The Mini Break by Jane Costello Read Free Book Online Page B

wanted in a job and has come earlier in my career than expected. But that’s not the only reason why I love it. It’s made me feel as though
I’m really going places; it’s proved to me that hard work does pay dividends. It’s not just the new office, or the fact that I now sit in team meetings important enough for
crustless miniature sandwiches (although they are marvellous). I’ve suddenly become – or at least am on the way to becoming – a woman who can make things happen, who people listen
to and respect. Which is a very good feeling, I can’t deny it.
    On top of that, Peebles is quite simply a nice place to work; an office where camaraderie comes easily. In my pre-Florence days, this manifested itself in impromptu sessions in the Punch &
Judy after work. Although these days I have to settle for grabbing a sandwich once in a blue moon with Stacey, Elsa or Roy, my friends on our floor, I still know I’m lucky to work with people
I – largely – enjoy being around.
    The only downside is that being a high-flyer or, at least, pretending to be one, isn’t exactly family-friendly. Although nobody explicitly says so, it’s not the done thing to slope
off from work to get back in time to eat dinner with your daughter. I constantly feel like I’m slacking, whether or not I’m stuck in front of my computer every night until past
midnight. Which I am. Every. Single. Night.
    ‘Sorry, David. I actually left the message last night while I was tying up a few loose ends from home, but thanks for getting back to me. I just wanted to let you know that I’ve now
sent you an email detailing everything you need to know while I’m away.’
    ‘Yes, I got that. And the two earlier ones.’
    ‘Yes. Sorry. I wanted to cover all bases, particularly for anything to do with the merger.’
    Eight weeks from now, Peebles will be announcing to its staff, the stock market and the world’s media that it is joining forces with Uber-Getreide, which is basically the German equivalent
of us. It’s all entirely hush-hush at the moment, but the result – the imaginatively entitled Peebles-Getreide Ltd – will create Europe’s biggest-ever food-manufacturing
giant.
    David and his opposite number in Germany will be making the announcement at a press conference on 2 September, but it’s my job to get everything ready for him behind the scenes: from
liaising with the marketing department at Getreide and appointing a PR specialist here, to determining what colour tie will imbue David with an aura of gravitas on the day.
    ‘That email includes details of everything, from the key contacts at Getreide to the market research results, the PR company we’ve just appointed, and every contact name and number
you might need. Although I’m confident you won’t need any of them. They’re just in case.’
    He sighs extravagantly. ‘You know what I think, Imogen?’ He pauses. ‘I think you need to
relax
.’
    I breathe out, only now realising I hadn’t done so for several seconds. ‘I am. I mean, I
will
. And, anyway, Laura knows absolutely everything and I’ve told her not to
hesitate to call me if anyone needs me. You’ve got my mobile, but I’ve also included a number for the hotel, and my friend Nicola’s number too, just in case. As I say, none of it
should be necessary but—’
    ‘Imogen!’
    ‘Um . . . yes?’
    ‘What do I always say at times like this?’
    ‘Oh. Er . . .’ I am hesitating because there are any number of multiple-choice options to answer this. David is fond of philosophising, although the truth is he’s no
Aristotle.
    ‘Think long. Think deep. But
think
.’ His voice drops an octave, in the same manner employed by Churchill when delivering his war speeches. Then he pauses, reflecting on his
thoughts. As do I. Though I haven’t the faintest clue what it means.
    ‘I’ll do that, David.’
    ‘That’s what holidays are for, Imogen. And you must be overdue one. When was the last time you