‘Oh.’ I ducked my head, my face now on fire.
‘The IT department spent all night trying to get rid of it. After you’d kindly shared it with every email address in the building.’
I bit my lip and slid my hands under my thighs. ‘Sorry about that.’ I felt five inches high. ‘I’m very sorry.’
‘You don’t need to apologise to me. You’re going to have to apologise to Mr Walker and Fred, the IT assistant, who burnt considerable midnight oil to solve the problem. It’s not created the best impression with the new director.’
‘Oh dear.’ I wilted inside. Our first encounter hadn’t exactly gone well.
‘Oh, dear indeed. It took considerable persuasion to get him to take the job. Julian Spencer is not best pleased, as you’ve confirmed any negative perceptions Mr Walker might have had about the ability of the Opera House to move into the twenty-first century.’
I gazed down at her table, trying to imagine how to frame a suitable apology and came up with nothing. I’d rather hoped after that first run in, I’d never have to see Mr drop-dead-gorgeous again.
‘Are you listening to me?’ She laid her hands on the desk and pinned me with a fierce stare.
I nodded vigorously.
‘Good, because I’ve decided that we are going to convince our new IT Director that all departments are open and amenable to progress. All members of staff are ready to embrace technology and make it serve us.’
What… afternoon cream teas? I rather relished the thought of the little CD disk drawers popping out on command with a lovely china cup and saucer of tea and a matching plate with a chocolate éclair. Then I realised I’d missed what she was saying.
‘… an IT champion, who will provide the link with the IT department and promote the use of new systems within their department.’
She plumped herself down in her grand leather chair as if she were Sir Alan Sugar suddenly discovering that his potential apprentices had a couple of brain cells each.
What? I’d missed something important here.
‘As part of your probation, you are now the Hair, Wig and Make-up team’s IT contact and you will be working closely with Mr Walker to identify suitable software packages for implementation in the department to streamline and update your processes.’
‘Me?’ She had to be kidding. ‘But I’m rub–’
‘It’s all been agreed. He’s expecting to see you today.’
‘Who? Mr Walker?’ I curled my fingers over the edge of the chair.
She narrowed her eyes, which I took as a yes.
‘But … but … I’ve got work to do … proper work. The designs for Juliet. And Pietro for curtain up tonight.’
She smiled and it wasn’t a nice smile. She tapped her diary rather pointedly.
‘Mr Walker will be keeping me abreast of your progress.’
I gave her a weak smile. My cup just runneth over.
As I stood to leave, she leaned under her desk.
‘A present for you,’ she said and pointedly handed me a toilet roll.
‘Did she offer you the Assistant Head of Make-up job?’
Vince bobbed up and down, firing the question at me as soon as I returned to Jeanie’s cubby hole, half an hour later.
‘You are flippin’ joking,’ I said with feeling. ‘She bloody hates me. I’m a “dumb ass”, “stupid”, “make cock-ups” and I’m an “amateur”. I think it’s safe to say, I’m not on the short list for that job.’
Jeanie gave me a stern look. ‘Is that what she really said?’
I shrugged.
‘Or did you just listen to the bad bits and ignore the positrons?’
‘Positives,’ I said absently, staring mutinously at the floor. ‘She wants me to have a meeting with the Prince of Darkness to discuss the use of IT in our department.’
‘What? The new IT Director? Oooh lucky you. Sadly, I don’t think he bats for our side.’
Jeanie shot Vince a look.
‘Good, that will make life up here a little less precarious when you use that thing.’ She nodded at the computer.
‘But I don’t want …’
Jeanie sniffed. ‘One meeting won’t kill you. You are a great make-up artist but these days, it isn’t enough.’
My heart sank. As Alison had told me. Presumably she’d had this conversation with Jeanie already, after all she was my boss.
‘You need as many strings to your violin as you can get.’ She turned back to the stack of books on her desk. ‘Now we need to crack on.’
With that clear signal, both Vince and I got our heads down to do some serious research.
At the London Met Opera Company, it’s an adventure just travelling in the lift. You might meet members of the orchestra rocking the escaped mafia hitman look in their dinner suits carrying violin cases, a props guy carrying a papier mâché lobster, costume ladies buried in yards and yards of chiffon, set designers in paint-splodged clothes and petite dancers of both sexes, who always seemed to be wearing millions of layers and carrying bags double their size. Today, I didn’t even take note as my heart plummeted along with the lift.
I wandered as slowly as I could along the corridor to the IT department. Once you passed the sound engineers’ offices, it became very different down here in the basement. A million different cables found their way around every surface; coiled and suspended with the sinuous grace of snakes in the jungle, blue wires, black wires, curly cable, straight cable and an infinite amount of silver connecting thingummies at the end of each. Passing a couple of storerooms, I finally came to the IT offices. I’d only been down here a few times but I almost didn’t recognise the area today.
‘Ah, come to see the damage.’ Fred glared at me from where he sat hunched over a screen in a central station in the middle of the room and shook his head. ‘What are you like? Here till bloody 3am because of you.’
‘Was it really that bad?’ I asked, wincing at his outraged face. ‘I’m so sorry.’ Poor Fred had been my saviour on more than one occasion, the most recent being an unfortunate incident with a can of Coke and a keyboard.
‘You will be when his nibs gets hold of you.’ Fred sniffed, rolling his eyes and went back to peering at his screen. I took a quick look around the room.
‘Blimey, what’s happened in here?’
‘Marcus.’ Fred inclined his head towards the office over on the outside wall.
Ah, so the M stood for Marcus. It suited him, sounded slightly posh.
The entire room appeared to have undergone operation de-clutter. For once, you could see the floor and on the opposite wall, a bank of shiny white glossy cupboards lined it like storm trooper lockers. One open door revealed neatly organised shelves filled with spare mice, keyboards, green circuit board things and various other bits I didn’t recognise.
‘Very smart. Very Star Wars.’
‘Comes of working in the City,’ answered Fred, glancing over towards his boss who was clearly visible through the glass door, his back to us, gesticulating with surprisingly graceful hands with a phone tucked under his ear. ‘And he cares about this department.’
‘Actually, he reminds of Darth Vader, without the breathing problems.’
An animated look came