Grace wished that they could get to the firing or the dreaded news that an expensive piece of fashion merchandise had gone missing on Grace’s watch and it was coming out of her wages. Anything rather than talking about art, which despite all of Vaughn’s coaching and Madeleine’s crib sheets, she was no better at, though not as bad as Alex would have it.
‘I thought it was all too conceptual,’ she said slowly, deciding to quote Vaughn verbatim. Then: ‘I believe there’s going to be a return to art that’s figurative and
not
experiential.’
Kiki gave Grace a ‘what the fuck?’ look, while Lorna beamed. Hopefully it wasn’t because she thought that she and Grace could start going to exhibitions together at the Haunch of Venison at lunch-time. If that were the case, then Grace would quite happily resign.
‘This is a conversation that we should continue at a later date,’ Lorna said, picking up some papers that looked horribly familiar. ‘Now, let’s talk about your ideas.’
Halfway through describing a regular High Street fashion section, shot on an actual High Street, Grace realised that this wasn’t some new and obscure way to get a bollocking, but an actual interview. She momentarily faltered and wished she hadn’t because Kiki glared furiously so she focused on Lorna’s beaming smile. ‘So, if we were doing Saturday-night outfits,’ Grace said, picking up her thread, ‘we could do the photos in a bingo hall. Or if we were doing swimsuits, we could shoot it at Brockwell Lido or the Porchester Baths. I just think it would be a nice twist on the whole idea of doing a High Street fashion story every issue.’
‘That’s quite sweet,’ Lorna remarked, tilting her head. ‘The advertising department could use that to bring in some new revenue.’
‘And we’re all slaves to the advertising department,’ Kiki sighed. ‘What else have you got?’
Grace concluded with her thoughts on shooting up-and-coming designers’ work on up-and-coming models shot by up-and-coming photographers and decided that she might as well go for broke. ‘I was reading in the
Financial Times
the other day that sales of sewing machines have gone up by fifty per cent,’ she volunteered, ignoring Kiki’s snort of derision because she knew that Grace had never picked up a copy of the
FT
in her life. ‘And I think it would be cool to have a page with little knitting patterns and things you could make yourself. We could even ask designers to do one-off patterns for us.’
‘I think we’ve heard enough,’ Kiki said crisply, turning to Lorna. ‘Don’t you?’
‘Well, these ideas are really fresh, very left-field.’ Lorna nodded decisively. ‘Yes. I did have my reservations but I think you were right.’
Grace looked expectantly at Kiki, who spun it out as usual by slowly pouring some water into her glass and taking a sip. ‘Posy’s defected, as you know, and
entre nous
Courtney’s pregnant and going back to the States,’ Kiki explained, her lips curling as she described the current state of malaise of her fashion department. ‘We’re completely overhauling the fashion coverage in
Skirt
and launching a new section entirely devoted to the High Street. I know
I’m
very excited about that,’ Kiki added in a monotone completely devoid of any excitement. ‘How do you feel?’
‘Sounds great,’ Grace enthused, because she was still waiting for Kiki to get to the toy surprise. ‘I’ve got loads of really good contacts in the press offices and they all wish we did more High Street stuff.’
‘Good. I’ve decided to promote you to junior stylist and you can take full responsibility for it,’ Kiki said briskly. ‘I’m glad that’s all settled. Now I can get on with the interviews for the new accessories editor.’
Grace gripped the sides of her chair and felt her throat close up. Lorna smiled benignly. ‘Little Gracie is quite overwhelmed,’ she announced. ‘I have to say that Kiki has been your biggest champion. I heard good things about one of the
ELLE
girls but Kiki insisted that you’d be perfect. And, to be frank, the press coverage you’re getting reflects well on the magazine. I like my staff to be seen in the right places with the right people. Just don’t start dating footballers, please.’
