another coffee and shut the door to her sanctum.
She loved her job. Recruitment suited her perfectly because it was about placing the right person in the right job and to a woman who liked the towels in her airing cupboard folded just so and in the correct place, it was very satisfying indeed. People were not towels, but life might have been easier if they were.
Over the years, she’d discovered that the main skill was interviewing potential employees and working out whether a certain job and company would suit them. With no training whatsoever, Faye turned out to be a natural at it.
‘It’s like you can work out precisely what sort of person they are from just twenty questions,’
Grace said admiringly.
‘Yes, but you’ve got to know which twenty questions to ask,’ Faye said. She was justifiably proud of her ability, if a little amused. It was odd being successful in business by seeing through people’s facades to the character within, when the biggest problems in her private life had come from being unable to do just that.
‘It’s easy to suss people out when you’re not involved with them,’ she added. ‘You might never have met them before but it’s possible to gauge fairly soon whether someone is hardworking, easygoing, anxious, a team player, whatever.’
In the early days, they only recruited secretarial staff and the competition was vicious, but the combination of Faye’s talent and Grace’s business savvy meant the company took off. Then, there would have been no question of dropping difficult a
clients: they needed everyone they could get. But not any more, as William Brooks was about to find out. Recruitment was a small business where everybody knew everybody. Faye phoned a couple of her old colleagues, now with other agencies, and asked what the word was on William Brooks.
Fifteen minutes later, she hung up the phone a lot wiser.
After a moment or two of deep thought, she dialled the number for Brooks FX. She was put straight through to Mr Brooks, probably because he thought she bore news of a suitable PA with the required Miss World physique.
‘Well,’ he snapped. ‘Found anyone?’
‘I’m not sure Little Island is the right recruitment agency for you,’ Faye began blandly. ‘What?’ He was instantly wrongfooted, she knew. Few agencies could afford to turn down business. ‘As you know, we work with Davidson’s and Marshal McGregor.’ She named the two biggest stockbroking firms in the country, both of which could buy and sell Brooks FX with the contents of their petty cash boxes. ‘And we have excellent relationships with both those companies, but you do appear to have peculiar requirements, Mr Brooks.’
‘I’m exacting, that’s all,’ he snapped. ‘You’ve been sending me morons. Call yourselves a recruitment agency …’
‘You’re more than exacting,’ Faye interrupted, feeling cold rage course through her. She’d planned to do this the official way, but it was clear that Brooks needed the unorthodox approach. ‘Let’s put it this way, Mr Brooks, if we were offering sports massages, I believe you’d be the client insulting our therapists by asking for a massage with a “happy ending”.’
‘What?’ exploded out of him again, and Faye grinned to herself. ‘Happy ending’ was code for a massage with sexual services included, the sort only available in red-light districts.
‘How dare you … ?’
Probably nobody had ever talked to William Brooks this way. She knew his sort: a bully. And, importantly, she now knew some even less pleasant things about him.
‘We have our reputation to consider too, Mr Brooks,’ Faye went on, the vein of ice evident in her tone. ‘And we’ve been hearing stories from the staff we’ve placed with you, stories that neither of us would like to hear repeated. You see, we place temps in the equality agency too, and with some of the city’s top legal firms, and we can’t have any hint of scandal associated with our
She loved her job. Recruitment suited her perfectly because it was about placing the right person in the right job and to a woman who liked the towels in her airing cupboard folded just so and in the correct place, it was very satisfying indeed. People were not towels, but life might have been easier if they were.
Over the years, she’d discovered that the main skill was interviewing potential employees and working out whether a certain job and company would suit them. With no training whatsoever, Faye turned out to be a natural at it.
‘It’s like you can work out precisely what sort of person they are from just twenty questions,’
Grace said admiringly.
‘Yes, but you’ve got to know which twenty questions to ask,’ Faye said. She was justifiably proud of her ability, if a little amused. It was odd being successful in business by seeing through people’s facades to the character within, when the biggest problems in her private life had come from being unable to do just that.
‘It’s easy to suss people out when you’re not involved with them,’ she added. ‘You might never have met them before but it’s possible to gauge fairly soon whether someone is hardworking, easygoing, anxious, a team player, whatever.’
In the early days, they only recruited secretarial staff and the competition was vicious, but the combination of Faye’s talent and Grace’s business savvy meant the company took off. Then, there would have been no question of dropping difficult a
clients: they needed everyone they could get. But not any more, as William Brooks was about to find out. Recruitment was a small business where everybody knew everybody. Faye phoned a couple of her old colleagues, now with other agencies, and asked what the word was on William Brooks.
Fifteen minutes later, she hung up the phone a lot wiser.
After a moment or two of deep thought, she dialled the number for Brooks FX. She was put straight through to Mr Brooks, probably because he thought she bore news of a suitable PA with the required Miss World physique.
‘Well,’ he snapped. ‘Found anyone?’
‘I’m not sure Little Island is the right recruitment agency for you,’ Faye began blandly. ‘What?’ He was instantly wrongfooted, she knew. Few agencies could afford to turn down business. ‘As you know, we work with Davidson’s and Marshal McGregor.’ She named the two biggest stockbroking firms in the country, both of which could buy and sell Brooks FX with the contents of their petty cash boxes. ‘And we have excellent relationships with both those companies, but you do appear to have peculiar requirements, Mr Brooks.’
‘I’m exacting, that’s all,’ he snapped. ‘You’ve been sending me morons. Call yourselves a recruitment agency …’
‘You’re more than exacting,’ Faye interrupted, feeling cold rage course through her. She’d planned to do this the official way, but it was clear that Brooks needed the unorthodox approach. ‘Let’s put it this way, Mr Brooks, if we were offering sports massages, I believe you’d be the client insulting our therapists by asking for a massage with a “happy ending”.’
‘What?’ exploded out of him again, and Faye grinned to herself. ‘Happy ending’ was code for a massage with sexual services included, the sort only available in red-light districts.
‘How dare you … ?’
Probably nobody had ever talked to William Brooks this way. She knew his sort: a bully. And, importantly, she now knew some even less pleasant things about him.
‘We have our reputation to consider too, Mr Brooks,’ Faye went on, the vein of ice evident in her tone. ‘And we’ve been hearing stories from the staff we’ve placed with you, stories that neither of us would like to hear repeated. You see, we place temps in the equality agency too, and with some of the city’s top legal firms, and we can’t have any hint of scandal associated with our
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