we snag a wealthy husband or something. Unfortunately, we’re here to cater to the whims of the rich and powerful. Or, in my case, to make the bums of the rich and powerful not jiggle quite so much.’
‘A fat ass is about the only thing I have in common with these people.’
‘I’ve got to drop something off at reception this morning. I’ll walk in with you, if you like?’
‘That’d be great.’ My usual go-to or immediate response would be a polite refusal, though it would come from a sense of independence and stubbornness rather than frostiness, but I recognise that not only would her company be helpful, it would also be welcome. I need to start making friends, and Fee seems like the ideal candidate.
I’m grateful for the air-conditioning in the little bus as the sun streams in through the window, heating the side of my face. Conversation flows freely between the two of us, occasionally interrupted by our fellow travellers, not that I understand them, of course.
‘They’re complaining about the journey time,’ Fee says as a dark-haired young man bursts into a voluble explosion of French. ‘It usually takes us around forty minutes to get from the apartments in Nice to work, but there are roadworks going west so we have to take the coastal road.’
‘Touristes!’ another complains from behind us.
‘This is the touristy route, huh?’
She nods. ‘But it’s a much nicer view, at least. And a good start to your first day at work.’
And she is right. The view is pretty special. Narrow streets lined with towering palm trees widen to stretches of road with views across the Mediterranean. To the left lies a mountain range, the very top of which is capped by snowy white clouds, even on a sunny blue-skied morning such as this. Through a tunnel and the urban sprawl starts to thicken, signalling we’re drawing closer. As we travel, Fee confirms that the company owns several hotels in the tiny principality alone, all catering to an elite clientele. She also says that many of the billion-dollar construction projects in the country belong to Wolf Industries. It seems they’re expanding their properties and holdings, not only in the Côte d’Azure area but also worldwide.
Chatter from our fellow travellers is subdued, and though Fee is a good companion, I begin to feel more and more tense the closer we draw to the hotel. Before I can say sacré bleu, we’re there, and Fee is leaving me in the vast glass and sparkling quartz foyer, a space so bright I almost feel like I need to wear sunglasses.
An attractive twenty-something receptionist smiles, then begins speaking to me in French.
‘Pardon. Je ne parle pas Francais,’ I begin haltingly as I explain I don’t speak French. ‘My name is Róisín Ryan. I was told to report to reception this morning?’
She nods as she taps away on a keyboard I can’t see. I suddenly feel prickly and hot, and I’m so caught up in how silly and inadequate I feel at my lack of French that I almost miss the lanyard and badge she issues me.
‘Bienvenue, Mademoiselle Ryan. Welcome to Wolf Industries.’
As she slides the badge across the expanse of quartz, I note how it reads Visiteur. It almost seems like a bad omen, one quickly pushed to the side as another employee introduces herself.
‘Bonjour. I am Alice.’ There are so many more syllables in her name than regular old Alice. Al-ee-sss. ‘Please, come this way.’
I follow the tap of her heels to the bank of shining elevators.
‘That’s a very pretty scarf. Do all the staff wear them?’ I gesture to the blue and white striped scarf around the woman’s neck, noting how the receptionist was also wearing one. Along with a pale fitted shift dress, nude pumps, and a stylish chignon, there’s something very “uniform” about their look.
Or maybe cloned.
‘Oui,’ she answers happily. ‘It is not, ’ow you say, compulsory but it is encouraged.’ Wow. So many syllables in that last word. ‘This is the company logo, see?’ She fans the edges to show the stripes are actually a row of W’s and I’s intertwined.
‘It’s très chic.’ Argh! I’m such a dork.
Alice smiles indulgently, and as that’s about the extent of my French fashion commentary, I step in silently behind her when the elevator doors open. I suppose the scarf must be handy for hiding hickeys, if you’re lucky enough to be getting some. But other than that, I feel kind of dowdy standing next to her corporate self.