A Passionate Love Affair with a Total Stranger (20 page)

‘Really!'

Fair enough. ‘OK.'

Sam pinched some of my coffee. ‘Forget Shelley, Chas. Just be yourself. It's worked so far. William's hooked.'

A warm glow. I resumed writing.

So here I am at my desk, eating a hearty brunch. I love a good sausage of a morning.

Sam giggled.

I can't believe you love running around Central Park in autumn too – that's an amazing coincidence. It's my absolute favourite!

I find running – particularly there – really quite life-affirming.

It transports me away from my work for an hour, which is no mean feat.

Yes, things are quite serious here. But I'm doing my best.

Speaking of work, congratulations on the woodlouse: that's a truly profound achievement.

‘Get her to say something a bit less jokey about the woodlouse,' Sam said.

I was bewildered. ‘But … you made up a story about a freaking woodlouse! What isn't to joke about? C'mon, Bowes, I really have to get on with work …'

Sam ignored me. ‘Remember that joke I cracked back at the beginning – about having my hand up someone's nose? William went mental! He'll be even less impressed with this one. But, anyway, I'm serious. Feed his ego a tiny bit. Us men
love
being complimented on our careers. Makes us feel all big and manly.'

I shot a sideways look at him, wondering how long it had been since anyone had complimented him on his.

Seriously, though [
I wrote – rather grudgingly
], any sort of mention in a trade journal is pretty impressive, woodlouse or not. What a fantastic job you do.

I could do dinner on Thursday next week. I might be a bit wild-haired and hallucinatory as I land at six thirty that morning … and may possibly speak in an American accent all night … but if that works for you, we're on.

X X X

Sam laughed. ‘I'm amazed I didn't work out that it was you,' he said. ‘You ridiculous workaholic nutjob.'

I frowned. ‘Er, you can pipe down, Mr Snot-green-smoothie-and-running-shoes-at-nine-on-a-Saturday-morning.'

Sam shrugged. ‘I'm a member of the UK workforce now. Anyway,' he said, leaning forward, a rather subversive expression on his face, ‘before you press send, I'd like you to consider disobeying Shelley and suggesting Friday night to William.'

‘Out of the question,' I replied, without hesitation.

‘Why?'

I sighed. Men and women really were so very different. To me, a weekend date was extremely significant – I hadn't broken my leg over a Tuesday date after all – but I was damned if I knew how to explain that to him.

‘Urgh. Bowes, it's complicated, but basically she's a girl and she can't offer him Friday night. And that's that. But if William suggests it, she can say yes.'

Sam looked pained. ‘I cannot cope with women.'

I didn't budge.

‘Well, I can see I'm not going to win this one, Chas. Go ahead with your Thursday offer. And I'll write back and suggest Friday instead.'

Then I smelt a rat. When a man emailed one of my clients wanting a Friday-night date he was normally after sex. ‘What's with Friday, Bowes?' I asked suspiciously.

‘I know what you're thinking. But you're wrong. It's just that if they meet on Thursday she'll be exhausted. But if they do Friday she'll have had some sleep and will have the weekend ahead of her.'

I eyeballed him, unconvinced.

‘Chas, come
on
! Women like this are always free at the weekend! They cram their weeks to buggery and then have nothing to do on a Friday or Saturday night. It's their dirty secret!'

I blushed. It was true. Friday night was my ‘friend' night but as often as not I just hid in my room, planning the weekend's activities. It was mortifying that Sam had noticed. ‘Fine, fine, let's do it. Now I HAVE to get on with work.'

After he'd gone running I had a little embarrassed sulk. I didn't like Sam being aware of my weaknesses, and the fact that he'd noticed I rarely went out on a Friday night made me feel stupid. I closed down my email, relieved to be able to get back to work. But as I pulled a document wallet out of my satchel I heard a key in the door and in walked a gigantic bunch of flowers with Sam concealed somewhere under them.

‘Bowes?' I said uncertainly. The smoothies and the running kit had been hard enough. I couldn't take it if Sam had also become a flower-buyer overnight.

‘For you,' he said, staggering to the table. He put them down and sank into a chair to catch his breath. The flowers completely dwarfed him.

