Chapter 18

Ottawa early July

“Mz Grogan, it seems you really are fluent in four languages. You would be surprised how many interviewees say they are fluent, but only have a working knowledge. All our interviewers were impressed. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Mr Desmodine.”

They were sitting in his office in Ottawa, the headquarters of ITI, an international company specialising in expert translators and interpreters for governments and multi-national companies.

Sam was at last committed to find a job for which she was qualified and would enjoy. It had taken the combined efforts of both her parents and her brother Patrick to assure her she was free to go and follow wherever it took her. She had undergone a full week of stringent testing with four different examiners, and felt a rush of hope and excitement at Desmodine’s statement. Not for long.

“However,” he paused and looked apologetic, “all the positions for which we advertised within Canada have already been filled. You were very late with your application, you know.”

“Oh.” Samantha was downcast. She was annoyed with herself that she had vacillated so long before applying. She wondered why in that case she had been called for interview at all.

He seemed to read her thoughts. “You are wondering why in that case we called you. Your CV was arresting – almost too good to be true, but it wasn’t. As a result I am authorised to put you on our waiting list.”

Her spirits dropped. How long would she have to wait until she reached the top of the waiting list?

He paused, then added, “Of course, if you were prepared to travel further afield... ?” He cocked an eyebrow.

“I don’t understand,” she said, trying to keep up. “Travel where?”

“At present we are short of staff of your calibre in Europe: Frankfurt, Brussels, Milan and London. You could take your pick, I mean that. We would sort out accommodation, transport, visas of course, and a company car.”

Samantha took a deep breath. She had thought of moving across Canada, but across the world? So far from home? She would have to ask her parents, perhaps they would think it was a step too far.

“May I have some time to decide? Consult my family? This has come as a surprise.”

“That’s understandable,” he said with a smile. “How soon could you let us know?”

“Tomorrow.”

He laughed heartily and nodded. “I think we can be patient that long!” His smile was engaging.

That afternoon she called her parents. She might have known what their response would be, but she needed to hear not only what they said, but the tone and way they said it.

“Are you sure, Mom?”

“Yes, honey. We are absolutely sure.”

“Both of us,” echoed her father in the distance.

“It’s a very long way.”

“Follow your star, Sam,” shouted her father.

“Will you visit me? I’ll pay – you’ve no idea how much they want to pay me!”

“We’d love to,” her mother replied. “It’ll be an adventure for us, and you can visit that nice man in Europe who saved you last summer.”

“Perhaps Mom, perhaps. I don’t think he’d want me to visit.”

“He will, honey.”

The next day, she again seated herself in Mr. Desmodine’s office.

“Yes please,” she said, with an eager smile. “I’d like to go to London.”

“Good choice, Mz Grogan. Good choice. Mug up on finance: most of our business in London is with the City companies, you know, the financial sector, with some occasional interpreting for the government. They usually have their own interpreters.”

In view of the amount of time it had taken her to get a visitor’s visa, she was surprised when the company informed her that she could take up her post in the London office a month later. After she returned home there was a flurry of activity as she packed for a prolonged stay in London. Then, with tears shed as she took her leave of her parents and family on the First of August, she was on her way.

The company had placed her in one of its service flats, giving her three months to find a place of her own, and she settled into the office, found her way round the underground labyrinth that was the Tube, got used to the high prices of everything in the capital, and took delivery of her company car with its steering wheel on the ‘wrong’ side. She would rise very early on Sunday mornings and drive it round her area until she felt confident driving on the left.

It took a while before she got the hang of the property market, finding the rents for the most modest furnished flats numbingly high, and realising why she was being paid so much. She found herself a studio flat at the top of a nondescript 1960s rectangular block, a direct bus ride from the office. It was small -- a living room with kitchen off, small bathroom with only a shower, basin and toilet, and a bedroom just big enough for a double bed and one wardrobe. There were drawers in the living room, in which to keep her underwear and such.

So, in late August, she was standing looking round her at her new home, and wondering what she could get to eat and where the nearest supermarket was – there was nothing in the fridge – when there was a knock on her door. She opened it to find a small woman standing there.

She was about five feet five inches ‘tall’, if that’s the word, and very slim. Her arms were quite thin, and if she had not been wearing jeans, Sam would have seen her legs were the same. Having said that, everything about her was in proportion. She had an hour glass figure, small breasts and a neat, tight, bubble behind. Her face was elfin-like, with a turned up nose and generous mouth. Her hair was very dark rich brown, and her eyes were a startling grey. Sam noticed her hands were delicate with long slender fingers, almost fragile.

The two women gazed at each other for what seemed like an eternity, each admiring the other, until the visitor seemed to shake herself and spoke.

“Hi, I’m Megan Smith, I live across the hall.” She gestured to the open door directly opposite. “I saw you moving in. Welcome to the building, and I’d like to invite you over for drinks later.” Her head cocked to one side inviting a response.

“Why, thank you, I’d love to.”

“Oh, you’re American!”

“Canadian.”

“Nice! Where from?”

“Vancouver.”

“Nicer! Have you anything in to eat?”

“Well, no.”

“Then eat with me. Afterwards I’ll take you round the local shops.”

The two women struck up an immediate friendship, and soon were eating with each other more often than alone. Megan said they could go shopping together, visit theatres, and attend a number of Prom concerts as the season drew to an end. They easily chatted about their work, and shared their feelings on many things, including romance, of which there was not much around for either of them.

Sam told her about her summer adventure the year before, and Megan sympathised with her over the misunderstandings and the fracture in Sam’s relationship with Aidan. Neither woman felt any strong attraction to dating at that time, Megan having broken up after a long relationship and Sam still feeling the newness of her her work and life in the busy city.

