Skinny Dipping Read online

Three months trying. Two letters, fourteen emails, thirty phone messages, but still no connection. Sophie Smart would leave another message, and another, and another… if it came to it. Why couldn’t he answer the phone? Perhaps Sophie would be more successful reaching him if she devoted her life to science and pushing the boundaries of technology. Perhaps creating a mind boggling, innovative method of communication would increase her chances of catching a few seconds of his time. Surely contacting an extraterrestrial would be easier than speaking in real time with Matthew Silver?

  If he hadn’t wanted to work together, why bind their relationship with a legal contract? She was now obliged to work with an unwilling and uncooperative client. Lately, the mere mention of his name had created feelings of loathing.

  If only she could be as evasive as he was. For now, at the very last minute, Matthew Silver had accepted Sophie's invitation to meet at the London Annual Advertising Awards, a gala evening and the most prestigious night in the advertising calendar. What kind of person gave such short notice?

  Today couldn’t get any worse. She felt low. Melancholy possessed her, making her chest ache. With a crumpled face, she sat in her Volkswagen Beetle on a quiet street in Highbury and dialed Matthew Silver’s number. Was she supposed to dig deep and locate her last shred of patience for Matthew Silver? For today was the worst day of her life.

  She exhaled and closed her eyes to summon a spark of her usual perseverance. “Pick up your phone,” Sophie muttered.

  A note chimed for Matthew’s voicemail. “Leave it,” his recorded message played. Leave what? Another message? Oh, how she wished she could ‘leave it’ and let him hear her wrath.

  “Hello, again,” she started. She remembered to stay calm, vital to her professionalism. Stay composed and polite. Don’t reveal frustration. “This is Sophie Smart from Clarks, Clarks and Clarks Advertising Agency.” She slowly relaxed her coiled fingers from their smothering hold on her phone. “I’m just letting you know I’ll be a fraction late tonight for the awards gala. Why don’t we meet at the table? Please call me back.”

  His extensive wealth probably meant he could snap his fingers, and any whim, any wish would be granted as if he were the bearer of Aladdin’s magic lamp. Just one rub and he would be indulged. He was a spoilt kid in an adult’s body and the heir to the Silver Family Leisure Group. He was also clueless enough to operate the multimillion pound corporation from a dinky back office in a swimming centre.

  The Silvers owned a chain of swimming centres, hotels, gyms, stadiums, theme parks, theatres, restaurants, and retail shops. Sophie’s world wasn’t quite as gilded. She could only fantasise about the blissful life his wealth could create. She pictured life without the stress of working with people like Matthew Silver… Dream on Sophie.

  When it came to marketing, Matthew shared his ‘Silver love’ around. The Silver Group’s massive advertising budget was divvied up between various clawing advertising firms. There was no exclusive agency. The firm Sophie worked for had landed an isolated part of the Silver Family Leisure Group, the chain of swimming centres. It was the least glamorous or profitable unit of the Silver Group. The budget was only a tiny sliver of Matthew’s entire advertising allocation. For this reason, Matthew, despite his riches, was considered ‘small billing’ by her firm.

  But there was always opportunity, Sophie reminded herself. She’d read newspaper articles describing Matthew’s hotel business being under extreme pressure. Sophie might be just the girl to help him. Tonight at the gala was her chance to charm him and hopefully drag his hotel advertising over to Clarks.

  Ever since she could remember, Sophie had been fascinated by the advertising industry. She’d completed a degree at university and applied for a staggering number of graduate advertising positions in London, but competition was fierce. Application after application was unsuccessful. Sophie was crestfallen when she didn’t secure a single interview. The constant rejection almost left her as bitter as a jilted bride.

  Yet with willpower she refuted any feelings of failure. Life wasn’t always easy. She loved advertising and she just needed someone to believe in her. She scoured all possible vacancies at advertising firms, even jobs in administration rather than advertising. Give her one opportunity to stand in front of someone for two minutes and she’d convince them. They would sense her enthusiasm and her eagerness to get in. She’d do anything. Anything.

  Somehow she was lucky enough to snag a break at one of the prestigious firms: Clarks, Clarks and Clarks Advertising Agency – Clarks for short – with offices in New York and London. Darren Clark was the founder, based in New York, and Bradley Clark was the Managing Director, based in London. The third Clark remained a mystery to Sophie and probably every other employee at Clarks.

  She was fortunate enough to win Bradley Clark over in her only interview and she soon found herself employed as his personal secretary. The job was relatively straightforward for Sophie and she often ran out of things to occupy her time. She had perfected the art of moving papers round her desk, trying to appear as busy as possible.

  Despite herself, Sophie became bored. A desire smouldered inside her. She felt destined for a career in advertising. Again she became impatient for a chance, wanting to prove herself in a position she was sure she was born for.