‘What? Why are you buying me flowers?' I felt mildly panicky. ‘Sam, we're business partners, you shouldn't –'

‘Someone just delivered them in a van, you knob.'

I coloured even more. Fool! Why indeed would Sam buy me flowers? Flushed and awkward, I pulled a card out of the bouquet and tore it open.

So sorry to hear your grandmother is ill. Please just call if you need help with hospitals/doctors/treatments. I know people and can help. Jx

I sat down suddenly. John had never bought me a coffee, let alone a bunch of flowers the size of a car. What was he up to? I felt torn. Part of me knew I'd been here before, John sending out quite strong signals that turned out to be nothing of the sort. And when I'd been in London I'd promised myself an end to all of the fantasy about men who weren't interested.

But since I'd been back he
had
seemed interested. Very interested, actually. There had been all the usual flirting, leg-groping and X-ray smiles, but I had also caught him watching me a few times in a way that seemed – dare I say it? – tender. Yesterday I'd gone outside to sit on a bench among the yellow sycamore leaves and call for an update on Granny Helen. As I'd chatted to Mum, I'd suddenly sensed I was being watched. And there he was, standing in a window on the third floor, smiling at me in a kindly way. As I'd walked back through Reception a few minutes later, the lift doors had opened and out he'd strode.

‘Come for a walk!' he'd said, taking me by the elbow and guiding me outside. This was surprising behaviour.
John worked as hard and obsessively as I did; he was not one for autumnal strolls. I glanced up at him and he smiled back in his usual naughty fashion. We set off along the drive under the trees.

‘Lambert … you looked very romantic out there on the bench in your autumn woollens.' He beamed. ‘Everything OK?'

‘Fine,' I said shortly. I didn't know what he was up to but I knew I had to try not to flirt.

John put his hands into his pockets and his cheeky X-ray smile faded. ‘Have you found a boyfriend, Lambert?' he asked suddenly.

I was shocked. He had never asked about my love life. He'd always just carried on as if I was single. Once again, my head started ticking. Why was he asking? Was this significant? Should I say ‘yes' to see what happened?
Shut up
, I told myself.
Shut up.

But it was too late. I was already intoxicated by the possibility of John being jealous and so, rather than denying it, I made a noncommittal face. ‘Why do you ask?'

It was his turn to look surprised. He'd obviously expected me to say no.

‘Oh. Well, you looked very
into
the phone call you were having,' he said. For the first time in the history of John MacAllister, he'd sounded a bit awkward.

I began to smile. He really might be jealous! This was extraordinary! ‘John,' I said gently, ‘it was my mother. My grandmother's had a stroke and just got out of hospital today. I was ringing to find out how she was.'

John raised an eyebrow and, for a second, I saw something that looked suspiciously like relief. But it was fleeting.

‘I'm sorry to hear it, Lambert. Why, in the name of God, didn't you tell me? What can I do?'

I was touched. ‘Nothing. It's a stroke. You know the score.'

John had stopped walking. ‘Please, Lambert,' he'd said softly. ‘Allow me to help you sometimes.'

Now Sam was watching me curiously.

‘Er, they're from John, actually,' I said. My face coloured.

Sam looked surprised. ‘That still rumbling on?'

I still felt embarrassed that I'd accused him of buying me flowers. What if Sam thought I
wanted
him to buy me flowers? Arrgh! At this moment John felt like a very useful decoy. ‘John and I will always be rumbling on.' I smiled secretively.

Sam shook his head, grinning. ‘You dirty dog,' he said, and for the third time that morning, he left the house to go for a run.

I sat down, got out my Salutech folder and worked for six hours without a break. Ness and I were going home to see Granny Helen tonight: I didn't want any confusing thoughts about men to be present in my head. And, as usual, work put paid to any such nonsense. By the time I met Ness I was clear and focused once more. I was Charley Lambert.

We sat on the back seat of the 44D bus, like we had as teenagers on the way home from school. Ness was on the phone to her girlfriend, Sarah, and I was slumped against the window, watching East Lothian slide past: darkening potato plantations, the odd ruined castle and now-grey hills rolling away in every direction. Although I was itching
to drive again I was quite enjoying all of the bus journeys. It had been years since I'd stopped to notice the view.

