Laura, saying how much fun she must be having and how I can’t wait to see her and tell her everything that’s been going on. As I’m writing, I see another message slip into my inbox, and when I’ve sent Laura’s on its way, I click to see what it is. It’s from [email protected]. Who? For an instant I’m confused and then it all comes back. Oh my God, my interview at the gallery.
I open the email.
Dear Beth
It was a real pleasure to meet you yesterday. I saw some other candidates after you, and I have to admit that none of them had your enthusiasm or the certain something that makes me think we’d enjoy working together. If you’re still interested, I’d love to talk about you taking the gallery assistant job over the summer. Let me know when it’s a good time to chat and I’ll give you a call.
I’ll look forward to hearing from you,
Best wishes, James McAndrew
I stare at the message and read it three times over before it sinks in. James is offering me the job. Oh wow! How fantastic. I’m delighted, triumphant. So yesterday wasn’t a total disaster – my new look paid off in one respect. I know I’ve fallen on my feet, finding a job in a proper gallery just like that.
Who knows where it might lead?
Quickly I send back a reply saying that I’m definitely still interested, and very keen to work for him. He can call me any time on my mobile. I’ve hardly sent it off when my phone, sitting on the table next to me, rings.
I sweep it up. ‘Hello?’
‘Beth, it’s James.’
‘Hi!’
‘So, are you going to be my new assistant?’ I can hear a smile in his voice.
‘Yes, please!’ I’m smiling broadly back.
‘When can you start?’
‘How about Monday?’
He laughs. ‘You’re certainly enthusiastic. Monday is great.’ He tells me a little about the job and the salary – which is hardly more than I earn as a waitress but I suppose that’s the reality of foot-on-the-rung jobs – and says he’s looking forward to seeing me on Monday. After thanking him profusely for the opportunity, I ring off feeling buoyed up and positive. Is London really starting to open its doors to me? I dash off a quick email to my parents telling them the good news and reassuring them that all is going well. Beyond the coffee shop window, golden sunlight is blazing down on the city.
My last days of freedom before I start working – I’d better go out and take advantage of it.
I finish my coffee, pack up my laptop and head back to the flat. After dumping my stuff, I head out to visit the National Gallery and some of the other must-sees on my list. Everything seems radiant and exciting. It’s amazing how a change of mood can affect everything . The gallery is far too big to take in on one visit, so I go and see the twentieth-century European rooms to prepare for my new job, and then take in some magnificent Renaissance masterpieces to finish everything off with a huge dollop of dramatic scale and vivid richness.
Venturing back into Trafalgar Square, with its black lions sitting guard over the fountains, I think it’s a crime to spend the rest of this summer day inside. I thread my way through the groups of tourists and visitors, and make my way back to the flat, where I collect my rug, sunglasses, a book, a bottle of water and some fruit. Then I head to the garden at the back of the building, and take my old place near the tennis courts. Dominic isn’t there, the courts are empty, and I’m obscurely disappointed even though I told myself he’ll be at work. I wonder what work he does. He was playing tennis during the day earlier in the week, so perhaps he has flexible hours. Who knows?
I lie down with my book and start to read, relishing the warmth of the sun on my limbs. No matter how I try to concentrate on my book, my thoughts keep drifting back to Dominic and that moment we shared last night. He must have felt it too, I’m sure of it. I recall the way he looked confused, baffled by
I open the email.
Dear Beth
It was a real pleasure to meet you yesterday. I saw some other candidates after you, and I have to admit that none of them had your enthusiasm or the certain something that makes me think we’d enjoy working together. If you’re still interested, I’d love to talk about you taking the gallery assistant job over the summer. Let me know when it’s a good time to chat and I’ll give you a call.
I’ll look forward to hearing from you,
Best wishes, James McAndrew
I stare at the message and read it three times over before it sinks in. James is offering me the job. Oh wow! How fantastic. I’m delighted, triumphant. So yesterday wasn’t a total disaster – my new look paid off in one respect. I know I’ve fallen on my feet, finding a job in a proper gallery just like that.
Who knows where it might lead?
Quickly I send back a reply saying that I’m definitely still interested, and very keen to work for him. He can call me any time on my mobile. I’ve hardly sent it off when my phone, sitting on the table next to me, rings.
I sweep it up. ‘Hello?’
‘Beth, it’s James.’
‘Hi!’
‘So, are you going to be my new assistant?’ I can hear a smile in his voice.
‘Yes, please!’ I’m smiling broadly back.
‘When can you start?’
‘How about Monday?’
He laughs. ‘You’re certainly enthusiastic. Monday is great.’ He tells me a little about the job and the salary – which is hardly more than I earn as a waitress but I suppose that’s the reality of foot-on-the-rung jobs – and says he’s looking forward to seeing me on Monday. After thanking him profusely for the opportunity, I ring off feeling buoyed up and positive. Is London really starting to open its doors to me? I dash off a quick email to my parents telling them the good news and reassuring them that all is going well. Beyond the coffee shop window, golden sunlight is blazing down on the city.
My last days of freedom before I start working – I’d better go out and take advantage of it.
I finish my coffee, pack up my laptop and head back to the flat. After dumping my stuff, I head out to visit the National Gallery and some of the other must-sees on my list. Everything seems radiant and exciting. It’s amazing how a change of mood can affect everything . The gallery is far too big to take in on one visit, so I go and see the twentieth-century European rooms to prepare for my new job, and then take in some magnificent Renaissance masterpieces to finish everything off with a huge dollop of dramatic scale and vivid richness.
Venturing back into Trafalgar Square, with its black lions sitting guard over the fountains, I think it’s a crime to spend the rest of this summer day inside. I thread my way through the groups of tourists and visitors, and make my way back to the flat, where I collect my rug, sunglasses, a book, a bottle of water and some fruit. Then I head to the garden at the back of the building, and take my old place near the tennis courts. Dominic isn’t there, the courts are empty, and I’m obscurely disappointed even though I told myself he’ll be at work. I wonder what work he does. He was playing tennis during the day earlier in the week, so perhaps he has flexible hours. Who knows?
I lie down with my book and start to read, relishing the warmth of the sun on my limbs. No matter how I try to concentrate on my book, my thoughts keep drifting back to Dominic and that moment we shared last night. He must have felt it too, I’m sure of it. I recall the way he looked confused, baffled by
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