Grace in the Shadows

Chapter 5

5

A heavy lead ball settled into Rachel’s stomach. Why had she applied for the manager’s job? Ten of them had made it through the application stage. Alice hadn’t, but she’d still whispered, “Hope you get it.” Alice was too nice, and Rachel didn’t deserve it. After all, she wasn’t averse to clambering over a friend to succeed.

The room was quiet. Nine perfect mannequins frozen on their seats. Asking them to all arrive together seemed a form of t*****e. Rachel’s interview was last. Was there significance in the order? Her stomach curdled and seethed. Dry toast for breakfast would have been better than cereal.

The door to the main office opened and the first interviewee walked out, head held high. Was she confident or faking it? The receptionist’s nails clicked on her keyboard. She looked up. “Yvonne.”

Rachel gave a ghost of a smile. No point in letting her dislike show and making enemies with someone who might become her boss. David Jones was a cushy job compared with many alternatives, and Rachel had no intention of losing it.

Rachel had to use the bathroom twice during the wait. The second time she freshened her make-up.

She peered at her face. How had she ever ended up looking like this? As a kid, she’d been a long way from physical perfection, she’d just wanted to be normal. To be allowed to make mud pies or jump in puddles. But her wishes didn’t matter. Her father had wanted a little doll. Her mother brushed her hair until it shone, tugging it into tight French braids. No wisps were allowed to escape. As a kid she hadn’t known what a corset was, but she’d walked as though wearing one under her high-end clothes. She’d learned to say ‘please,’ ‘thank you’, and ‘excuse me’ like her life depended on it.

Her father had beamed whenever people said, “Isn’t she a darling?”

Why could she never get her father’s voice out of her head? If she wet herself as a toddler, she was told she’d never be a Proverbs 31 woman. If she made a noise in church, she was told the Proverbs 31 woman knew how to behave in public. If she interrupted her father, she was told the Proverbs 31 woman would never interrupt. The Proverbs 31 woman had glided through the sky, glowing like some kind of fairy princess. She was always clean, always tidy, always in control, and never ever a disappointment to her father.

Rachel swallowed the acid in her throat. The Proverbs 31 woman was the opposite of everything she’d been. She’d resented the woman because she could never live up to her standard. Maybe even hated her.

Her mother was the perfect Proverbs 31 woman, but it was the last thing Rachel had wanted to be when she grew up. Yet here she was. A perfect woman. How had appearance become of prime importance to the kid who’d preferred skipping to dolls and climbing trees to tea parties? Odd how things had turned out.

“Rachel, please take a seat.”

Rachel sat down. She’d experimented with all sorts of sitting postures the night before. Sitting right back in the chair with ankles crossed, knees together and her hands on her lap, would hide her fear and still look professional. She smiled to relax her cheek muscles. Did she exude calm confidence without overconfidence?

“Why don’t you take us through your work history?”

That was the problem with CVs. Good interviewers took notice of the details. Would they quiz her on her personal history? If they did, could she present it positively?

“I worked in a restaurant first.” Restaurant sounded grander than takeaway shop and it wasn’t strictly a lie. There had been some tables for customers who wanted to eat on the spot rather than take their fish and chips home.

“I spent five years at David Jones in Chatswood before I was asked to move to the city store. I’ve been here ever since.”

“But not always working for the same cosmetics company?”

“No. Working for different companies gave me broader experience.”

She could handle questions about her current work. She wasn’t her father’s daughter for nothing. Even though she hadn’t finished school, she’d had the best of the best before she left.

She answered a few more predictable questions.

One of the interviewers stared off to the right. Was she even paying attention? The woman’s chin dropped and she reached for the CV in front of her and ran her finger down the page.

Should Rachel be worried?

“Your CV mentions your restaurant job. How old were you then?”

“Sixteen.” Why had the lady spotted the deliberately vague part of her application?

“You don’t mention how many hours you worked.”

What could she say?

The woman pierced Rachel with her gaze. “Well, was it full-time or part-time?”

Rachel’s mouth went dry. “Full.”

The woman glanced down at the form in front of her. “And yet you attended one of the best schools in Sydney.”

The woman’s badgering reminded Rachel of her father. She almost gagged. She wasn’t going to let her father muck this up for her, he’d wrecked enough of her life. Could she somehow spin her reason for leaving school in a positive light?

“Were you expelled?”

“No.”

The woman tapped her forefinger on her thigh. A single word answer would never satisfy her.

“I had a difficult relationship with my father.” Understatement of the year. “I went to live with my grandmother.” Would that satisfy her?

“And?”

Would the woman ever stop probing? A butterfly pinned to a board couldn’t feel more uncomfortable. Rachel’s palms were clammy. Don’t panic.

“I went to a local high school for a while, but it wasn’t great. I finished Year 10 and decided to take a break and working proved to be more to my liking.”

Had she blown her chances? Had the interviewers noticed the hardness in her voice when she mentioned her father? Little things like attitude could sabotage an interview, especially when there were other good candidates. Why hadn’t she thought to bring a handkerchief to wipe the sweat off her palms?

The short interviewer with glasses took over. “What are some of your strengths?”

Safe ground. Thank goodness.

She didn’t mention what they could see for themselves. It was better left unsaid that cosmetics companies chose staff for their looks and grooming. Cosmetics were about glamour, after all. Her genes, upbringing, and figure gave her a big tick in this department.

“I’m organised and hard working. I have good people skills and repeat customers usually ask for me by name.” A private school education had its uses. Rachel listed a few more things she thought they’d want to hear. She was in the swing now.

“And your level of French?”

Yippee. Her French was galloping to the rescue. With most of the top cosmetics brands being French, she thanked her lucky stars that she’d stuck with French and not switched to Latin or German.

“I’m fluent.”

“That’s rather unusual for an Australian.”

“I had excellent teachers and have travelled to France and New Caledonia.”

Now was her chance to show she was manager material.

“French has been useful in the past, but an increasing number of our customers are Chinese. I’ve been considering learning Mandarin.”

All three interviewers sat up straight. “And if you were to get the job, what would you like to see happen at your concession?”

She was in charge at last. “First, I’d like to see us do some research.” Don’t be vague. Interviewers like precision. “Research our current customer base to determine what languages are needed. Lots of people speak English as a second language but don’t necessarily require our staff to speak their language. Those customers are happy with a greeting, which is easy enough to learn but some languages are more important, because the customers don’t speak English fluently. We could start hiring people who speak those languages and advertise the fact.”

“How would you see that working?”

“Perhaps a half day a week where a specific language is available for consultations. Say, Chinese on Mondays and Arabic on Tuesdays.”

The interviewers asked a few more questions before the interviewer seated in the middle closed the interview. “Thank you, Rachel, we’ll get back to you with our decision within a week.”

Rachel stood, smoothed her skirt, and left the office. Behind her came the murmur of voices. Being last meant her interview would remain a strong impression. Would it be strong enough?