“Okay,” she said, a fresh lilt to her voice. “I’ll wear my new green dress. I’m looking forward to it already.”
“Me, too.”
Mitchell felt almost as giddy as when they’d first dated. But he would always remember Anita’s last words to him, before they said goodbye.
“Please don’t let me down, Mitchell.”
“Of course, I won’t,” he said.
And, at the time, he really meant it.
* * *
Jasmine Trencher joined Foster and Hardman seemingly intent on stirring things up at the firm. She was all platinum hair, piercings and scarlet lipstick and the granddaughter of an esteemed architect, Norman Trencher. She tottered around in studded boots and schmoozed Don. She announced she had a new vision for the centenary bridge that was the antithesis of Mitchell’s existing design.
His plan was to construct it from local steel and quarried stone. It would be solid and steeped in history, a representation of Upchester and its heritage. Whereas, Jasmine’s vision was a modernist creation, all shiny white struts and dramatic angles. To Mitchell, it was a kind of fantasy design.
On Friday morning, Don arrived with a large roll of paper under his arm. He was a small, nervous man with a tiny head and jutting ears. “Jasmine has some very interesting ideas,” he said. “They’re refreshingly ambitious.”
Mitchell closed his laptop. He’d made good progress with his emails and was ready to leave. He’d booked the full day off as a holiday, his first time off in months, and he was desperate to see Anita for her birthday lunch. “I know and that’s great. The company needs fresh perspectives.”
Don nodded his head too many times. “She’s, um, taken an interest in the new centenary bridge, and has a few fascinating observations to share.”
“My door is always open. I’m happy to chat.” Mitchell zipped his laptop into its bag. He turned in his chair to pick up his jacket.
“Good, because I have her ideas, here...”
A metallic taste appeared in Mitchell’s mouth. Jasmine was encroaching on his project without asking him. She had bypassed him and gone directly to Don. He glanced at his watch.
Don unrolled the paper and spread it out on Mitchell’s drawing bench. It wasn’t a computer-generated design, but a hand-drawn one, not particularly detailed. It was stylish, though, all swoops of ink pen and watercolor washes, the kind of design that might accompany a travel feature in Vogue.
“It’s a nice piece of work,” Mitchell said. “I’ll take a proper look at it on Monday.”
Don clicked his tongue. “There are rumors that Norman Trencher is going to be awarded a knighthood soon.”
Mitchell frowned, not understanding. He slipped an arm into his jacket. “Um, am I missing something here?”
“Foster and Hardman, as a whole, need to decide if we stay committed to the existing design for the bridge, or if we look at more modern ideas, too.”
Mitchell worked his jaw. “My initial concept has been approved by the council’s centenary committee,” he said tensely. “I’ve been working on it for months.”
Don’s Adam’s apple rose and fell as he swallowed. “It’s not had the final sign-off, so there’s still time for, um, tweaks. I’m calling an urgent meeting, today at one thirty. Everyone is expected to be there.”
Mitchell’s blood cooled in his veins. “This afternoon?”
“Yes.”
“Sorry, I can’t make it,” Mitchell protested. He couldn’t let Anita down and he cursed himself for coming into the office at all, when he should have driven straight home. “I’m finishing work now. I tried to see you, to book the time off...”
Don let go of the paper and it curled back into its roll with a snap. “You’ll have to cancel.”
“No, you don’t understand. I need to—”
“Jas has canceled going to her best friend’s wedding, and no one else here has a problem with attending. In fact, it’s obligatory.” Don fixed him with a steely glare. “See you in the boardroom at one thirty, Mitchell. And keep your weekend free, too.”
Mitchell paced in circles around his office. He thumped his desk with both hands and resisted tearing Jasmine’s design to shreds. When he stumbled over his wastepaper basket, he booted it across the room.
He knew he didn’t have a choice.
His mouth was bone-dry as he called Anita’s mobile. He got through to her voice mail, urgently wanting to speak to her in person. He tried a further four times and knew she must have seen his missed calls.
She called him back thirty minutes later.
“This had better not be about our lunch today, Mitchell,” she said, her voice flat and cool.
“I’m so sorry,” he blurted. “Don has called an urgent meeting and I have to be there, everyone does. This new architect, Jasmine, is questioning the design of the new bridge, and she holds a lot of sway. I have got to be there, to put my case forward.”
His explanation was met with a ghostly silence.
“You could keep the reservation at Mazzo’s and go with a friend,” Mitchell tried. “I’ll take time off next week instead.”
Again, there was nothing.
“Anita, please,” he pleaded. “This is out of my control. I’m so sorry.”
When she eventually spoke, her voice was so small and hurt he could hardly hear it. “I know, but you’ve not even wished me happy birthday...”
Mitchell’s entire body sagged. He’d bought her a pair of beautiful platinum earrings that were already wrapped in his jacket pocket. He’d taken the time to write a long note in her card, to tell her how much she meant to him.
“Will you be home this evening?” she said before he could apologize again.
“I’m not sure.” He screwed his eyes shut. “I can’t promise, but I’ll try. I have your present here and...”
She interrupted with the deepest sigh, like a wave crashing against rocks. The quiet that fell between them felt deafening. “I’ll write to you,” she said, and hung up.
Mitchell stared at his mobile. “Happy birthday, Anita,” he whispered. He tried to call her back, but she wouldn’t pick up.
When Mitchell exited the four-hour-long meeting, he felt like he’d been crushed underfoot by a buffalo stampede.
Jasmine had systematically pulled apart his ideas and design. She’d questioned the research he’d done, discussions he’d had and decisions he’d made. Mitchell fought for his own vision of the bridge, the one the entire team had previously agreed on. His words were fired up by the anger and passion he felt at letting Anita down.