Page 44 of One Summer Weekend
‘Beautiful.’
I spun round, relishing the admiration in his voice and in his eyes. He was standing close enough to touch and, since last night, I could reach out and touch wheneverI wanted. I said wryly, ‘That’s reassuring. At least if I mess up my talk, I’ll look good doing it.’
He tilted my face towards his. ‘Why would you mess it up?’
‘Lots of reasons. It’s someone else’s talk and I’m not as comfortable with the subject matter. I haven’t done my usual preparation on the audience, or the venue, or the other speakers – which makes me even more nervous. And,most of all, I just want to be here with you.’
‘Take this as a souvenir.’ He bent his head and kissed me. ‘What time do you think you’ll be finished?’
‘I’ll leave as soon as the panel discussion’s over – shouldn’t be any later than five. You’ll be back from your shopping trip by then? There’s only the one key card.’
‘I’ll be here waiting for you, Alicia.’
I gave a raggedsigh. ‘Look, if I don’t go this very second, I won’t go at all.’
‘Let’s go together, then, and I’ll get my shopping out of the way. Deal?’
‘Deal.’
Downstairs, in the crowded lobby, we parted with nothing more than a lingering look and a touch of the hand. I watched his retreating back until he disappeared from view. Then I squared my shoulders and followed the signs for ‘Aspireand Inspire: International Life Coaching Conference’.
A printed name badge lay in splendid isolation on the registration table; needless to say, it was for Judy. I waited, serene and unquestioning, while one of the organisers corrected it with a handwritten label. Somehow, this persistent refusal to accept me as a replacement no longer mattered. In fact – I smiled to myself – maybe it wasa sign that I wasn’t meant to be here at all, that I should’ve gone shopping with Jack.
I was shown to a seat on the low stage, one of five in a shallow semi-circle. To my left – a blond man wearing jeans, sandals and a startlingly black beard; I judged him to be around Jack’s age, and he introduced himself as Lionel. On my far right – two women. Di, the one nearer to me, was perhaps inher late thirties; pretty, with long flowing hair and a long flowing skirt. The one further away, Wanda, looked older and more formal. Her hair was scrunched into a tight little bun that gave her rather a severe air; I was glad I’d left mine loose.
The seat next to mine, the centre of the group, was empty. I was about to ask who we were waiting for, when the announcer – a large, untidy womanwhose bracelets jangled without any apparent effort on her part – summoned Wanda to the middle of the stage as the first speaker. Lionel went next, and then Di. I listened to them in my new frame of mind, benevolent to all. Especially Di, who interspersed her basic message of ‘oneness’ with whale music and meditation. Instead of contemplating a deserted beach scene, however, I let my mind driftto Jack …
Finally it was my turn. I kept to Judy’s notes, which I knew more or less by heart. Using anonymised case studies, I explained that, whereas in life coaching the client was an individual, executive coaching was different: the contract was with an organisation and the people being coached were usually its senior managers. As with life coaching, the reason for the intervention wasoften some sort of change or transition. However, contracting with an organisation introduced a greater emphasis on formality and professional standards, which could help avoid some basic pitfalls.
The audience seemed unimpressed; no doubt the style of coaching I’d described was far removed from what they were used to. So far removed, in fact, that a lecture on the art of vegetable sculptingwould probably have been greeted with more enthusiasm. As I surveyed the room one last time, I saw a man at the back step forward, clapping more loudly than anyone else. My heart lurched. It was Jack, in a new checked shirt and chinos, looking ridiculously handsome and proud and – andhappy. I couldn’t resist giving him a beaming smile and a thumbs-up.
One last session – then I could goto him. Dinner, followed by a stroll through the London streets, back to the hotel. Perhaps a nightcap in the bar, delaying the inevitable. Finally, when we couldn’t hold off any longer, we would go to bed. I glanced at my watch. Only four or five hours to wait. Unless, of course, there was time before dinner …
I had hesitated a moment too long. Now the announcer was between me and my seat,introducing the panel discussion. We would be joined by the keynote speaker, one of the morning sessions that I’d missed. A man who’d apparently held everyone spellbound with a mantra that captured the very essence of our conference title ‘Aspire and Inspire’:to be better at life coaching, you have to be better at life.
I raised my eyebrows; a snappy slogan – but what did it actually mean?My immediate conclusion was that it promoted the very opposite of professional detachment, which was the mainstay of executive coaching. An interesting approach that could provoke a more intense debate … Maybe the next hour would be time well spent after all.
‘And here he is,’ the announcer continued, her tone exultant, ‘from the Golden State of the USA, with his unique brand of coachingwisdom, please welcome once again Troy – Randall – Travers!’
Somewhere inside my head, a drum started its throbbing beat. My face froze in a grimace of shock and confusion. In the midst of thunderous applause, I found myself trapped in an embrace that had once meant more than anything else in the world.
‘Aleesha.’ A voice not heard for three years – but never forgotten – caressed myear. ‘What an unexpected pleasure! At least, it’s a pleasure for me. Let’s hope you can say the same.’
