Post by Justin Finch-Fletchley on Jan 29, 2009 22:16:59 GMT
"Justin, Mrs Malby is here to see you."
The receptionist's voice rang through the intercom; everyone was on first name terms in this establishment. Many wizarding firms didn't have intercoms, but this was one of the more enlightened ones that appreciated the usefulness of some Muggle devices, and therefore this firm had one. The firm was Foresters and Co., solicitors and attorneys, and Justin worked there. In fact, at the age of twenty-four, he was only just finishing his apprenticeship there, and still attended lectures one-and-a-half-days per week, but he had already taken on a number of minor cases, won a significant majority of them, and lately he had even been included on the defence teams for a couple of major cases. What was more, Glen Forester, his mentor and boss, had called him into his office two weeks ago to give him a contract of employment to sign. Justin was delighted to have secured a long-term job at such a well-regarded firm.
Of course, it was largely a matter of good luck, although a lack of distractions had undoubtedly made him show himself at his best: he'd been incredibly hardworking over the past few years, also somehow finding time to crew in an around-the-world yacht race at some point, numerous framed pictures on the wall by his desk bearing testimony to this. So how on earth had he persuaded Glen to let him take the required time off work to accomplish that sort of feat? Well, Justin had undertaken to be the unfortunate young bumpkin onto whom the vast majority of 'miscellaneous' clients with low influence levels over the firm (i.e. with low profit potential) were loaded for an initial assessment of whether to take on the case. Miscellaneous meant, mostly, that they were unable or unwilling to specify the exact nature of their need for a lawyer, or else that they'd flummoxed the receptionist when they'd rung up, and she'd just put them in to go and see Justin. He'd be able to work out whom to send them to, no problem, and he wouldn't mind because he was getting a permanent job for his willingness to do the dog-work. The receptionists knew this, and they used it. Justin was sorely used.
"Thank you, Julie," he replied over the intercom. "I'll be along in five minutes or so; have her take a seat."
He'd just checked his diary and found that Mrs Heather Malby, one of those mysterious miscellaneous clients, was fifteen minutes early. He didn't mind that, but he wasn't sure whether the meeting room he'd booked would be free yet, so he was going to have to go and investigate. Heather. Justin didn't usually give his clients' forenames any thought whatsoever - to them he was Mr Finch-Fletchley, and it actually seriously spooked him when they wished to be called by their first names - but in this case, the name stood out to him for obvious reasons.
He and Heather had stopped communicating after a little disagreement over something Heather had said about his mother. (It is never wise to insult someone's mother to the scion's face, even when that someone is as slow to take offence as Justin). Unusually, he had taken some amount of offence at this particular comment, and having made his thoughts clear, had put the phone down and neglected to return her calls for a significant period of time after that. Afterwards, when Justin had convinced himself that actually, from Heather's point of view, the comment hadn't been so unfair or unprovoked, it had been Heather who hadn't returned his calls. So the two of them remained out of touch with one another to this day.
Justin's mother, disapproving of his choice of sweetheart in the first place, would no doubt have been overjoyed to think that she herself had in fact been the catalyst for separating Justin from this strange (magical), and even worse, common girl, but she hadn't had the chance to think these terrible thoughts, because Justin hadn't enlightened her as to what had passed between Heather and himself. Indeed, he had rather surprised her when he had accepted her offer to set him up with 'someone appropriate', although that hadn't exactly worked out as she had been hoping either. Estelle was indeed very good friends with Justin now, and even lived under the same roof as him, but she was married to his cousin Eric! Justin was absolutely fine with this changed arrangement, because actually, although he and Estelle could no doubt have been very happy together, Eric and Estelle were even happier. Besides, Justin was quite happy to remain a bachelor. He'd actually never engaged in anything beyond a little verbal flirtation since breaking up with Heather - she lingered in his memory.
There was a meeting room free, which was fortunate. Justin preferred not to leave clients waiting, even when they had turned up early, but his desk was in a shared office, in which two of his colleagues had been goofing around rather at the time of his leaving it. hey might not have made a particularly good impression on Mrs Malby, had it been necessary to take her in there. Happily, it would not be necessary. Justin left his writing implements on the rather old-fashioned little table in the meeting room, and went to fetch his new client from the lobby.
Julie was an attractive, petite woman just a few years older than Justin, modest of dress and brown of locks (with some interesting purple streaks). Justin, who found it advantageous to maintain a friendly working relationship with the receptionists, flashed her a grin as he walked into the lobby. He went and leaned on the desk in order to talk to her, since she had just crouched down on the floor, trying to locate some file or other.
"Do you remember Glen suggesting that Simon might take more of the new clients than he does at the moment?" Justin asked. "He's getting a pay rise!"
"And you a few less new clients, I suppose?" Julie asked, looking up from the bottom drawer of her filing cabinet.
"Mmhmm," Justin agreed hopefully, giving her a small smile.
