Free From Pasta to Pigfoot by Frances Mensah Williams Page B

she said. ‘You’ll need to take the lift back down, I’m afraid.’
    Resisting the urge to box the woman’s pearl studded ears, Faye had politely but firmly insisted that she was there to interview for the PA vacancy for the Creative Director, standing her ground until the disbelieving receptionist finally phoned through to the Human Resources department. One look at the HR Officer conducting the interviews, a glossy blonde called Petra who spoke with an accent that could have cut a two-inch pane of glass, told Faye that this was not going to end well. Petra seemed slightly taken aback at the sight of the young impeccably dressed black woman waiting for her, but smiled brightlyand gestured for Faye to follow her into her office.
    When they were both seated, she continued smiling vaguely in Faye’s direction as she offered her coffee, looking slightly relieved when Faye shook her head. Continuing to avoid direct eye contact, Petra rattled through a series of questions, barely waiting for the answer to one question before firing the next one.
    After ten minutes, Petra sighed, leant forward and shook her head, her smooth blonde bob bouncing gently in sympathy. Gesturing helplessly with long pale fingers tipped with nails elegantly coated in rose pink varnish, her voice took on an earnest and almost conspiratorial tone.
    â€˜Look, the thing is that Conrad – that’s our Creative Director – is absolutely insistent that he needs someone with at least two years’ experience doing this kind of thing. I’m positive I told the agency about that. So, Fern, I’m so sorry but you’re not really—’
    â€˜Very suitable,’ Faye interrupted her grimly. Fighting back tears, she held her head high and scrambled to her feet, leaving the office without another word. Reluctant to wait out on the street for William, who had offered to meet her and take her out for a celebratory drink, she was forced to sit in the reception area, where she tried to ignore the smug ‘I-told-you-so’ expression on the receptionist’s face. She sat bolt upright in a very stylish and equally uncomfortable armchair and buried her face in one of the glossy magazines featuring horses, dogs and very large country homes that were scattered carelessly on the glass-topped centre table.
    When her brother strode into the reception area twentyminutes later, she had her revenge. The receptionist, taking in at a glance the tall athletic man with the handsome chocolate features and strong muscles clothed in a beautifully cut dark suit, immediately sat up straighter to emphasise her cleavage and patted her already perfect hair. Smiling invitingly at William, she was just about to ask how she could help him when Faye jumped to her feet and walked quickly towards him.
    â€˜Darling!’ The word came out in a seductive husky voice totally unlike the normal tone she adopted with her brother. Before the startled William could say a word, she had flung her arms around his neck and whispered urgently in his ear. ‘Bitch alert!’
    Instantly picking up on his sister’s signal, William turned to the receptionist, whose smile had now frozen comically on her heavily made-up face.
    â€˜Looks like I’ve found the one I was looking for,’ he said, grinning engagingly at the now sulky blonde, before turning back to Faye. ‘All set, angel? Are you ready to leave?’
    Tossing her head, Faye slipped her hand inside his arm and said loudly in the most affected accent she could manage, ‘More than ready, darling. I’ve had quite enough of this place – it’s really not very suitable!’
    Although the sight of the receptionist’s livid face as she stalked out of the office kept Faye laughing long enough to avoid the threat of tears, she had been terrified of any further rejection. To avoid any more traumatising interviews, she signed up with a temp agency and was sent to