If Only I Could
Chapter 3
Brandon opened the door to the lobby next to the arts department. Elinor had said she'd be there to see Marianne after her interview, but so far Elinor wasn't there. But someone Brandon did not know was there, sitting on one of the long settees, sketching (by the look of it) something onto a small sketchbook. That would have to be Marianne. It wasn't usual to leave guests to the company unattended for any time, but this lobby that doubled as a coffee room was between wings of the building and anyone wanting to go to either of the two wings would need an electronic key.
The young woman could not see Brandon from where she was sitting, and from the doorway Brandon could just make out her profile. In a way she looked like Elinor, but then again not. She carried herself differently, for one. Where Elinor was solid and grounded somehow, this girl was almost weightless. How that was possible, since they were both slender and graceful creatures, Brandon was not sure, but there was something very light and graceful about her. Like she was a dancer. And the way her face lived with whatever she was sketching was mesmerising and simply beautiful. Brandon had meant to approach the girl straight away, but now found he needed a moment to compose himself – something about her had just struck him on the head like a thick plank and he needed to catch his breath. He had never responded to anyone like that simply by seeing them for the first time, and his response troubled him.
Finally he was able to breathe normally again and his heart rate calmed closer to normal.
"I do believe the signs here explicitly forbid photography around the premises, but I have to admit I'm not sure how that rule applies to such wonderfully accurate drawings," Brandon said softly as he silently had walked to Marianne Dashwood and looked over her shoulder to see what she was sketching. She was simply making a pencil drawing of a decorative paperweight that was on the coffee table. Something Brandon had once picked up from a trip north, a dandelion in its seed phase trapped in a clear acrylic sphere – captured in that fleeting moment in time for perpetuity. Marianne's drawing, in turn, was a very nice attempt at capturing the magnifying effect of the sphere and the light traveling through it.
Marianne jolted and gasped. She had been so lost in thought she hadn't noticed someone approach her from behind.
"Sorry…" she started, turning around to see who was talking to her. In her mind she had just time to process that the voice had not been reprimanding her in any way, and was even a little bit teasing, but at the same time she was still as nervous as could be about the interview that had finished a moment ago. This was Elinor's company and she had been left to wait for Elinor in this lobby. Elinor had rang Alison Riley, head of graphics, to say her meeting was running a little over time and could she leave Marianne to wait here for her, but still Marianne felt a bit like an intruder.
What Marianne saw when she turned around was a man, in his forties maybe, with a relaxed haircut, a three-piece suit that fit him perfectly, and a small smile on his face that allowed Marianne to believe that he was teasing rather than telling her off. Marianne laughed a little at reacting like a school girl caught doing something she wasn't supposed to.
"No, please, I'm sorry – didn't meant to startle you," the man said. Marianne smiled back at him.
"I'm Marianne Dashwood, I was just interviewed by Alison Riley and I'm waiting for someone to collect me from here," Marianne then explained. There had been so many security things going on ever since she'd arrived she was now guessing this man wanted to know why a stranger was sitting in this lobby by herself, sketching a paperweight.
"I know," he simply replied and walked around the settee to her side. Once there he extended his hand in formal greeting.
"I'm Christopher Brandon, perhaps your sister has mentioned me?"
Marianne had stood up as the man had walked around the settee and took his hand, a little surprised.
"Oh, yes, she has, how do you do, sir," she greeted him. Gods, what sort of a first impression was she making? Lounging in the lobby, sketching something pointless like she had nothing better to do, Marianne gave herself a mental kick. The man didn't seem to mind, though, but flashed that smile again and gave a soft laugh. She checked her posture (good, upright and confident), evaluated the handshake she had given (yes, she remembered to be firm but not hard), and sighed in relief that she had remembered to look the man in the eye. Eyes. The lovely, kind, brown eyes he had.
"Please, call me Christopher. After all, your sister is a good friend of mine, and we don't much go for titles here at Impressions," he replied, and gestured for her to sit down again, settling on the settee as well. He did have places to be and a million and a half things to do, but he could not bring himself to leave Marianne Dashwood's company just yet. As he sat down, Brandon found himself in the mids of another bizarre internal disturbance: he had to consider very carefully at what distance he would leave. A part of him wanted to sit closer, as he would if he was at one of Sir John's dinner parties and actually interested in a woman John had set him up with. Then again he felt like this young woman was somehow special: she was much younger than he, delicate and beautiful yet she was making an effort to project confidence. He may well end up her boss' boss soon and it really wouldn't do to make the lady feel uncomfortable.
