The Banker's Niece 2: The advertisement

Jane strides along the pavement in the spring sunshine. All those people jammed into tubes and buses don’t know what they’re missing. She’s never walked to Sharon’s before, but she can’t think why not as Clerkenwell to Stoke Newington isn’t that far and by taking the smaller roads she can escape most of the traffic fumes. She must do it more often.

    ‘Ring me any time,’ Sharon said when they parted after Jane’s ‘taster’ session nearly two months ago, handing her a card. ‘If there’s anything you’re worried about or want to discuss, just get in touch.’

    Jane was surprised. That was kind, and professional. But of course she wouldn’t. Her visit to the fair was an aberration and the tarot reading an accident. Then she spent the whole night awake and rang Sharon the next morning, even though it was Sunday. They made an appointment for Monday evening, and on Monday for the following Saturday, and then for every Saturday after that. She supposes she keeps going to see Sharon because she hasn’t anything else. Her time there is the only part of her life where she feels almost normal.

    A delicious smell of pastries and coffee wafts out of a café that appears on her right. Through its window she glimpses dark wood, mirrors and several empty tables. Judging by the signs, it’s independently owned and not part of a chain. She looks at her watch. Yes, she has time. She’s never been to this place before but she likes the look of it. She pushes in.

    ‘Can I help you madam?’ says a handsome Mediterranean-looking man behind the tall counter.

    Better and better. She is a big fan of all things Mediterranean, especially the men and especially when they’re polite and keep their distance. She can then admire from afar and not risk breaking her millennial resolution to have no more meaningless relationships.

    She orders a double espresso and makes her way to a table at the back, next to a rack of newspapers. How civilised. She hasn’t read a newspaper for years. She pulls one down and turns to the jobs pages. It never does any harm to check that you’re being paid enough. There’s even a section for media and arts.

    A small boxed ad at the bottom of one of the pages catches her eye.

Exciting opportunity

Expansion due to success

COMMISSIONING EDITOR WANTED

New post in small but prestigious

family-owned book publisher

in glorious Devon countryside

She looks up and sees the man behind the counter watching her. That means she can’t tear the ad out and will have to engage with him. Bother. Trying not to blush, she takes the paper to the counter and points to the ad.

    ‘Could I possibly take this away with me?’

    ‘But of course, madam,’ he says, pulling a pair of scissors from under the counter.

    Unfortunately she stumbles over a chair on the way back to her table to pick up her bag and coat, otherwise she might have congratulated herself on how well she handled the situation.

As always she gets lost when negotiating the maze of walkways that lead to Sharon’s flat. When she does eventually arrive, she thinks of Mole stumbling across Badger's house in the middle of the Wild Wood.
    She loves that book The Wind in the Willows - more now probably than she did as a child. It's funny how you revisit children's books increasingly as you age. Whether that's a good sign, she's not sure.

   The reminders continue when she enters the flat as Sharon keeps the curtains half-drawn and the place is gloomy and mysterious like Badger's rambling underground lair. She doubts however whether Badger would have incense sticks burning, as Sharon does.

    They sit opposite each other at a small table as they did at the fair. Jane likes this; it makes their meetings impersonal. She can't bear 'cosy chats', especially with women. Women always want to draw the soul out of you so that they can use it against you at a later date. There's nothing cosy about Sharon, and she's not particularly interested in Jane's past except as it relates to present choices. Which is a relief.
    ‘What d’you think?’ Jane says excitedly, handing the clipping to her mentor. 

    Sharon glances quickly at the ad and then says, ‘Why are you asking me?’
    Jane grits her teeth. Why does Sharon have to be so difficult all the time? Wasn't Jane moving the first thing Sharon said back in February when they first met? And now here she is ready to do something about it. She thought Sharon would be pleased.

    ‘Well, because there are so many reasons why I shouldn’t apply for the job,’ she says.

    ‘Name one,’ says Sharon.

    Jane raises her hands and counts off the reasons on fingers. ‘One, it’s not a promotion, it’s a sideways step. Two, I’ve never heard of this publisher before. Three, as well as leaving my flat, I’d have to move to the other side of the country and abandon my friends and family. Four, what do I know about rural Devon? Five, I’ve only just got time to apply before the deadline runs out so it would be a rush.’ She swaps hands and takes a couple of breaths. ‘Six, I’m not even sure I want to continue working in publishing. Seven –’

    ‘Stop, stop, stop,’ interrupts Sharon.

    ‘What?’ says Jane, pausing with her hands in the air.

    ‘What have I been teaching you all these weeks?’

    Jane’s mind goes blank. They’ve done so much it’s all a bit of a blur. Every week Sharon surprises her with something new and that’s probably another of the reasons she keeps coming back.

    ‘Er, lots of things,’ she says.

    ‘In-tu-ition,’ says Sharon, tapping the table with a forefinger.

    ‘Ah, yes,’ says Jane.

    Now she remembers. That faculty which reminds her of dipping her toe in the water in order to test how cold it is before plunging. One of the first exercises Sharon set her involved recognising and testing intuitive hunches.   

     ‘And what have I told you about intuition?’ continues Sharon.

     ‘I –I don’t know,’ says Jane. She feels as if she’s back at school, struggling to find the right answer and not give away the fact that her mind drifts.

    ‘It’s a clue,’ says Sharon, sounding exasperated.

    ‘A clue to what?’ Jane mumbles. She’s a bit cross now. Why can’t Sharon just tell her whether or not to apply for the job?

    ‘To our life-plan. The one based on our karmic needs. The one the universe helps us with if we follow it but which brings us nothing but misery if we don’t.’

    All these words, all these ideas. She’s heard them before of course, but she’s never taken them seriously because they’re so far from everything she was taught at grammar school and by the Church of England or learnt from the example of her parents. Sharon on the other hand takes them as a given. It’s disorientating, to say the least, but interesting.

    ‘So are you saying that the universe led me to the job ad?’ she asks grumpily. ‘That’s stupid. It was a series of accidents.’

    Sharon sighs heavily. ‘OK. Put it another way. How do you buy your clothes?’

    Jane flinches. How does Sharon know about her secret addiction?

    ‘Well, mostly these days I just wander around until something jumps out at me,’ she answers, thinking of those happy days lost in a dream of fabrics and colours.

    ‘And why do you do it like that? Why don’t you go looking for something specific?’

    ‘Well I used to,’ says Jane, warming to her subject, ‘but then I could never find anything. And I realised that the clothes that jumped out at me were the ones I really loved. They were different from what I had before, whereas if I went with a preconceived idea of what I wanted then I’d be buying something similar to what I already had and that was boring.’

    ‘Ex-actly,’ says Sharon, looking smug.

    ‘Exactly what?’ says Jane, grumpily, although she’s beginning to see what Sharon means.

    ‘You should run your life like you buy your clothes,’ replies Sharon.

    ‘On whims, you mean,’ snorts Jane, not yet ready to concede.

    ‘No,’ says Sharon slowly and deliberately, as if talking to an idiot. ‘Taking risks. Having more confidence in yourself and your instincts.’

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