Page 89 of Another Lucky Number

I nod slowly, committing this nugget to memory. ‘OK, thanks, I’ll try to remember that.’

Ten minutes before my interview is due to start, I’m seated in the atrium, jangling with nerves. I’ve dressed in the most appropriate outfit I could find – a sophisticated (and not revealing) black evening dress paired with a cropped jacket and black heeled sandals.

Fiddling with the strap of my handbag, which is housing my new improved presentation ‘cue cards’, I self-consciously glance across to the reception desk and meet Charnice’s eye.

‘Good luck,’ she mouths to me with an encouraging smile.

‘Thank you,’ I mouth back.

‘Emma,ça va?’ A smiling Sébastien appears from nowhere, as is his style, looking devastatingly handsome in a dark grey suit, but with no tie and his top shirt button open.

I waver. Now we’re doing the interview, I don’t know how to play things with him. It’s not often one has an intimate (and borderline raunchy) dance with their possible future boss. Or has unmistakable raw chemistry with them. I get to my feet and extend my hand.

‘Hello, Sébastien. I’m very well, thank you. How are you today?’

He looks at my hand with amusement, then steps forward and plants a kiss on each cheek, giving me that same heady feeling I get every time he does it. And with today’s pre-interview nerves thrown into the mix, it almost ends me. I shift backwards to steady myself.

‘I am well too.’ He smiles and with a wave of his hand he guides me out of the atrium along one of the long corridors. ‘Please relax, Emma. There is no need for you to change how you are with me. How was your breakfast this morning?’

We chat lightly while we walk and thankfully my nerves settle a bit. Sébastien is in the middle of telling me about his morning when he brings us to a stop outside a door with a sign that says ‘staff only’. He opens it, gesturing for me to go inside ahead of him, and I find myself in another, much shorter corridor that leads to three meeting rooms.

‘In here.’ He points to one of them, the door of which is propped open. ‘Please make yourself comfortable.’

There’s not much in the room. Just a long table surrounded by twelve boardroom style chairs, which take up most of the available space, and a large monitor mounted on a metal arm so it can be moved and adjusted. With it being such a tight space, my presentation audience will have to be very limited.Thank goodness.

I pull out a chair and sit down while Sébastien takes the seat opposite me.

‘Are you doing the interview alone?’ I ask.

‘Ah, mais non,Emma. Did I not mention that my colleague will be the second interviewer? Pardon me. We will be joined remotely by my Director of Strategy, Eloise Lefebvre. Eloise and I, we go back a long way, as you might say, and I consider her to be one of the most capable people I have had the pleasure of knowing.’

My insides squirm. I’m going to be on trial with Sébastien’s right hand woman. No pressure or anything.

‘She is also a very kind and understanding person, Emma.’ He has clearly read me like a book, making my squirm even squirmier.

Before I can respond, the room is filled with an electronic ring tone and an incoming video call flashes up on the screen. Sébastien grabs the remote control from the middle of the table, and moments later, the head and shoulders of a beautiful woman around Sébastien’s age appears on the screen. She has long dark hair and a warm smile.

‘Salut, Eloise, ça va?’ Sébastien greets her fondly. ‘I am sorry to have you interviewing on your day off.’

‘Salut, Sébastien. Pas du tout.’ She smiles brightly. ‘With abebéwho wakes me up at the fifth hour every morning, I am never on a day off.’

‘How is he?’

‘He is nearly walking already. How has this happened so quickly? I cannot keep up with him.’

Sébastien’s eyes crinkle as he chuckles at this comment. ‘Eloise, may I introduce you to Emma?’

‘Bonjour, Emma.’She gives me a little wave.‘Enchantée. Parles-tu français?’

Having learned some French at school, I’m quick to pick up that she’s using a familiar tone with me like Sébastien does – which is nice – and she’s also asking if I speak the language. However, I find myself grappling for a response.

‘Bonjour, Eloise…Enchantée. I’m afraid I don’t speak much French anymore. Maybe just…un petit peu?’

Eloise doesn’t seem fazed at all by this cop out. In fact, she looks delighted by my use of these three simple words.

‘You can pick it up again, Emma,’ she says. ‘It is like skiing. You never really forget once you learn – some practice and you will be gliding again.’

I gulp, sincerely hoping that the use of French is not a requirement for the role. In skiing terms, my aptitude forforeign languages is the equivalent of opting for the kiddie slopes and still ending up arse in the air at the end of it.

---