Tales from the Finchbottom Vale – (45) What Becomes of the Broken Hearted (Part 04)
The favour for Bob Turner turned out to be a bit more complicated than just dropping off a few cans of film, she was also tasked with seeing the restoration through to fruition and she was required to meet with the chief technician and discuss not just the restoration of the film she was carrying but also a large number of other films found in the vaults, which would be a potentially big deal for Reel Times.
As her ex-husband dropped her off to work in the morning she didn’t have and transport so she got a cab to the station and caught the first available train to Finchbottom.
Once she had disembarked she took the first cab on the rank and she was quickly headed towards the address that Bob Turner supplied.
When she pulled up outside the Reel Time Building she was in truth not particularly impressed.
The premises were drab and dingy and quite frankly uninspiring.
Her first instinct was to get the cab to return her to the station but Bob had said that they were experts with a great reputation so she decided she would at least meet with them first.
Karen paid the cab driver and walked towards the unimpressive front entrance.
Failing to locate a doorknob, she placed her hand on the push plate and put her weight behind it but the door didn’t open to her touch which was when she looked to the left and saw an intercom so she pushed the buzzer and a moment later the speaker crackled and a tinny voice said
“Karen Anderson to see Mark Cross” she shouted at the wall
“Come up” the voice said and the lock buzzed so she repeated her previous action with the door and this time it yielded to her.
On entering the dimly lit lobby her first thought was that at least it was in keeping with the façade.
She trudged up the stairs wishing she’d said no to Bob more forcefully but when she pushed open the door at the top of the staircase she couldn’t believe her eyes.
Everything was shinny chrome and bright lights and there was hi-tech equipment everywhere, it was such a stark contrast to the outside.
“Can I help?” a voice said in a manner that conveyed anything but the desire to help, however she couldn’t help smiling as she thought that she had done the speaker quality a disservice as the girl actually had a tinny voice.
She was a small girl in her mid-twenties, Lilya, according to the name on her coffee mug, and she was about 4ft 10 quite slim but with the most enormous breasts, rather too big for the rest of her in Karen’s opinion, they were almost in the realm of comedy breasts, totally out of proportion to her tiny frame.
They were displayed in a very low cut black top and looked like two bald men sharing a coat.
Her face was not an attractive one but Karen supposed, perhaps unkindly, that when you have your breasts on display like that, most visitors wouldn’t notice her face.