  She didn’t precisely know what she did to provoke Bradley Clark’s interest in her career. It might have been her organisational prowess, her stapling speed or her upbeat persona. Quite possibly Bradley noticed her constant efforts to volunteer for greater responsibility.

  One night Bradley Clark remarked on her spirit. He even told Sophie she possessed a unique personality, a special combination: a cross between an artsy, creative type, and a charmer, a mix often found in used car salesmen.

  Bradley finally decided that Sophie had the natural temperament and aptitude for a successful career at Clarks. Hooray! He gave her a chance, a life changing opportunity by promoting her to Junior Executive. Her new role would be to project manage advertising campaigns.

  Sophie’s new responsibilities were vastly different from her secretarial duties. Her skills in note taking and flash typing became absolutely irrelevant. She needed the gift of the gab. Bradley himself was a busy man and couldn’t spare the time to mollycoddle or foster her. Rather than Bradley easing her into the new role, he endorsed a ‘sink or swim’ approach. Sophie didn’t like water at the best of times, but she was determined to succeed.

  Bradley’s primary concern was associated with the term ‘revenue’. Sophie was not only assigned to project manage, but also to deliver new business, to bring in more money for the Clarks empire. Each month he set mandatory financial targets for her to meet. Her monetary goal always increased and the battle to win new work never ended.

  Landing new business was like a black art. Securing new contracts was mystifying, where each client had unknown rules which she was somehow supposed to know. Even so, she found the challenge fascinating and engrossing, often staying on into the night poring over advertising pitches and client research. She didn’t mind the long hours, after all, she finally had the job she’d always wanted. Besides, she wouldn’t dare let Bradley down. Blundering, or worse, failing, in the role would cause him great embarrassment and end her career. She even attended additional sales workshops to finesse her skill set further.

  The long hours, the technical courses and the positive attitude were the only way to keep her head above water. For all the demanding situations and stress associated with her position at Clarks, she loved a challenge, and more than that, she loved advertising.

  Over the course of a few years, Sophie matured into her role. She adopted a savvy nature and excelled as a Junior Executive. There was no doubt that her role at Clarks was all consuming. She was absorbed. There was little left after work. She had no time, energy or inclination for much else.

  She closed her eyes, only for a second, was it all worth it? Was she too devoted to the career which monopo
lised her time? Sophie tossed her mobile phone inside her hefty handbag. Her thoughts instantly returned to Matthew Silver. Why was she focused on an irritating client when the rest of her life was crashing round her shoulders? Was she losing it? She shoved the doubt away, fearing she’d lost perspective on what was important.

  She hunched over the steering wheel, in the only place she could call home: her red Volkswagen Beetle, currently parked on an unfamiliar residential street in Highbury. Sophie was homeless.

  Derek. Bloody Derek. He’d given her an ultimatum, to choose between working at Clarks and their relationship. He’d said a letter of resignation would suffice, for this would be the only sign she could give to show she was truly committed to a life together.

  His request was too immense. Sophie would lose part of herself if she quit. There had to be another way, a compromise of some kind, for she wouldn’t leave. She loved advertising and dreamed of one day owning her own firm. She was still learning. Her departure from Clarks was out of the question.

  A moment of madness must have swept over him; it was the only thing that made sense. Derek had asserted his ownership of their apartment and insisted she move out. He’d stated that if she elected to continue at Clarks, then she needed to find new accommodation – immediately.

  After the argument Sophie had packed and loaded her car with boxes. It was only an argument and he’d soon give up his demands. Of course he’d ask her back inside. Yet she had found herself sleeping in the back seat of her car like a vagabond.

  When she woke, stiff and sore, she had even gone to work.

  Sophie had departed Derek’s place and slept in her car only last night. The fight was less than twenty four hours old. Derek was yet to call and she was barely holding herself together. Clarks still expected Sophie to attend the gala evening, although she didn’t want to get dressed in the back seat of a car. She would find an alternative.

  As she ran her hand over the cardboard box on the passenger seat, Sophie sighed at the knowledge that she’d taken only the bare essentials. The boot was crammed full with work clothes, shoes, nail polish, and her collection of Jamie Oliver cook books – only necessary items.

  There hadn’t been time to pack everything properly while Derek was so upset. There would be another time when she could return to Derek’s apartment, her old home on her old street, far from the street she was on now. Surely after he calmed down, Derek would miss her wildly. He would want her back. Of course he would.

  Sophie thrust the car door open and plastered a grin on her face. Think positive, think winner. Smiles were an important part of the sales process. They were cheap, yet often closed deals. A flat interview was no different. This time, Sophie was selling herself. She was desperate to secure a new home.