"Well," Julie replied, standing up and slamming her file down on the desk so hard that Justin jumped a little, "I'm not sure about that, y'know."
"Mmhmm," Justin acknowledged her comment in a sadder tone.
"What would you do with all the extra spare time?" she asked with a mischievous smile. "Maybe think of a way I can negotiate a pay rise, and I'll see what I can do."
Justin chuckled. "I'll do my best," he promised as he turned to go and greet his client, who was sitting on a comfy leather sofa about ten metres away from reception.
He caught his new client staring, but it was just as well that she quickly looked away, because otherwise she would definitely have caught him staring back, transfixed by shock and, indeed, grief. For the woman sitting there was unmistakebly Heather, his Heather, apart from that she wasn't his any more - that was for certain because she was now called Mrs Heather Malby. The surname didn't particularly suit her, he didn't think, but it was the fact that she was 'Mrs' that cut him to the core. He hadn't known. And here she was, smartly dressed, her lovely blonde hair shorter in a style that made her seem ever so much more grown-up. It just wasn't fair. Wasn't it enough that she'd gone and found someone else, without coming here to torment him by parading that fact in front of him?
"Damn." He found the word coming out, although he choked on it at the last minute. Julie looked at him in surprise.
"You all right, Justin? You've gone quite white - you look like you've seen a Boggart!"
It took Justin a moment or two before he managed an answer, speaking much more quietly than Heather would have been able to hear. "Yes - I mean, no I haven't seen a Boggart, I've just seen something much worse than that." Julie's look of surprise turned to alarm - Justin wasn't normally cryptic. Justin managed a smile for her, and a "Right then. I'd better go and greet my new client."
So that was it. No turning back. Time to go and confront this unexpected new emotional turmoil, whatever business Heather might have coming here. Forcibly, he regained his friendly, affable smile and approached Heather, shaking her hand firmly as he greeted her formally.
"Mrs Malby, how do you do? I'm Mr Finch-Fletchley - a pleasure to make your acquaintance." At this point, it seemed faintly ridiculous to be introducing himself, and, his friendly smile faltering for a moment into something a little more pointed, he added quietly, "although I think maybe no introduction is required on this occasion." There - he had managed to look her straight in the eye, and now he could comfortably reassume his friendly smile. "Would you like to come this way?" he asked, gesturing towards a side corridor that led to the suite of small meeting rooms. He let them in and sat himself down on one of the straight-backed wooden chairs, placing his ink pot in the ink well and dipping his quill in it to put himself in a state of readiness.
"So how can I be of assistance, Mrs Malby?" he asked simply. How he wished that this torture could be over already.
The receptionist's voice rang through the intercom; everyone was on first name terms in this establishment. Many wizarding firms didn't have intercoms, but this was one of the more enlightened ones that appreciated the usefulness of some Muggle devices, and therefore this firm had one. The firm was Foresters and Co., solicitors and attorneys, and Justin worked there. In fact, at the age of twenty-four, he was only just finishing his apprenticeship there, and still attended lectures one-and-a-half-days per week, but he had already taken on a number of minor cases, won a significant majority of them, and lately he had even been included on the defence teams for a couple of major cases. What was more, Glen Forester, his mentor and boss, had called him into his office two weeks ago to give him a contract of employment to sign. Justin was delighted to have secured a long-term job at such a well-regarded firm.
Of course, it was largely a matter of good luck, although a lack of distractions had undoubtedly made him show himself at his best: he'd been incredibly hardworking over the past few years, also somehow finding time to crew in an around-the-world yacht race at some point, numerous framed pictures on the wall by his desk bearing testimony to this. So how on earth had he persuaded Glen to let him take the required time off work to accomplish that sort of feat? Well, Justin had undertaken to be the unfortunate young bumpkin onto whom the vast majority of 'miscellaneous' clients with low influence levels over the firm (i.e. with low profit potential) were loaded for an initial assessment of whether to take on the case. Miscellaneous meant, mostly, that they were unable or unwilling to specify the exact nature of their need for a lawyer, or else that they'd flummoxed the receptionist when they'd rung up, and she'd just put them in to go and see Justin. He'd be able to work out whom to send them to, no problem, and he wouldn't mind because he was getting a permanent job for his willingness to do the dog-work. The receptionists knew this, and they used it. Justin was sorely used.
"Thank you, Julie," he replied over the intercom. "I'll be along in five minutes or so; have her take a seat."
He'd just checked his diary and found that Mrs Heather Malby, one of those mysterious miscellaneous clients, was fifteen minutes early. He didn't mind that, but he wasn't sure whether the meeting room he'd booked would be free yet, so he was going to have to go and investigate. Heather. Justin didn't usually give his clients' forenames any thought whatsoever - to them he was Mr Finch-Fletchley, and it actually seriously spooked him when they wished to be called by their first names - but in this case, the name stood out to him for obvious reasons.