I was tired but I felt great. Positively tingling, in fact. I'd caught up on a lot of Salutech stuff today and was rather chuffed that my swansong for First Date Aid was Project William and Shelley. It felt good to be helping someone for once.

Sam, as discussed, had written back to Shelley, suggesting they meet on Friday night instead of Thursday and I was awaiting her next manic and excitable call from New York. I grinned as we trundled through Haddington, wondering if I
could
set aside a little bit of time for First Date Aid each day. Just so I could keep my hand in …

‘What are you thinking about?' Ness asked, ending her call. She was wearing Aztec-patterned culottes with thick tights and looked delectable.

‘About the fact that I'm a workaholic, actually.'

‘Oh. Blimey. And?'

‘And I feel good about it. It makes me feel alive.'

Ness nodded, although it was clear she didn't approve. ‘Workaholics end up grinding to a halt eventually,' she said, after a pause. ‘I don't want that to happen to you.'

I didn't say anything.

‘How are your working hours at the moment?'

‘They're exactly as you'd expect a week before we launch the biggest product ever. Ness, please don't lecture me. I'm tired.'

Ness didn't say, ‘Exactly.' I felt grateful for her ability to refrain from interfering. It was not a trait that was readily available in our family. We lapsed into a companionable silence.

We were travelling fast towards East Linton now and my phone signal was down to three blocks. Shelley Cartwright, running around New York, must have known because she chose that moment to call me.

‘CHARLOTTE,' she roared, in her normal welcoming tones.

‘Shelley.'

‘He's REJECTED MEEEEEEEEE,' she cried.
Dammit.
What had Bowes done now?

‘Er, how?' I asked.

The bus stopped in the centre of town and Ness guided me off as I juggled my bags and John's flowers without dropping the phone. We walked at a snail's pace along the street as Shelley wailed. ‘ARRGHH!' she screamed down the phone. Ness looked alarmed. ‘I suggested Thursday and he suggested Friday instead! SHIIIIIIIIIT!'

‘I … I don't understand what the problem is,' I said gently. ‘Friday's a great date night!'

‘Yes, but he REJECTED ME for Thursday! I put myself out on a limb and he said no! If he was interested he'd cancel whatever he's doing! He's going on another date! I know it!'

I found myself momentarily speechless: Shelley was actually insane. I felt markedly better about the shady activities I'd indulged in recently. Apparently love could turn even the steeliest of businesswomen into mad, howling wretches. ‘I don't think that's true,' I replied, as levelly as I could. ‘William could be doing all number of things on Thursday. He could be at a funeral for all we know!' I added brightly.

‘He's on a date,' she insisted. ‘I
knew
it wouldn't last. It was those awful emails I sent before I hired you!'

‘Nonsense, Shelley. It's very obvious that he likes you.
Are
you free next Friday?'

‘Er, yes,' she said sheepishly. ‘But that's not the point. The point is he –'

‘No, that
is
the point,' I said firmly. ‘If you're free, meet him.'

I heard Shelley take a glug of something. Great, she was drunk too. ‘OK,' she said meekly. ‘But can you tell him no at first? And then email back an hour later saying yes? Tell him my original plans were cancelled or something. He mustn't think I'm free on a Friday night.'

I sighed. ‘Sure. I have to go, Shelley. Have a nice afternoon.'

‘What in the name of Jiminy Cricket was that?' Ness asked. She looked like an outraged pixie. I loved my sister.

We'd been standing outside our parents' front door for nearly five minutes now. A few late roses were clinging grimly to the wall by the front door and the smell of fish pie was wafting out of the open kitchen window. ‘Ah, nothing,' I said. I didn't even know where to begin.

Ness laughed. ‘Whatever it was, it was not nothing. Come on, spill the beans.'

I'd been sitting with the knowledge that William was Sam for three days now; I was desperate to confide in someone. I looked at Ness and knew I could tell her anything. So I spilled.

‘You think I've lost it, don't you?' I said, a few minutes later.

Ness looked puzzled. ‘No,' she said slowly. ‘But I – The thing with Sam, Charley, what's with that?'