Confessions of a Lady Courier. Rosie DixonЧитать онлайн книгу.
personality. You need one in this business.
‘Now where?’ I say when we get to the bottom of the fire escape.
‘The Jag’s parked in the alley over there. You’d better come back to my place so I can show you the ropes.’
‘We could have done with some of the ropes just now, couldn’t we?’ I say.
Jeremy laughs agreeably. ‘You’re a funny little thing, aren’t you – well, not so little really.’ He looks at my boobs and I feel myself blushing again. If only I could take this kind of thing in my stride like Penny. Penny. I wonder if she has been in touch.
‘Has a girl called Penelope Green contacted you?’ I ask.
‘Saw her on Saturday,’ says Jeremy, gripping his briefcase tightly and striding purposefully into the alley. ‘And a bit of Sunday, too. Are you like her?’
I am so taken aback by the speed at which Penny has moved that I don’t answer for a moment. There is something almost underhand about it, considering that I saw the advertisement first. ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Well – er, in some ways. We have worked together before.’
Jeremy nods. ‘Amazing girl. Very open. Refreshing attitude of life and what you can get out of it.’ He looks me up and down quickly and runs his tongue along his top lip. ‘I’m thinking of hiring her.’
‘Oh, good,’ I say, wishing that I could make it sound more sincere. ‘How many girls do you have altogether?’
‘It varies a lot,’ says Jeremy, stopping beside an immaculate scarlet XK12. ‘There’s a big turnover in staff in a business like this.’
I nod and look at the car. After the fairly ordinary office, I had not been expecting anything quite so glamorous. Of course, I am not the kind of girl whose head is turned by mere possessions but I can’t help being a little bit impressed.
‘What do you have in mind for me?’ I ask.
Jeremy looks deep into my eyes and produces an ignition key which he sheathes between finger and thumb. ‘Very much the same as for your friend Penny,’ he says. ‘Hop inside and I’ll tell you about it.’
Almost trembling with excitement, I steady the door that is held open for me and settle into one of the sculptured leather seats. I have read about thick pile carpets and walnut fascias in the advertisements but it is not often that I am exposed to them. ‘It’s lovely,’ I say.
Jeremy smiles and shrugs. ‘Not a bad old bus. It will do until the Citröen Maserati shows up.’
‘You must be doing awfully well,’ I say. ‘I would have thought that business was bad with all these tour operators going bust. Do the public still have confidence?’
‘It’s a question of pricing,’ says Jeremy, revealing lean, hairy wrists as he slips the Jag into gear. ‘A lot of people were sceptical about the cheaper holidays. They didn’t think we could do it for the money.’
‘So what did you do?’ I say.
‘We doubled the prices,’ says Jeremy cheerfully. ‘People felt much more secure once they were paying more.’
‘But it was the same holiday?’
‘Absolutely.’ Jeremy smiles at me and narrowly misses an old lady who is pushing a basket on wheels across a zebra crossing. ‘I hope you don’t mind me telling you all this? It’s just that I like to be totally frank with my staff – with everyone, in fact.’
‘It’s a very good policy,’ I say. ‘Are you going to have to deliver the ransom money today?’
‘Ransom money?’ Jeremy’s features perform a few gymnastics as he registers puzzlement quickly followed by distress. ‘Oh dear. I left the address in the office. I’ll have to do it tomorrow. I don’t expect another twenty-four hours will make a lot of difference.’ He smiles his perfect smile and I find it easy to agree with him. ‘Now, tell me. What are your languages like?’
Oh dear. This was the question I was dreading. ‘I speak a little bit of French,’ I say. ‘Un petit morceau.’
‘What?’
I feel myself blushing again. ‘Un petit morceau. A little bit.’
Jeremy’s face lightens. ‘Is that what it means? Jolly good! I don’t speak any of these foreign lingos myself. If these chaps want to do business with us, I reckon it’s up to them to learn English, what?’
I nod thankfully. ‘You don’t think languages are going to be a problem, then?’
‘Not at all. Ninety-nine per cent of the customers are going to be British, aren’t they? They’ll be able to understand you. Have you ever been abroad?’
I shake my head. ‘No. I was going to Paris with my school but I got measles.’
‘That’s bad luck,’ says Jeremy sympathetically. ‘But don’t worry about it. I mean, not having been abroad. It’s probably quite a good thing really. You won’t be blasé, will you? Everything will come as a surprise and your enthusiasm will convey itself to the punters.’
What a sympathetic and understanding man, I think to myself. So different from the pushy Sammy Fish. I really think I could be happy at Climax. ‘I hope you’re right,’ I say. ‘I’d certainly try very hard. I’d look up everything in a book.’
‘Capital,’ says Jeremy. ‘You can’t ask much fairer than that, can you? When could you start?’
‘Er – almost immediately,’ I say. ‘Notice won’t be any problem.’ I don’t like to say that I am out of work.
‘That’s fine,’ says Jeremy. ‘I’m just putting together a package at the moment. “A European Whizaround”, Holland, Belgium, Luxembourg, Germany, Switzerland, Italy, and – get out of the way you half-witted bastard!’ The last remark is directed at a cyclist who has swung out in front of us ‘– and France.’
‘That sounds marvellous,’ I say. ‘Tell me, what do you mean “put together”?’
Once again, Jeremy shakes his head admiringly. ‘You don’t miss a thing, do you?’
‘I wasn’t trying to be nosy,’ I say.
Jeremy touches the back of my wrist reassuringly. ‘I know, I know. I was complimenting you. We need people in this business with sharp, agile minds.’ He takes a deep breath. ‘Let me try to explain it to you. I want to make sure that every coach we hire is going to be full.’
‘Hire?’ I say.
‘Oh yes. I want all my capital assets utilised to produce maximum liquidity. Coaches are expensive and they’re even more expensive if they’re standing about empty.’
‘Quite,’ I say, trying to look intelligent and wondering what he is talking about.
‘Every prospective customer has to give a choice of three dates. In that way I’m virtually certain of being able to fit sixty people into one period. Then I hire the coach.’
‘What a good idea,’ I say.
‘It’s no more than common sense,’ says Jeremy. ‘It’s more profitable to run one full coach than three half empty ones.’
‘What about the people you can’t book in?’
‘I write and tell them that owing to unprecedented demand we’re completely booked up. It makes them twice as keen to get in early next time. Ah, here we are. It’s not much but it’s home.’
We have glided into the forecourt of a small block of luxury flats. You can tell that they are posh because there are no icecream wrappers on the grass, only the statue of a naked athlete about to throw a stone through the front door.
‘That’s Fred,’ says Jeremy, seeing me looking at the statue. ‘Small but