faster than Imelda Marcos went through shoe cream. Chief among the difficult clients, known as VIPs, in-house code for Very Ignorant People, was William Brooks.
It was wiser to transfer a call from him by saying, ‘It’s Mr Brooks, one of our VIP clients,’ and risk being overheard, than to say, ‘It’s that horrible bastard from Brooks FX Stockbroking on the phone and I’m not talking to him, so you’d better.’
William Brooks, the aforementioned company’s managing director, was yet again looking for a personal assistant. This was his third search in six months, the previous two assistants having decided to leave his employment abruptly.
Little Island also supplied temps, and only that morning, Faye had been on the phone to Mr Brooks’s current temp who said she was giving it a month more, ‘Because the money’s so good, Faye, but after that, I’m out of here. He’s a pig. No, strike that. Unfair to pigs.’
‘We have no PAs on our books that will do for him.’ Philippa, who was responsible for Mr Brooks, scanned through the file wearily. ‘Out of last week’s interviews, we found two wonderful candidates and he doesn’t like either of them. I don’t know what he wants.’
‘I do. He’s after a Charlize Theron doppelganger who can type, operate Excel and doesn’t mind picking up his dry-cleaning or listening to his dirty jokes,’-said
Faye.
‘If such a person existed, she wouldn’t want to work for a fat, balding executive who goes through secretaries faster than I get through Silk Cut Ultra,’
Philippa said with feeling. She hated William Brooks. The only person who seemed to be able to handle him was Faye, who somehow made William rein in the worst parts of his personality and who stared him down into submission.
Philippa wished she could glare at men in the steely way Faye did. Mind you, the steely gaze seemed to scare guys off too, because in the years Philippa had known Faye, she’d never had a man around.
She couldn’t imagine Faye with a guy, anyway.
There was something about Faye, something about the look on her face when the computer repairman came in and flirted with everyone in the office, which suggested Faye was one of those women who had no interest in men.
‘It’s a prestigious account,’ Faye pointed out gently. ‘We’ve made a lot of money out of Brooks FX and having them as clients looks great on our prospectus. William is the fly in the ointment but it would be sensible to work with him.’
Recruitment was a delicate balance. Finding the right person for the right job didn’t sound too hard in principle, but, as Faye had discovered during her ten years in the industry, it could be impossible in
practice. The right person in the right job might suddenly realise that her boss (sweet on recruitment day) was a control freak who insisted on just two loo breaks a day, didn’t allow hot drinks at the desk in case coffee spilled on the keyboard and thought that paying a salary meant he owned her, body and soul.
‘The right PA for William Brooks exists,’ Faye said. ‘And we’ll find her.’
‘Only if someone comes up with a PA robot,’
muttered Philippa. ‘They won’t complain if they get their bums pinched.’
‘He’s pinched somebody’s bum?’ This was news to Faye. Difficult clients were one thing, sexual harassment was another.
‘Well …’ Philippa squirmed. She wasn’t supposed to say. The second assistant they’d placed with William had phoned her up in tears.
Faye looked grim. ‘Tell me. Chapter and verse.’
Philippa told her and gained some satisfaction from the steely look on Faye’s face.
‘You’ll talk to him?’ Grace asked warily, also seeing the look.
‘I’ll talk to him,’ Faye agreed.
The women around the table grinned at each other. Mr Brooks was about to be taken down a peg or two. If only they could witness it, but they wouldn’t. Because Faye was so famously discreet.
After the meeting, Faye poured herself
It was wiser to transfer a call from him by saying, ‘It’s Mr Brooks, one of our VIP clients,’ and risk being overheard, than to say, ‘It’s that horrible bastard from Brooks FX Stockbroking on the phone and I’m not talking to him, so you’d better.’
William Brooks, the aforementioned company’s managing director, was yet again looking for a personal assistant. This was his third search in six months, the previous two assistants having decided to leave his employment abruptly.
Little Island also supplied temps, and only that morning, Faye had been on the phone to Mr Brooks’s current temp who said she was giving it a month more, ‘Because the money’s so good, Faye, but after that, I’m out of here. He’s a pig. No, strike that. Unfair to pigs.’
‘We have no PAs on our books that will do for him.’ Philippa, who was responsible for Mr Brooks, scanned through the file wearily. ‘Out of last week’s interviews, we found two wonderful candidates and he doesn’t like either of them. I don’t know what he wants.’
‘I do. He’s after a Charlize Theron doppelganger who can type, operate Excel and doesn’t mind picking up his dry-cleaning or listening to his dirty jokes,’-said
Faye.
‘If such a person existed, she wouldn’t want to work for a fat, balding executive who goes through secretaries faster than I get through Silk Cut Ultra,’
Philippa said with feeling. She hated William Brooks. The only person who seemed to be able to handle him was Faye, who somehow made William rein in the worst parts of his personality and who stared him down into submission.
Philippa wished she could glare at men in the steely way Faye did. Mind you, the steely gaze seemed to scare guys off too, because in the years Philippa had known Faye, she’d never had a man around.
She couldn’t imagine Faye with a guy, anyway.
There was something about Faye, something about the look on her face when the computer repairman came in and flirted with everyone in the office, which suggested Faye was one of those women who had no interest in men.
‘It’s a prestigious account,’ Faye pointed out gently. ‘We’ve made a lot of money out of Brooks FX and having them as clients looks great on our prospectus. William is the fly in the ointment but it would be sensible to work with him.’
Recruitment was a delicate balance. Finding the right person for the right job didn’t sound too hard in principle, but, as Faye had discovered during her ten years in the industry, it could be impossible in
practice. The right person in the right job might suddenly realise that her boss (sweet on recruitment day) was a control freak who insisted on just two loo breaks a day, didn’t allow hot drinks at the desk in case coffee spilled on the keyboard and thought that paying a salary meant he owned her, body and soul.
‘The right PA for William Brooks exists,’ Faye said. ‘And we’ll find her.’
‘Only if someone comes up with a PA robot,’
muttered Philippa. ‘They won’t complain if they get their bums pinched.’
‘He’s pinched somebody’s bum?’ This was news to Faye. Difficult clients were one thing, sexual harassment was another.
‘Well …’ Philippa squirmed. She wasn’t supposed to say. The second assistant they’d placed with William had phoned her up in tears.
Faye looked grim. ‘Tell me. Chapter and verse.’
Philippa told her and gained some satisfaction from the steely look on Faye’s face.
‘You’ll talk to him?’ Grace asked warily, also seeing the look.
‘I’ll talk to him,’ Faye agreed.
The women around the table grinned at each other. Mr Brooks was about to be taken down a peg or two. If only they could witness it, but they wouldn’t. Because Faye was so famously discreet.
After the meeting, Faye poured herself
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