Free Who's Afraid of Mr Wolfe? by Hazel Osmond

to hate the singing knickers.
    Jack gave an inspirational welcome speech in what Ellienoticed was a more pronounced Yorkshire accent than normal. Hetherington, a Yorkshireman himself, smiled and nodded, his chins wobbling. Then a very nervous Hugo took to the floor. He had sensed that Mr Hetherington was one of the old school and that failure was in the air. Mercifully, he didn’t pull any faces, but he undersold them and the reason behind the new approach so badly in his introduction that Ellie wasn’t really sure he had finished until he sat down. She felt panic jitter through her and looked across at Jack, but he was helping Hetherington to some water.
    She and Lesley did their best. They were bright and enthusiastic; they talked about how the TV ad would pan out, going through each storyboard and highlighting little details and finishing touches. They passed around a model of the hot pink knickers and showed how they would look when they sang.
    The expression on Mr Hetherington’s face grew grimmer and grimmer. The rest of his team was picking up cues from him and one by one their smiles died. In the end it was only Pauline Kennedy and Jack who were maintaining eye contact. At one point Jack smiled encouragingly, a genuine smile that went all the way up to his eyes, but his body language was telling a different story. He was ready for a fight.
    Ellie concentrated on Pauline as she pressed the button on the CD player to let them listen to the song, completewith music. The atmosphere worsened as the song played, and as the track finished, there was a tremendous bang as Mr Hetherington slammed his hand down on the table, making all the bottles of expensive water jump and jiggle.
    ‘I have never, ever seen such a load of amateurish nonsense in my life. I could go to any other agency in town and get something a million times better than this. A professional job. In fact …’ he paused for effect ‘… we saw some impressive stuff from Padstow Scott earlier this week.’ He let that little thought lie there for a while and then he turned to Ellie and fixed her with a baleful stare. ‘Whose idea was this? Was it yours?’
    Ellie opened her mouth and nodded. Her brain was crying at her to speak out and say that it was about making a creative difference, about setting his product apart. She tried to remember all the disparate bits of information she knew about demographic trends and audience outlook and the San Pro market, but all that came out of her mouth was, ‘Urrrrrr.’
    ‘You’ll make us a laughing stock,’ Hetherington bellowed directly at her. ‘What are you, some kind of student here for the holidays? You want to get yourself out in the real world and see how it operates.’
    He started counting out the ways he didn’t like the concept. ‘It’s offensive. It’s childish. It’s in poor taste. When I think of my mother having to sit through this … this … filth …’
    Ellie glanced around. To her left, Lesley was trying to say it was her idea too. To her right, Hugo was doing a passably good imitation of a side table.
    Then Jack was on his feet, smoothing down Hetherington’s anger and reminding him of all the good work the agency had done for his products over the years. He pointed out that there was nobody better at giving his company tried-and-trusted work, but that Hetherington shouldn’t blame them for attempting something different.
    Hetherington was still grumbling away, but less forcefully, when Jack suggested they all adjourn to the restaurant up the road, the one with the Michelin stars and the good wine cellar. Just to have a little chat. If they went now, they’d serve them a late lunch.
    ‘All right,’ said Hetherington, ‘but don’t bother to invite these two. Keep them and their stupid knickers out of my sight.’
    Moments later the room had emptied of Jack, Hugo, Mr Hetherington and the rest of the client team, and Lesley and Ellie were left sitting among the debris of what had