that would be great.’ She consults her BlackBerry list. I wasn’t aware we were under a deadline. The woman is a human tornado.
‘What does Scott think?’ I ask.
‘Oh, he’s happy to leave it to us, to you. Anything that you want. Good of him, hey?’
‘Yes, good of him.’ I dig deep and scramble to find my voice. I try to imagine Sir Alan Sugar naked (that’s meant to help with fear of confrontation); it doesn’t help much actually, just churns my stomach, but still I force myself to say as firmly as I can, ‘I’d like it if Scott and I chose the ring together. I’ll talk to him about it when we arrive in LA.’
‘OK,’ says Saadi. But before I can savour my victory she starts to type something into her BlackBerry. ‘I’ll schedule that meeting for tomorrow morning. 9.30 a.m.’
No, no, I mustn’t fall at first hurdle. Think, totally starkers. Not a stitch on him. It’s Scott I’m imagining this time, not Sir Alan. The image of a naked Scott fills me with confidence and fortifies my resolution without causing any of the trauma the image of a naked Sir Alan was. I take a deep breath. ‘I don’t think Scott and I need a scheduled meeting to discuss my engagement ring.’
‘It’s just the way things work round here. Scott’s a busy man,’ says Saadi, as though she’s teaching the ABC to an infant.
‘I realize that,’ I say carefully. I want to add that things might have to change now he has me, but she interrupts.
‘It’s not just a new man you’ve bagged yourself but a whole new life too. There’s more to being Scottie Taylor’s wife than being into him, you know.’ I’m beginning to realize that too. Rather than being capable of taking on truly terrifying members of the board, I am once again the new girl at the office who hasn’t got the guts to ask how the photocopier works. Saadi carries on. ‘Certain things will be expected from you, one of which is a noteworthy engagement ring with a PR story attached. Is that too much to ask?’ Her tone is impatient.
I think how lucky I am to be in this position. To be who I am now. Any woman would kill to be me. I’m marrying Scott Taylor. He is sexy, seductive, occasionally surly, consistently stupendous and stonking rich (sorry to be crass but it’s an inescapable fact). My mind, heart and wardrobe are bursting with new and expensive, oh la la delights.
I’m kowtowed.
No, I don’t suppose an engagement ring with a PR story is a lot to ask when you put it in context. Saadi suddenly adjusts her tone and digs deep to dredge up some patience. I realize she’s trying to connect with me but, sadly, the new tone she adopts reminds of my dentist’s assistant when she assures me that I’ll only feel a tiny pinprick of pain.
Saadi continues, ‘Look, I know the system, yeah? I know how things work? Why don’t you just follow my advice, because I’ve been keeping Scott happy for quite some time now. It makes sense.’ Well, yes, but isn’t that my job now? ‘And I know you are thinking that’s your job now, which it is. But it’s not yours alone. We’re a team. You, me, Mark, the band, the chefs, the staff, everyone. We all want the same thing – for Scott to be OK. That’s how he works. That’s how it works.’ I suppose. ‘A team is a good thing, hey? The more the merrier?’ I don’t think I nod or actually offer any affirmation that I agree but Saadi doesn’t wait, she just concludes, ‘Fact is, you’re not an ordinary couple. You didn’t want to be ordinary, did you?’ she reminds me.
No. No, I suppose I didn’t.
36. Fern
The captain asks us all to return to our seats and fasten our seatbelts. As he says, ‘Crew cross check for landing please,’ a ripple of excitement creeps up my spine. Scott starts to stir for the first time since we took off. He stretches and looks around to find me. He treats me to a wide and joyful grin. He starts to undo his seatbelt so he can come to me; these first class seats are so spread out – it’s wild – but a strict air steward asks him to buckle up. I have to settle for a kiss blown through the air.