The Younger Man. Sarah Tucker

      We’ve interviewed four candidates who have to replace the irreplaceable Jennifer, who has left to have her second baby and will probably never return. She says she will, but she won’t.

      Last week she did leave, teary-eyed, arms full of flowers and baby gifts, waddling out the door to an awaiting taxi. Not only was Jennifer good at her job, she was good with me. She anticipated my needs and delivered before I could ask. She knew how to handle both her own PMT and mine. She knew when to speak, and more importantly when not to. I cried more than she did when she left. And now, I had to try to find another PA all over again, who would time manage my movements, but now, I have to share her with a man. I don’t like that. Only-child syndrome, I know, but I don’t like to share, especially PAs.

       Especially with someone as, well, as charismatic as Joe Ryan. He may monopolise her. Perhaps we should get a male PA. Or better still he should get his own PA. But Joe Ryan doesn’t want a male PA, he tells me. He tells me he wants someone pretty and young. I think he’s joking.

      So here I am, sitting in slightly messy office with Joe Ryan. We’re arguing, no debating, well, debating very heatedly, who we should choose. They’re all under thirty, two boys and two girls. All aesthetically appealing, all qualified up to their armpits and all hungry to work with us. We don’t agree.

      ‘A man. I would prefer a man. They’ll be efficient and we won’t have this baby problem again.’

      I realise I’m arguing against my own sex here, but I don’t want either of the two girls. Both of whom are very good-looking and very smart. And both of whom barely managed to hide the thunderbolt effect Joe Ryan seems to have on the female sex. Something he is obviously used to. So I don’t want to hire them.

      ‘That’s being sexist against your own sex, Hazel. And Jennifer was superb. You said so yourself.’

      ‘I know, but this is less likely to happen with a man. Plus, I think the two girls liked you.’

      ‘I could use the same argument about the men.’

      Yes, he could use the same argument about the men. Because I could sense they did, ‘like me’(blushing, not able to hold eye contact with me but okay with Joe. When they were able to hold eye contact, pupils becoming dilated. Quite sweet really, plus annoyed shit out of Joe, so doubly good), but I’m sure, seeing me every day they’d get over the schoolboy crush. I will probably get over the silly thing I have with Joe. Not that it is anything. I just don’t want it to get out of hand.

      ‘Men will leave for other reasons. They will be ambitious, they will want to move on.’

      ‘Well, how about we hire someone in their forties or fifties, a female, who won’t be attracted to either of us and just be good at her job, happy with it, and has done the kids, marriage, divorce and remarriage thing.’

      ‘Good idea. Why didn’t I think of that?’

      ‘You wanted someone younger. And younger isn’t necessarily better.’

      Perhaps the forty thing is getting to me. I’ve never felt anything resembling jealousy toward younger women. All I remember when I was younger was being more insecure, more self-conscious, self-aware, more self-critical and more blindly ambitious than I am now. I’m more settled, kinder to myself and with other people, but I smarted at the hint of him wanting someone young. It genuinely annoyed me. And I’m annoyed I’m annoyed.

      Joe smiles at me. I know he’s going to say something clever. Or something he thinks is clever.

      ‘So we’re decided. Ask the agency to find us a woman in her late forties, with the right qualifications…(and smiling) and preferably plain.’

      I smile. ‘But not too plain. We don’t want her to scare the clients, Joe.’

      Brief pause then.

      ‘Brian tells me it’s a big birthday for you this year.’

      I’m taken back. That’s too personal for this sort of professional relationship. I’m still annoyed he was hired in the first place. And annoyed with Brian that he’s told Joe about my age. Wonder if Joe’s asked about me, or Brian offered the information.

      Quickly regaining composure I say, ‘He did, did he? Yes, I’m forty this year.’

      Joe looks shocked. ‘God, I thought you were ten years younger.’

      I look at him. Out-and-out flirting, that was. Can’t detect signs of sycophancy or mock horror, but perhaps he’s a good actor. Perhaps he’s expecting me to say I’m as old as the person I sleep with. I don’t. I ignore and continue the game.

      ‘Combination of good diet, good lifestyle, good genes, exercise and enjoying my work, probably.’

      ‘Whatever. You look more my age than yours. You look a good twenty-nine.’

      So he is twenty-nine. He looks older than his years and certainly speaks with an authority of a man older than twenty-nine. He seems well travelled and has a wider perspective which makes his understanding of what is relative so much more interesting—and useful—especially in this job. I’m surprised. I must look surprised because he says, ‘You’resurprised. Yes, everyone thinks I’m older than I am. But it helps in business and dealing with clients—you know, the credibility factor.’

      ‘Quite. So we’ve agreed on hiring an older PA, but not too physically challenged.’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Then I’ll get on to it.’

      I’m meeting Fran for lunch today, so perhaps I can pop into the employment agency on the way there. Four months to go till the wedding, and barring the thumb twiddling and last-minute doubts, everything’s in place.

      The Caffé Nero at the corner of Chancery Lane is crowded with suits. I think they’re journalists in here today so there must be a big case on nearby. Two celebrities divorcing each other allegedly acrimoniously. I hear rumours from the two solicitors concerned it’s not acrimonious at all, but the papers need to write something. And if it isn’t, it soon will be.

      I

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