sent it on to Fran's account, knowing all too well that she would love this; she always seemed to enjoy receiving something for nothing, and now Fran was being invited to yet another product launch. She always returned to the office from such events with an entire goody-bag full of new products to review for the website.
No matter how much she disliked Fran though, she had to admit that she was brilliant at networking. If it wasn't for the fact that Mr Barrie kept buttering her up all the time, she probably would have gone elsewhere by now. Grace was certain that Fran was only staying at Anchor because she liked to be flattered by her boss.
Grace tapped in a reply to the sender to inform them that the email had been forwarded to the relevant recipient and that they should expect a response in due course. She didn't need to think about what she was writing, having responded with the exact same message more times than she cared to consider. She sent the email and glanced over to Fran's desk. She watched as she quickly jotted something down in her notebook before standing and putting on her coat. Without looking around the office, she headed straight for the door with what Grace took to be a grin spread across her face.
She looked up at the clock. Five minutes had crawled by since she had last checked the time. She half expected the big hand to start moving backwards soon. Still another six hours and fifty-five minutes until she could go home. No emails to reply to, no queries to answer. What a brilliant start to the week...
There was one positive thing about having nothing else to do though. Glancing around the office, she made sure nobody was watching her. Thankfully everybody was too busy working on their articles to notice her, and Andy, who often wandered over to speak to her, was chewing the end of his pen with his eyes glued to the computer screen, and it didn't look like he'd be moving any time soon. Satisfied that nobody was paying her any attention, she reached under her desk and pulled up her handbag. Unfastening the top, she felt around inside for the pocket at the back.
It was still there.
She held the letter in her hands and read her name on the front: Miss Grace Byrne .
She inhaled deeply, preparing herself for the one thing she'd been putting off all weekend. It was time to read the letter.
Â
Dear Miss Byrne,
Â
I made the decision to leave this letter inside one of my boots as I knew you would be requiring them. I hope they fit you reasonably well. I expect you have a lot of questions you would like to ask me. However, I am afraid that I am unable to answer them for you at this moment. The answers to your questions are something that you must, and will, discover for yourself as you travel through your journey. I ask only that you trust your instincts. I know you will do the right thing. And remember, a walk in my boots will help you see that there isn't anything you can't be .
Â
Your friend,
Gráinne
Â
If Grace had expected that reading the letter would help to clear her mind, she had been wrong. It was written in dark ink, the words formed from the tip of a quill. Some of the letters were difficult to read, but she had managed to make her way down the scroll until she reached the end.
Gráinne ?
She didn't know anybody by that name. There had once been a Gráinne living on her street when she was a child, but that didn't seem to be a likely connection. She scanned the letter again.
"A walk in my boots will help you see," she whispered under her breath so that nobody could hear her muttering the words to herself, "that there isn't anything you can't be."
What was that supposed to mean? Grace was no longer thinking about how the letter had come into her possession; it was more important now that she concentrated on whatever it was the letter was trying to tell her.
It had to be some sort of a riddle. She thought about how she'd found the note inside the pair of boots on the
No matter how much she disliked Fran though, she had to admit that she was brilliant at networking. If it wasn't for the fact that Mr Barrie kept buttering her up all the time, she probably would have gone elsewhere by now. Grace was certain that Fran was only staying at Anchor because she liked to be flattered by her boss.
Grace tapped in a reply to the sender to inform them that the email had been forwarded to the relevant recipient and that they should expect a response in due course. She didn't need to think about what she was writing, having responded with the exact same message more times than she cared to consider. She sent the email and glanced over to Fran's desk. She watched as she quickly jotted something down in her notebook before standing and putting on her coat. Without looking around the office, she headed straight for the door with what Grace took to be a grin spread across her face.
She looked up at the clock. Five minutes had crawled by since she had last checked the time. She half expected the big hand to start moving backwards soon. Still another six hours and fifty-five minutes until she could go home. No emails to reply to, no queries to answer. What a brilliant start to the week...
There was one positive thing about having nothing else to do though. Glancing around the office, she made sure nobody was watching her. Thankfully everybody was too busy working on their articles to notice her, and Andy, who often wandered over to speak to her, was chewing the end of his pen with his eyes glued to the computer screen, and it didn't look like he'd be moving any time soon. Satisfied that nobody was paying her any attention, she reached under her desk and pulled up her handbag. Unfastening the top, she felt around inside for the pocket at the back.
It was still there.
She held the letter in her hands and read her name on the front: Miss Grace Byrne .
She inhaled deeply, preparing herself for the one thing she'd been putting off all weekend. It was time to read the letter.
Â
Dear Miss Byrne,
Â
I made the decision to leave this letter inside one of my boots as I knew you would be requiring them. I hope they fit you reasonably well. I expect you have a lot of questions you would like to ask me. However, I am afraid that I am unable to answer them for you at this moment. The answers to your questions are something that you must, and will, discover for yourself as you travel through your journey. I ask only that you trust your instincts. I know you will do the right thing. And remember, a walk in my boots will help you see that there isn't anything you can't be .
Â
Your friend,
Gráinne
Â
If Grace had expected that reading the letter would help to clear her mind, she had been wrong. It was written in dark ink, the words formed from the tip of a quill. Some of the letters were difficult to read, but she had managed to make her way down the scroll until she reached the end.
Gráinne ?
She didn't know anybody by that name. There had once been a Gráinne living on her street when she was a child, but that didn't seem to be a likely connection. She scanned the letter again.
"A walk in my boots will help you see," she whispered under her breath so that nobody could hear her muttering the words to herself, "that there isn't anything you can't be."
What was that supposed to mean? Grace was no longer thinking about how the letter had come into her possession; it was more important now that she concentrated on whatever it was the letter was trying to tell her.
It had to be some sort of a riddle. She thought about how she'd found the note inside the pair of boots on the
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