Maybe I should try and probe him a little, find out what he’s playing at. I try the thought on for size, wishing I could just seize the moment and enjoy being alone with him. Maybe James does like me, and more than just as a colleague … or maybe he has a habit of having affairs with women at work. My head feels as if it might burst, it’s so full of possibilities, so I take a sip of wine and ponder on what I can say to find out. I open my mouth to speak at precisely the same time as his mobile rings.
‘Mind if I just get this?’ he whispers, gently touching my arm, and then quickly pulling his hand away before taking the call.
‘Of course,’ I reply, feeling tingly from his touch. He’s definitely being flirty … I know I’m not mistaken but I’m not sure I like it. I watch him for a moment as he wanders towards the bar, pushing his hand through his hair, his shoulders relaxed. I enjoy being with him, but not like this, not in secretive booths skulking around bars praying his wife doesn’t spot us. Mulberry-On-Sea can be such a small place sometimes. I’m not sure I could do that.
I quickly finish my wine and motion to him that I have to go.
‘Hold on a second,’ he says into the phone, and then to me, ‘Please … don’t go, I won’t be long.’ He covers the phone with his free hand and pulls a disappointed face.
‘Sorry James, I have to be up early,’ I say with a wry grin, before glancing at my watch to emphasise how late it is.
‘Sure, another time perhaps?’ he asks, his face scanning mine as I pull on my coat.
‘Maybe.’ I head off, wishing I knew what was going on and vowing to definitely find out … if there is another time. And part of me can’t help secretly hoping there is, even though I know I really shouldn’t.
15
On turning the corner of the street on my way into work for the red-eye meeting with Maxine, I see her pulling into the car park in a brand-spanking-new Audi TT. As I’m pondering on how she affords such an expensive car, she spots me.
‘Terrific timing,’ she gushes, as the electric window slides down. The door flings open just as the car park security guy runs over to assist her. ‘Too late,’ she says, dismissively, and shoos him away. As she emerges from the low-level seat, her brown cord skirt rides up over her perfect legs, and they splay open. And as she turns to step out of the car, she inadvertently flashes me a glimpse of her knickers. With a speed that could induce whiplash, I turn my head to hide the giggle, but it’s no use, so I disguise it as a cough instead.
‘Not ill again, are you?’ She treats me to her pageant smile.
What is it with her and illness? She’s obsessed. She turns back to the car and attempts to haul a pile of folders out from the foot well, after flinging a grey silk tie out of the way. Hmmm, I wonder who the tie belongs to? She’s obviously had a man in her car and he’s taken his tie off. I wonder what else he took off?
‘No, I’m fine. Here, let me give you a hand,’ I say, reaching out to take the folders from her and thinking surely it wouldn’t have been James? I forcibly shove the image from my head. I really don’t want to go there.
‘Oh, what a good Samaritan you are,’ she says jovially, and shoves the enormous stack of manila folders at me. With my chin barely reaching the top, I struggle to keep my handbag about my person. Thinking she’ll take the folders once she’s locked the car, I wait by the bonnet. But instead she strides off towards the staff entrance, swinging her gold-chained mini Chanel handbag with the gaiety of a Parisian girl skipping down the Champs Elysées in springtime. Presuming that I’m to follow her, I stagger along behind and then veer off towards the lift, thinking what a bloody cheek she has. I wish I hadn’t bothered to give her a hand now.
‘Oh no!’ she bellows, with such force, for a second I contemplate flinging the folders and body-slamming the floor in case she’s spotted a suicide bomber lurking. ‘The lift is for fat people,’ she continues, and with a self-satisfied shake of her head she breezes off.
‘Well, these weigh a ton, so I’ll have to see you up there,’ I quip, feeling pleased with myself for standing up to her as I stomp off.
‘All right then,’ she calls airily.
‘What are you doing in so early?’ It’s Eddie and he’s skulking in the corner of the lift.
‘I could ask you the same thing. I have my weekly one-to-one with the stick insect, what’s your excuse?’ I ask, my hackles still up. Eddie looks tired and dishevelled. His tie is crooked and his hair, which is usually all gelled and immaculate, is a squashed heap.
‘Been here since hell o’clock typing up her endless reports, that’s all. I’m just on my way home to get showered and changed as that ridiculously high-maintenance sex fiend,’ he pauses to jab an angry finger towards the doors, signifying he’s referring to Maxine, ‘has only insisted I come straight back.’
‘Oh Ed, that’s torture.’
‘Exactly! Even galley slaves got a break sometimes,’ he says, pulling a sucking-on-a-lemon face.
I try not to laugh at his indignation.
‘Do you know she even told me to find another job, if I didn’t like it? Said there are plenty of people who’d jump at the chance to work with her.’ Eddie crosses his arms and rolls his bloodshot eyes up towards the ceiling in a huff.
‘I’m sorry. Just try to ignore her,’ I say, wishing I could take my own advice. I manage to hoist the folders up against the handrail in an attempt to get some relief from their weight when the lift shudders to a halt.
‘For crying out loud, not again … must be the second time this week I’ve been stuck in this sodding lift.’ Eddie uncrosses his arms and stabs at the ‘call’ button. ‘How come you’ve got these?’ he says, glancing at the folders. ‘They’re personnel records … Maxine made me get them from HR. Of course, I checked with Walter first because they’re highly confidential, but he said to do whatever she asked. The flaming turncoat that he is,’ Eddie snorts.
‘Oh, like an idiot I offered to give her a hand with them. I bumped into her as she pulled up in her Audi TT,’ I tut.
‘Oh yeah, don’t start me on that. Bending my ear for days, she was, over that car. And what I’d like to know is how come Carrington’s is forking out for a company car? I thought we were on the verge of a terminal decline. Walter must be dafter than he looks. “Make sure it’s the gun-metal grey”,’ he says, running a suggestive hand down his chest and mimicking her breathy voice. ‘Over and over, to the point where I felt like pummelling her with some gun metal myself, and you know I’m not a violent man.’ He attempts a weak smile and I give him a sympathetic look.
‘So how come she’s managed to wangle a sports car and not a normal car then?’
‘Search me. It seems madam gets whatever she wants. And you want to see how much gear she has delivered to her office every day. All designer stuff too. But one thing is for sure, the board think she’s the best thing since sliced foie gras, and as for Walter, well, she’s got him wrapped right around her toothpick of a pinkie.’ He wiggles his little finger in the air, before yelling, ‘Hellooo, is anyone actually there?’ into the little speaker on the wall of the lift.
There’s