"May I see that?" he then dispersed the potential for an awkward silence and reached his hand out to Marianne's sketchpad. Almost as if drugged by Brandon's quiet charisma, it took Marianne a moment to comprehend what he was after. She then let out a shy laugh when she understood and simply handed him her pad. He never seemed to take his eyes off hers, and a small friendly smile remained.
"Lovely, you've got the light coming through very nicely, I wish I could do that," he commented after examining her hasty sketch for a moment.
"I'm sure can, no offence Marianne," the heard Elinor's voice from the doorway. She'd finally been able to leave the meeting and had rushed to the lobby.
"I see you've met, do I need to introduce you?" Elinor continued, only to hear both Marianne and Christopher respond by laughing as if they were in a conspiracy with each other. Elinor looked at the two who re-enforced her impression of a conspiracy by sharing a look and a smile. What had she missed here?
"No, no need for introductions. I had to approach this young lady as she was sketching a far too convincing picture of the interior of our office building. No photography is allowed here and considering the quality of her picture I have decided to confiscate the illegal image," Christopher Brandon declared with mock seriousness.
"Oh dear, I'm in trouble," Marianne joined in on the act. Elinor simply stared at the two. What was going on?
In a genuinely more serious yet friendly manner, Brandon then asked:
"May I keep this drawing?"
"Of course," Marianne replied. Then Elinor simply had to give Brandon her excuses and drag Marianne with her. They were supposed to have lunch together and talk about the interview, and Elinor only had so much time between her appointments today.
A week later found Marianne sitting by the kitchen table, staring at her mobile, willing it to ring when Margaret came home from school.
"What are you doing?" Margaret asked, looking at her sister as if Marianne had grown a second head or something equally odd.
"They said they'd call today, the latest."
Margaret took a moment to understand. Then she remembered all the commotion that had been going on about the job. Marianne coming home a week ago, squealing about how she would absolutely love to work at Impressions, how the head of graphics had been so wonderful and nice and probably a saint (well, the latter was Margaret's impression from Marianne's overly demonstrative reactions), how the offices were wonderful and how everyone had a wonderful place to work and a fabulous, top of the line computer, and how (this Margaret found the oddest) that boss-friend of Elinor's had been so lovely and wonderful and so nice and not at all like a big boss and he'd asked for Marianne's stupid sketch. It was all a great big bundle Marianne making squeaky noises and jumping around and talking faster than she could draw breath, but Margaret was quite confident she'd got the gist of it.
Right then, their mother stepped in as well, smiling wider than either of the girls had seen in a long, long time.
"Oh, girls!" She exclaimed first thing, looking like she'd explode if she didn't share her news immediately.
"What is it, mum?" Marianne asked first. Again, Margaret was simply staring at her mother as if it was her growing a second head now.
"Mrs Jennings gave me that job. At the florists! I can start next week!" Anne Dashwood said, making noises and little hops and bounces that to Margaret looked very similar to what Marianne had been doing a week ago after her interview.
Marianne jumped up, her phone left on the table, to hug her mother. This was good news, indeed. Her mother had so hoped to find some employment outside the house, and Marianne and Elinor had talked about it a lot and how it would probably do their mother a world of good to start putting a bit of a social life together for herself outside the family. To get a little money for it was simply a nice extra.
"Oh mum, I'm so happy for you!" Marianne said and rushed to hug her mother. The happy noises drowned the soft ringtone of Marianne's phone. It was Margaret who noticed the gadget buzzing on the table.
"Marianne, your phone!" Margaret alerted her sister. Margaret was usually quite determined not to let excitement (or many other feelings come to that) come through in her interactions with her family, but she couldn't quite curb her excited tone this time – perhaps this hyper frenzy of her mother and older sister were contagious somehow?
Marianne rushed back to her phone, stared at the screen for a moment as she took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. Anne Dashwood quickly sussed that this was The Call, and nearly stopped breathing in her effort not to make any sounds while Marianne was on the phone. Marianne answered, kept her cool, answered in a few simple, single syllable words, then finished the call with a very business-like "thank you for letting me know, bye!" Neither Anne nor Margaret dared draw any conclusions from her tone. It didn't sound dejected in any way, but was it positive or did they simply hope for it to be positive. Finally Marianne turned around with a broad smile on her face:
"I got it! I got the job at Impressions!"
This time, even Margaret had to join in with the jumping around and making squeaky noises and hugging her mother and sister.