He and Heather had stopped communicating after a little disagreement over something Heather had said about his mother. (It is never wise to insult someone's mother to the scion's face, even when that someone is as slow to take offence as Justin). Unusually, he had taken some amount of offence at this particular comment, and having made his thoughts clear, had put the phone down and neglected to return her calls for a significant period of time after that. Afterwards, when Justin had convinced himself that actually, from Heather's point of view, the comment hadn't been so unfair or unprovoked, it had been Heather who hadn't returned his calls. So the two of them remained out of touch with one another to this day.
Justin's mother, disapproving of his choice of sweetheart in the first place, would no doubt have been overjoyed to think that she herself had in fact been the catalyst for separating Justin from this strange (magical), and even worse, common girl, but she hadn't had the chance to think these terrible thoughts, because Justin hadn't enlightened her as to what had passed between Heather and himself. Indeed, he had rather surprised her when he had accepted her offer to set him up with 'someone appropriate', although that hadn't exactly worked out as she had been hoping either. Estelle was indeed very good friends with Justin now, and even lived under the same roof as him, but she was married to his cousin Eric! Justin was absolutely fine with this changed arrangement, because actually, although he and Estelle could no doubt have been very happy together, Eric and Estelle were even happier. Besides, Justin was quite happy to remain a bachelor. He'd actually never engaged in anything beyond a little verbal flirtation since breaking up with Heather - she lingered in his memory.
There was a meeting room free, which was fortunate. Justin preferred not to leave clients waiting, even when they had turned up early, but his desk was in a shared office, in which two of his colleagues had been goofing around rather at the time of his leaving it. hey might not have made a particularly good impression on Mrs Malby, had it been necessary to take her in there. Happily, it would not be necessary. Justin left his writing implements on the rather old-fashioned little table in the meeting room, and went to fetch his new client from the lobby.
Julie was an attractive, petite woman just a few years older than Justin, modest of dress and brown of locks (with some interesting purple streaks). Justin, who found it advantageous to maintain a friendly working relationship with the receptionists, flashed her a grin as he walked into the lobby. He went and leaned on the desk in order to talk to her, since she had just crouched down on the floor, trying to locate some file or other.
"Do you remember Glen suggesting that Simon might take more of the new clients than he does at the moment?" Justin asked. "He's getting a pay rise!"
"And you a few less new clients, I suppose?" Julie asked, looking up from the bottom drawer of her filing cabinet.
"Mmhmm," Justin agreed hopefully, giving her a small smile.
"Well," Julie replied, standing up and slamming her file down on the desk so hard that Justin jumped a little, "I'm not sure about that, y'know."
"Mmhmm," Justin acknowledged her comment in a sadder tone.
"What would you do with all the extra spare time?" she asked with a mischievous smile. "Maybe think of a way I can negotiate a pay rise, and I'll see what I can do."
Justin chuckled. "I'll do my best," he promised as he turned to go and greet his client, who was sitting on a comfy leather sofa about ten metres away from reception.
He caught his new client staring, but it was just as well that she quickly looked away, because otherwise she would definitely have caught him staring back, transfixed by shock and, indeed, grief. For the woman sitting there was unmistakebly Heather, his Heather, apart from that she wasn't his any more - that was for certain because she was now called Mrs Heather Malby. The surname didn't particularly suit her, he didn't think, but it was the fact that she was 'Mrs' that cut him to the core. He hadn't known. And here she was, smartly dressed, her lovely blonde hair shorter in a style that made her seem ever so much more grown-up. It just wasn't fair. Wasn't it enough that she'd gone and found someone else, without coming here to torment him by parading that fact in front of him?
"Damn." He found the word coming out, although he choked on it at the last minute. Julie looked at him in surprise.
"You all right, Justin? You've gone quite white - you look like you've seen a Boggart!"
It took Justin a moment or two before he managed an answer, speaking much more quietly than Heather would have been able to hear. "Yes - I mean, no I haven't seen a Boggart, I've just seen something much worse than that." Julie's look of surprise turned to alarm - Justin wasn't normally cryptic. Justin managed a smile for her, and a "Right then. I'd better go and greet my new client."
So that was it. No turning back. Time to go and confront this unexpected new emotional turmoil, whatever business Heather might have coming here. Forcibly, he regained his friendly, affable smile and approached Heather, shaking her hand firmly as he greeted her formally.
"Mrs Malby, how do you do? I'm Mr Finch-Fletchley - a pleasure to make your acquaintance." At this point, it seemed faintly ridiculous to be introducing himself, and, his friendly smile faltering for a moment into something a little more pointed, he added quietly, "although I think maybe no introduction is required on this occasion." There - he had managed to look her straight in the eye, and now he could comfortably reassume his friendly smile. "Would you like to come this way?" he asked, gesturing towards a side corridor that led to the suite of small meeting rooms. He let them in and sat himself down on one of the straight-backed wooden chairs, placing his ink pot in the ink well and dipping his quill in it to put himself in a state of readiness.
"So how can I be of assistance, Mrs Malby?" he asked simply. How he wished that this torture could be over already.