So Sam was not lonely. Apart from Megan, there was the hectic business of settling in and orientating herself to a new way of life in a city where the pace was so much faster than in Vancouver.

Being a very beautiful woman meant that at work there were plenty of offers, usually from men, to take her out and show her the sights, but she felt no inclination to accept, and turned them down gently.

She had Megan for that, and Megan was comfortable to be with, without the sexual agenda of a predatory male. She told herself that she had not tried to get into the dating game at home, and felt no urgency to do that in London either.

In any case, there was so much work to do. She had begun by working on translations. There was a mountain of work in a very short-staffed office and her hours were long, often also spent on a laptop at home in the evenings. Megan was good to her and after ten each evening, they would have a drink at the local pub.

Of course initially they were hit on by the regulars, but turned down their advances with humour, so that apart from the odd casual drinker who did not know better, they were soon left in peace, many thinking they were lesbians, though they were welcome to join in the conversation that passed round the bar.

Sam’s work was soon noticed. Her general manager, Michel Anaud, was impressed and realised she was working much longer hours than those she spent in the office. The finished translations were of such quality and quantity that word got about among the various client companies, and she was beginning to be asked for by name. So September flashed by.

It was in the last week of September that she received a phone call followed by an email, which she printed off and brought to Michel. Their conversation was in French.

“Would you like to read this?” she asked.

He read it, looked worried then smiled. “Sam my dear, you are being head hunted. This company is one of our rivals. They will offer you more than we pay you and many goodies. What are you going to do?”

“Michel, I’ve only been here two months! I’m still finding my feet! I’ll ignore it.”

“If you do they’ll raise their game. They’ll offer you a much better package. You should find out what they are offering, then come back to me.”

She did so and Michel was impressed. “They are offering half as much again as you’re getting at present, and better perks,” he commented. “You are in demand.”

“It’s tempting,” she said, paused significantly with a wicked grin, then, “but I like it here. So I’m going to turn them down.” She smiled.

There were then some hurried conversations with head office, after which Michel called her in.

“Sam, I’ve been talking to Ottawa, they are delighted you want to stay with us, but want to stave off further attempts to lure you away!”

She received a large increase in salary, and an increased holiday allowance. She turned down a bigger car. She was amazed, but grateful and happy.

At the beginning of October, Megan felt the need to have some male company, perhaps even start dating again, but in any event, she told Sam, she wanted to ‘get laid’. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go on the hunt. A bit of fun.”

Sam was not really interested, let alone excited at the prospect, but Megan was her friend, and friends help friends. Girls feel safer with a girlfriend.

“Not sure about that,” Sam answered, “I don’t like picking up strangers and I don’t do one night stands.”

But Magen begged and Sam reluctantly agreed. “Just once.”

“I’m pretty choosy,” Megan assured her, “so don’t worry. There are nice guys out there.”

So that Friday they went clubbing. They had no difficulty in picking up a pair of good looking men, and they had a good time together, all four of them, dancing and chatting. When it was time to go home, Megan’s partner for the evening volunteered to take them. Megan sat in the front of Jake’s large BMW, while Darren sat with Sam in the back.

The conversation in the front seats was flirtatious and risqué, and this prompted Darren to put his arm round Sam and pull her to him. It was a surprise when she pushed his arm away and sat up straight.

Neither said anything, listening to the banter in the front of the car. They arrived at Megan and Sam’s block, Megan invited Jake in, and Darren took this as a general invitation and went with them into the block.

Megan got to the door and opened it, dragging Jake inside. Darren made to follow, but stopped when Sam began to open the door to her own flat. He smiled and moved to her then.

Once the door was open, she turned to Darren.

“Thanks for a great evening,” she said, kissing his cheek. “Good night!”

“That’s it?” he asked belligerently, “we buy you drinks all night and that’s what I get?”

Sam bridled. She fished in her handbag. Extracted two twenty pound notes and pushed them into his hand.

“Here,” she said, with some acid. “I’d hate you to feel you were short changed.”

He was flummoxed, and while he tried to cope with the notes pressed into his hand, she skipped inside and closed the door.

She flopped onto the sofa and let out a long breath. He wasn’t a bad guy, she said to herself, but he was expecting a ‘paid for’ one night stand – sex without strings from an exceedingly pretty woman, and this was what she hated: he expected payment in kind on her back. Not for her. She got herself a glass of milk and went to bed.

Saturday lunchtime found her doing her weekly wash when there was a knock at the door. She knew it would be Megan.

“How did it go?” Megan asked as she sat down on the sofa.

“How did what go?” countered Sam.

“Come on, Sam, you know – last night – with Darren.”

“It didn’t,” Sam said. “I thanked him for a nice evening and sent him on his way. Why do men pay for drinks all night and think it entitles them to a fucking? Even a whore would charge more!”

“You didn’t then?”

“No I didn’t. He complained he’d paid for drinks all night, so I gave him forty quid!”

Megan’s mouth dropped open, then giggled, then the two of them burst out laughing loudly at the thought.

Anyway, how was Jake?” Sam asked.

“Ok, I suppose,” Megan said without enthusiasm. “A bit disappointing really, but you just let Darren go? I can’t believe that! Aren’t you horny?”

“Megan,” explained Sam patiently, “When I was younger, I used to do one night stands, and they never did a lot for me. I’m a relationship person. If a guy and I hit it off, I like to go slow and get to know him before we start anything romantic. I’m an old fashioned girl that way. So if you want to do this again, whoever goes with me won’t be getting into my apartment, let alone my panties. Not on a first date. OK?”