our clients.’ That much was true; the … incident had happened before I joined Coaches for Growth.
‘I should hope not.’ Then, peering into his coffee cup, ‘But does that mean they never think about you in that way? What I’m trying to say is, if you’re not expecting to see somethingthen you won’t necessarily see it.’ As he shifted his gaze to my face, I quickly masked my astonishment. What the hell was he implying? He continued, ‘Whereas you were gunning for this Smith guy before you’d even met him. What was it you said last week? He can’t appear in public without a semi-naked woman draped over him, or words to that effect.’
Two challenges here, both unanticipated.I took refuge in a dismissive laugh and tackled the first one head on. ‘Why would Gerald Fostereverthink about me in that way? Or Adam Chesterfield? Or Tom Rigg? They’re happily married, as far as I can tell.’
‘Jeez, Alicia! Happily married men still look at other women, especially young and very attractive ones. It’s just that most of them do nothing more than look.’
I frowned atthe gleaming oak floor. Even if I didn’t believe him, the damage had been done; the memory of those pleasant, fatherly clients had now acquired a sinister quality. As for Stuart himself, who would pass for happily married on a good day and who’d just implied that he thought I was very attractive … I risked a glance at him, fearing a Jack Smith moment. Instead of catching him in mid-leer, I foundhim slurping at his latte; the relief was overwhelming.
He drained his cup and threw it in the bin beside him. ‘How did you leave things at Leo Components?’
At last we were approaching decision time. ‘I said I’d consult my colleagues to agree who would be the most appropriate coach, and that I’d email him with the outcome today.’
He fingered his iPad, as if bored with our conversation.‘And when does he want the coaching to start?’
‘As soon as possible.’
‘Really?’ That claimed his full attention; I could almost hear the cogs in his brain whirring. He went on, ‘The initial payment would certainly help our cash flow, get us out of a temporary hole.’ He paused, and mustered an expression of sympathetic concern. ‘Look – if you’ve really got a problem with him, I canfind someone else. Just not immediately. If, on the other hand, you could start him off, do the deep-dive stage … Not ideal to switch coaches part way, but the contract covers a certain amount of flexibility. Of course, you’ll have supervision available to you – Judy’s the one you prefer, isn’t she? – and I’ll get a replacement coach lined up – probably Gary when he’s back from holiday in July. Butremember it’s your choice.’
And, at Coaches for Growth, that meant taking full responsibility for the consequences. I closed my eyes, visualising the decision as a fork in an unfamiliar road. My instinctive preference was for the wide, smooth path that snaked confidently into the distance; in other words, refuse the assignment, hope that the company would still secure the business aftera few weeks’ delay and focus on coaching within my self-appointed boundaries.
Except that the boundaries were no longer as clear-cut as I’d believed; Stuart’s feedback suggested I’d been unobservant and naïve about my previous clients. Which meant that this was building into a professional issue as well as a personal one. If I took this path, I suspected that it would ultimately bring meback to where I was now.
My other option was a thicket of bramble bushes with no obvious way through, and I had no idea where I would end up: high risk for an uncertain reward. On the other hand, I reasoned, the risk was for a limited time only, with an external supervisor to provide professional guidance. I could even ask her to observe the coaching sessions in person; that should keepJack Smith in his place.
But I needed to cover off every eventuality. ‘I’ll take the assignment,’ I said slowly, ‘on one condition – that I can opt out at any stage, if I feel it’s necessary.’
For the first time since I’d entered his room, Stuart smiled. ‘Agreed, but only because you’re not usually this high-maintenance. Thanks, Alicia, and keep me posted.’