‘Er, thanks. Thank you. I won’t let you down.’ Reality was finally sinking in. At last her days as a fashion grunt were over. Grace wished there was more emphasis on what she knew rather than whom she knew, but it was still an upgrade. Besides, all the filing and coffee runs and being screamed at by Italian press officers had been getting her nowhere fast.
‘I’ll get HR to sort out the paperwork. Afraid I can’t offer much money,’ Kiki said blithely, going on to name a figure that, after tax, would buy Grace an extra packet of cigarettes a week.
‘Actually, that doesn’t work for me,’ Grace found herself saying, in a repeat of all the times that she’d heard Vaughn use the exact same sentence. ‘I’m going to take a few minutes to think about what I’d like in my package.’ Kiki looked as if she might slide to the floor in a dead faint, as Grace grabbed her pad and hurried out of the room.
Neither Lorna nor Kiki came after her to ask what the hell she was playing at, and they were still sitting there talking about the Publishing Director’s acrimonious divorce battle when Grace returned. If anything, they both looked amused, like Grace was wearing a pair of stilettos five sizes too big for her and playing dress-up.
‘Obviously, this is open to negotiation,’ Grace began hesitantly as she eyed the bullet points on her list.
‘Obviously . . .’ Kiki echoed with heavy irony.
‘First, as I’m overseeing a section, I’d like an editor title. Posy was junior fashion editor and I have way more experience than she did. And I’d love the opportunity to style and write stories outside my section, and I really need you to find some more money. I can’t live on that, Kiki. It would barely cover my rent and utilities after tax.’ There was some other stuff about sharing an assistant and getting an assurance that she’d never have to fill in one of Kiki’s expense forms ever again, but Grace decided that she’d fight those battles at a later date. ‘I’m really happy to train up my replacement,’ she added, just to show that she was a team player. ‘I have this whole system for the cupboard and actually Celia would be perfect.’
It wasn’t often that Kiki was lost for an acidic quip but right now was one of those moments and Grace savoured it for the whole ten seconds that it lasted. ‘Of course, nothing’s official yet, Gracie. I could still give Kia on
ELLE
a ring.’
‘Look, I work really hard and I never stop having ideas and you’d get your money’s worth out of me. You totally know that. Jeez, what Courtney spends on cabs in a month would cover the salary increase.’ It popped out as soon as Grace thought it, but it was the absolute truth.
‘If - and it’s a big if - I decide to adjust the figures, you can explain to the rest of the fashion team why their expense budgets have been slashed,’ Kiki said, before she relented. ‘OK, I’ll make you senior stylist but put an “edited by” on the opener to the new section and you can continue shooting the accessories still-lifes. We’ll take other stories on an issue-by-issue basis.’
Grace didn’t even have to think about it. ‘Done!’ she yelped, standing up because she couldn’t sit still any longer. ‘You won’t regret this.’ She turned to Kiki who had to smile in the face of Grace’s utter and unequivocal joy. ‘Thank you so much for believing in me!’
‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone quite so excited about a promotion before,’ Lorna murmured, but she was smiling too. ‘I take it you’re not planning on jumping ship to
Vogue
any time soon?’
‘No. God, I’d hate it there. They’re all posh and apparently the HR woman checks your nails every Monday morning,’ Grace said.
‘I think that’s everything. This has taken up far too much time already,’ Kiki hissed, attempting to restore some semblance of control as Grace was almost dancing where she stood. ‘I’ll be back at the office later this afternoon.’
Grace took the hint. She floated through the hotel lobby, smiling blissfully at the man who held the door open for her and it seemed weird, almost miraculous, to feel the pavement hard beneath her feet, the sharp spring breeze lifting her hair.
She was already reaching for her phone, because good news had to be shared, quickly and immediately.
‘I can tell you’re in the middle of something but just so you know, I’m breaking into my bank account and taking you out for dinner tonight,’ Grace said quickly, because Vaughn answered with a harried, ‘Yes?’ which meant that there were people in the room with him and that he was very busy. ‘I have something to celebrate.’
