Connections Read Online Free

up, Nicole Farhi-ed and ever-so-lightly tanned as we all are, none of us is any better than our last performance. I’m pissed off with it, I honestly am. How many women actually
own
the jobs we’ve got? Not too many. Most of us are so thrilled by the job and the glamour and slipping in and out of the Groucho that we forget, when the axe drops, the owners are nine-tenths fellows.”
    â€œDebs is a woman,” Fleur pointed out. Debs Smith, nicknamed the ‘Wolverine’, owned Camera Shake and was Jess’s employer.
    â€œOne of the few,” Jess said.
    â€œWell, then – go independent,” Fleur said.
    Jess looked at her, raised an eyebrow. “On what?” she enquired.
    Fleur said, “Don’t spread it around, but Gerry’s been sending money to Ben in Miami.”
    â€œMiami – oh my,” Jess said. “I don’t want to spoil your appetite, but have you heard anything from Helena?”
    Helena was Ben’s wife. She lived in the country with their two children and was not someone Fleur thought about unless she had to.
    â€œI haven’t, no. Why would I?”
    â€œShe’s pretty badly off, I hear. Ben hasn’t been in touch since he disappeared.”
    â€œI can’t do anything about that. She’d better see Gerry.”
    â€œDo you want a better job, though, Fleur? I could ask around.”
    â€œNo,” said Fleur. “Nothing like that. I’m stitched together with very light thread. I could fall apart at any moment. But cheer me up – tell me all the gossip.”
    Jess fixed her with a wide-eyed gaze, leaned forward and said, “Don’t tell
anyone
this, but…”
    At four on the dot, Fleur, in jeans and a sweatshirt, crossed the road to McCarthy’s.
    The bar was empty except for a woman in a business suit sitting at a table doing the crossword and a man of about forty in a more casual suit who was sitting at one of the tables smoking a roll-up.
    Fleur hesitated, went over and asked, “Are you the manager?”
    He nodded. “You the new girl?”
    When she nodded he stood up and said, “I’m Geoff – and you’re …?”
    â€œFleur.”
    â€œFollow me. You’d better get straight into the kitchen. Do what the chef says till five thirty. Then you do the waitressing while I’m behind the bar. Luckily today’s a slow day so it’ll give you a chance to work your way in.” Flinging open the kitchen door to reveal a steel kitchen counter at which a tall, thin young man with a black ponytail stood, cutting courgettes at speed, he added, “Let me fill you in on the ethic here – this isn’t a happy ship and we don’t all pull together. That right, Al?”
    â€œExactly right, Geoff,” the man responded colourlessly.
    â€œSo here’s the new girl. She can give you a hand till five thirty, then I want her back. In good condition.”
    â€œRight, Geoff,” Al said. When the door closed behind Geoff he looked up and said, “The storeroom’s next door. There’s some overalls on a shelf. Hopefully they’re clean.”
    In what she perceived to be a sparsely supplied and under-clean storeroom she found a pile of white aprons and put one on. She went back into the kitchen pondering, Wouldn’t a restaurant’s stores usually have catering packs of flour, sugar, rice and the like, and big tins of this and that?
    The kitchen was in fact very clean. A big sink and a massive cooker stood against the back wall and there were a giant fridge and freezer. Fleur stood on the black and white tiled floor and asked, “What shall I do?”
    â€œYou’d better get these,” he said and pushed the huge chopping block covered with courgettes towards her. “Then do the rest of the veg. I’ve had to change the menu – the supplier’s not delivered for two days. I’m having to improvise with what