  Holding a printout of the online advertisement, she checked the address and identified house number 129. The advert stated the room was available immediately. If this flat interview didn’t work out, her only solution would involve another night in her Volkswagen Beetle, or possibly a low budget hotel. She definitely didn’t want to ask her parents or friends for any help. She didn’t want to sit through the humiliation of describing what had happened with Derek, when she herself was still trying to piece it all together. There might be a chance that after further negotiation, they could salvage the relationship.

  Besides, she didn’t need help. She was quite capable of sorting out her accommodation situation. Sophie Smart was a solutions kind of girl.

  There was a small gate to 129. She walked up the set of steps. A feeling of déjà vu flooded her body at the stairs. This was, after all, the third ascent to an unfamiliar house this evening for a flat interview. Sophie felt panicked. The two previous flats hadn’t worked out. Would this one come through?

  Shifting her shoulders back, she inhaled the fresh September air and exhaled a deep breath out. Third time lucky, right?

  Reaching the bright blue front door, she rang the buzzer. Her eyes darted around, looking at the leafy street, lined with Victorian houses. Would the girl living here possibly like her? Would they get along? The ad gave the girl’s name as Carol. What if this girl, Carol, was a psychopath? Other than the brief phone call to confirm the time for the flat viewing, Sophie was meeting a stranger.

  Her chest tightened and a sudden stab of irrational panic surged through her. No one knew she was there. Was she stupid not to let anyone know about the flat interviews? Why did she always have to be so independent? Not that anything was going to happen. Nothing had happened at the other two interviews, but no one ever really knows. Not really. Doubt crept into the back of her mind.

  Sophie felt inside her handbag and found her mobile phone. She released a sigh of relief; as long as she had her mobile phone, she’d be okay. Besides, everything was going to turn out alright. It always did.

  She pressed the door buzzer again, brushing down any visible creases from her short black dress. Her killer heels gave her calves that little extra lift, and you never knew when you needed to use your female charms to the best of your advantage. A top tip she’d learnt in her advertising sales course was to dress to impress. Make an impact. Apparently people made an assessment of a person within thirty seconds.

  A thin blonde girl opened the door, wearing large false eyelashes and her hair was up in curling rollers. Sophie forced her lips up into a broad smile, and tried desperately not to let her eyes scan the girl’s outfit, nor make a judgment. She was desperate for the room.

  “Sorry to keep you. I got the last roller tangled.” The girl fluttered her eyelashes. “You must be Sophie Smart. Here to look at the room?” Her voice sounded pleasant.

  “Nice to meet you.” Sophie gave her most winning smile.

  The girl’s outfit made an impact, but was definitely aimed at a different target audience than the one she had now. She wore long checkered pantaloons with bright pink leg warmers. Her fingernails sparkled with silver glitter and were about two inches long. Too long to be real, most probably fake. Why would anyone want or need two inch nails, unless she was trying to be Catwoman?

  “I’m Carol Cartwright.”

  Sophie instantly noticed the girl’s angular features. Her mind whirled, using another technique she’d learnt from her sales course. The girl’s name was Carol and she had a pixie-like face. Images swirled in her imagination. She pictured Carol’s smiling face crowned with a small green pixie hat. An elf-Carol sang Christmas carols. She’d done it: connected the name Carol with Christmas carols. That’s how she’d remember her name. Carol. Carol. Carol.

  “Thanks for meeting me so soon, Carol.” She spoke the name aloud, hoping to ingrain it further in her mind.

  “Come on in.” Carol escorted her inside the apartment and Sophie exhaled as she stepped over the threshold.

  Her head darted around. She noted the décor and looked for something calming. She was determined to stop her imagination from running away with her. Her mobile phone was safely in her bag and Carol was not going to turn out to be a serial killer. Everything was going to be just fine.

  Sophie's gaze steadied and her breathing slowed. Ah, a lovely timber corridor, high vaulted ceilings and a sunroof in the living room, ideal for winter.

  Sophie followed Carol outside to examine the garden. More of a courtyard, paving stones and pebbles creating a perimeter near the fence.

  “Sometimes we get cats,” Carol mentioned. Definitely not serial killer speech, referring to cats. Still possibly a candidate for Catwoman. “They’re either strays or the neighbour's cats, but they sit in the sun, just there. Soak it up when they get the chance.” She pointed to a flowerbed where a few flattened herb plants struggled to grow. Death by sleeping cat, Sophie presumed. There were trees forming a leafy canopy over an outdoor table and chairs, and a passion fruit vine wound itself along the fence.

  Sophie imagined sitting outside in this garden with a gin and tonic or a cup of tea, depending on the time of day, of course. “It’s lovely out her
e, and very quiet,” Sophie said.