‘It’s not your birthday, is it? No, that’s July.’ Vaughn sounded intrigued and not that bothered that Grace was interrupting his wheeler dealer-ing. ‘Am I allowed a clue?’
‘Patience, grasshopper,’ Grace said, almost gurgling with glee. ‘I’ll see you at home at seven and don’t be late.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ Vaughn purred. ‘Right, OK, I’ll see you then,’ he added, back in business mode, and Grace rang off so she could call her grandmother, who decided that the occasion merited turning off
Woman’s Hour
so she could properly express her congratulations.
Grace was the kind of girl who often got told by complete strangers to ‘Cheer up, love, it might never happen,’ but by the end of the day her cheeks were actually sore from all the grinning and beaming. Even Lily had told Grace to, ‘Stop smiling so much. It’s freaking me out,’ like she had the sole copyright on being the office sunbeam.
But what the hell. Life wasn’t just good. It was
fucking
good. As soon as she thought that, as ever Grace tried to unthink it before she ruined it. ‘Be more emo,’ she told herself sternly as she opened the front door and called out, ‘Anyone home?’
For a moment, she thought Vaughn might still be at the gallery, but he suddenly appeared in a doorway. ‘Grace!’ he exclaimed. ‘I wasn’t expecting you for at least another half-hour.’
‘Kiki said I could go early because I was getting on her nerves.’ Grace stretched her arms and by the time she’d worked out all her tube travel-related kinks, Vaughn was standing in front of her so she could wind them around his neck. ‘Guess what?’
‘What?’ he asked suspiciously. ‘You said something about a celebration. Has Coco Chanel come back from the grave with a new collection?’
Grace squeezed him tight until Vaughn actually whimpered as if she was hurting him. ‘No, it’s even better than that. I’ve been promoted. I’m
Skirt
’s new senior stylist!’
This feeling happy thing must be contagious because Vaughn looked like everything in his world was sunshine and frolicking puppies and ice cream. ‘That’s wonderful,’ he said, taking her hands and kissing them. ‘Tell me what happened and don’t skip anything.’
They stood in the hall as Grace gave Vaughn a verbatim account, which consisted of a lot of, ‘Well, then I said . . . and then she said . . . so I said . . .’ but when Grace got to her favourite part where she’d renegotiated her salary and job title, Vaughn picked her up and spun her around as she shrieked in delighted surprise.
‘I’m so proud of you,’ he said, putting her down again but keeping his arms round her waist. ‘And you’re not taking me out to celebrate. This is my treat.’
‘No, let me take you out,’ Grace protested. ‘Hey, I would never have argued my way to a better deal if I hadn’t learned how to do it from you.’
Vaughn shook his head. ‘Absolutely not. Where do you want to go? Shall I see if I can get us a table at The Wolseley? What are you in the mood for?’ Then his hands slid down until they were cupping her arse and actually that was what she was in the mood for.
‘I’d rather go to bed,’ Grace said simply as she brushed against Vaughn slowly and deliberately, and felt him hardening, but when she glanced up to make sure that they were on the same page, he was giving her a quizzical look that wasn’t at all convincing.
‘Are you tired?’ He stepped back and held Grace at arm’s length, when she tried to follow. ‘You should have said.’
Grace shrugged out of her jacket and let it fall to the floor. Then she started unbuttoning her blouse, Vaughn’s eyes voraciously following the steady movement of her fingers. It wasn’t until she slipped the blouse off her shoulders and threw it aside, that he took her hand.
‘Maybe we both need a power nap,’ he decided, his eyes darkening as he bent his head to kiss her.
Grace never understood how the mood could shift from teasing to a desperate frenzied need to get closer in the time it took for Vaughn to initiate that first kiss. That she’d be pulling at him and sliding her hand between the buttons of his shirt to curve her hand over the thrum of his heart, while her other hand stroked his cock and felt it quicken beneath her fingers. Vaughn would tug her the few short steps to the nearest sofa or bed, while drawing circles and glyphs on her skin with the tips of his fingers.