  “Yes, I like it, very peaceful in the summer,” Carol said.

  Sophie nodded. She wouldn’t be here for summer; she’d only need the room temporarily. Derek would change his mind. Despite his tantrum, he loved her and she undoubtedly loved him.

  Temporary or not, she wanted this flat; the living space was huge and airy and the location was close to trendy Upper Street. Sophie flashed a smile, aiming for a mix of friendly and fun. If she kept this pretence up and stayed strong, she might just get through this and secure a bedroom.

  Back inside, Carol directed her up a set of internal stairs. “This is the room.” Carol stood by the doorway as Sophie poked her head in.

  “It looks perfect.”

  “Go on, have a real look around, get a feel for living here.”

  Sophie stepped inside the room and identified the most important feature, the wardrobe. “Do you mind if I open it?”

  “There’s not much hanging space,” Carol declared. “My cupboard’s a little bigger but I have to store costumes and things like that.”

  Sophie suddenly recalled the details on the advert. She was a dancer. Her outfit made sense now. The pantaloons were covering her tights, so she wouldn’t get holes in them. But the nails….

  “Of course,” Sophie murmured, assessing the wardrobe and how many work outfits would fit. If she squashed her clothes in and hung several cardigans on the same hanger, the space would be adequate as an interim solution. Sophie’s chest tightened. What if it wasn’t temporary? Turning abruptly, her knee hit the bed frame.

  Carol laughed, a little abashed. “The room is a little cosy.” Her chuckle was light, easy. In fact, Carol seemed a happy-go-lucky kind of person, someone who would be ideal to hang around with in the state Sophie was in, down on love.

  “The room’s really great.”

  “I did the interior decorating myself. I chose the bed cover.” Gaudy, bright, but Sophie could change that. “The lamp. The hand towels in the bathroom.” The towels were fluorescent yellow, clashing with the purple curtains and completely opposite to Sophie’s conservative tastes. Again, Sophie could add her own touch of personalisation.

  “Very bright.”

  “I’ve got quite an eye.” Carol nodded. “You're only sharing the flat with me of course, so this would be your private bathroom. It’s very… intimate.”

  Intimate was a positive spin on the bathroom’s description. Sophie looked at Carol, impressed by her optimism. Sophie peered into the tiny boxlike shower. She would barely be able to bend over and shave her legs.

  Opposite the shower was a small wash basin and toilet. All amenities were cramped into the narrow room. Such a small space wasn’t quite what Sophie was accustomed to, but she didn’t like her other choices.

  She regarded Carol, making her final assessment. So what if Carol had absolutely no taste in clothes and wore fingernails more suitable for a feline? Carol didn’t seem like someone she would ordinarily hang out with, but maybe that was precisely what Sophie needed – someone who was a bit of fun.

  Sophie glanced again around the room, taking a deep breath. “When can I move in?” she queried, feeling her chest squeeze. “If you’ll have me of course?”

  “You can move in today if you want to.” Carol beamed, and Sophie smiled back. Carol was lovely, really lovely. No serial killer in sight.

  “Great, do you think I could move in this evening?” Sophie’s excitement began to mount. She’d done it, almost, reversed a lousy situation. If Carol agreed she could move in, Sophie could unload her car, get dressed for the advertising gala and no one at work would be any the wiser.

  “Of course, whatever suits. I’m easy,” Carol said with a smile and a shrug. As Sophie digested the information, Carol fished through her wallet, found a set of keys, and handed them to her. “Sorry but I can’t stay and help you move in. I’ve got to get the hot rollers out of my hair and then dash off to an audition in less than thirty minutes.” She threw her head back and laughed. “Sounds like a lot to do in very little time, but work as a dancer in a recession is tough. I lost my position as lead soloist at my old dance company. There was a new Director of Dance, you see. He had a crush on me but I didn’t know he was married. He took me out. His wife found out. You can guess the rest of the story because here I am looking for work.” She released an exasperated sigh. “Never a good idea to mix business with romance. I’ve learnt my lesson.”

  “Good luck with the audition, and don’t let the director fall in love with you this time.” Sophie gave Carol a conspiratorial wink. “Maybe try and look as unattractive as possible?”

  “That would be impossible with my curling efforts,” Carol snorted. “Good luck with the move. Now, are you alright on your own?”

  “I’ll be fine, thanks. Just letting you know I’m off to an advertising gala later tonight.”

  “That sounds cool. Remember not to mix business with romance. Please – this is your house now, so make yourself at home. I’m so sorry to dash off.” Carol gave a slight wave and bounded out of the room. Sophie heard a series of thumps as Carol bounced down the stairs.

  She scanned the room. It was modest. The move was temporary.

  She could live with temporary.