A Passionate Love Affair with a Total Stranger (22 page)

‘Sorry,' he said, emerging a few minutes later. His lower half was wrapped in an ancient Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles towel but his upper half still looked as stupidly toned and tanned as it had done when he used to wander round in fisherman's pants quoting Noël Coward at university. ‘Sorry, Chas. Bit of a slip there.'

‘ 'S OK,' I replied. ‘I changed her profile just in the nick of time. And I'll change it back later so she doesn't notice. But – seriously. Concentrate.'

‘Chas,' he said, after a pause. ‘Will you please grant me
a bit of respect? Just because I don't operate like you doesn't mean I don't know how to deal with clients. If I'm taking over this company, you'll have to trust me.'

I didn't know how to respond to this. Was he right?
Of course not
, my head said.
There is only
one
way to deal with clients.
But I had a sneaking suspicion Sam might be right. Slightly unsettled, I sat down and opened up my Salutech folder.

Five minutes later I was in an uncharacteristic Sunday coma, fast asleep on the sofa.

When I came to, I found myself staring at a very large penis. ‘Wargh!' I shouted, covering my head with a cushion.

‘Oh, sorry,' Sam said conversationally, turning the TV off. ‘You were asleep.'

‘So what, you just thought you'd watch some porn? Jesus, Sam! You'd better not have been cracking one off …'

‘I wasn't. This is a multiple-award-winning film,' he said mildly. ‘In fact, it's really quite beautiful.'

‘Well, perhaps you could enjoy its beauty another time,' I suggested, shuffling off to the loo. I settled down on the seat and screamed again.

‘What?' Sam shouted. ‘Chas?'

‘IT'S SEVEN O'CLOCK! I've been asleep for hours!'

I heard him laughing in the living room. ‘Indeed. You were very sweet. You even sucked your thumb at one point. You needed the rest.'

I washed my hands and went back through, feeling
concerned and jumpy. The day had nearly passed and I'd achieved nothing whatsoever. I couldn't afford to laze around on the sofa like a normal person. I had far too much to do. But Sam had other plans.

‘We're going to the pub,' he announced. ‘Come on.'

I was immediately flustered. On the one hand I now knew Sam's views on my work–life balance and felt like I should prove to him that I could just do casual, spur-of-the-moment pub trips. But on the other there was no denying how desperately I needed to do the work I'd planned. I stood on one leg, slightly anguished, and tried to work out what to do. But Sam took the matter into his own hands by bringing my coat over and plonking a Cossack hat on my head.

‘Um, give me ten minutes to get changed, Bowes.' It appeared that I was going.

‘No way,' Sam replied, pulling me out of the front door. ‘We'll go like this. Just round the corner to the Barony.'

I followed him obediently. I'd never before been to the pub in a pair of tracksuit bottoms.

I sat watching Sam chatting easily to the barman as he ordered our drinks. He was partly obscured by clouds of steam pouring out of the glass-washer and had an old drunk man slapping him enthusiastically on the shoulder. A woman, who looked like she was the wife of one of the band members, came up and pinched his cheek, delighted to see him. I smiled. I had lived here for what? ten years? and didn't know a single soul in this pub. In fact, I'd only been in here about three times.

I liked it. It felt safe and comforting with its smoke-stained ceiling, noisy band and colourful bar. Everyone was tapping their feet to the band's Van Morrison covers, except for a couple who'd obviously had a row and were studiously ignoring each other, he staring at his pint and she reading a Dryden quote on the wall over and over again.
You're better off out of that
, I thought, pondering the mentalists that William and Shelley had become. Evidently it was impossible to be in love and avoid drama. And I was not interested in drama, thank you.

‘What are you thinking about?' Sam said, putting a glass of wine in front of me. He had a pint of something dark and cloudy.

‘I was thinking how lucky we are to have such a nice local.'

Sam grinned. ‘You can't call it a local when you never come in here, Chas.'

I blushed. ‘I was just thinking that. But you know what? I rather like it!'

‘Ha! You should find space in your mad schedule for us to have a regular drink here. You, me, our tracksuits. Is that a date?'

I half nodded.

‘No, no,' he said hastily. ‘I don't mean
date
date, obviously, I just …'

We retreated into our drinks and watched the band in silence. After a few minutes I found myself bobbing along quite merrily to the music, and realized that Sam was watching me, not without amusement.

‘What?'

‘Nothing. It's just nice to see you properly chilling.'

‘I chill a lot!'

Sam raised an eyebrow. ‘Chas, I don't want to embarrass you,' he began awkwardly.

‘Then don't,' I butted in.

‘Ahem … I just … I was just thinking about some of the stuff you said in your emails. About your work taking over your life, and shit …' He stopped talking and gulped down a lot of pint. He looked anywhere but at me.

‘I was just pretending to be Shelley,' I said huffily. I drank some more wine.

Sam looked even more awkward. It seemed like he'd planned this chat forgetting that he was completely incapable of having deep-and-meaningfuls. ‘You don't want to make any changes, then?'

‘No,' I replied firmly. ‘No. On Friday next week we're announcing Simitol to the world. Can you even imagine how huge that is? Countries all over the world will want to buy it and, what's more, even the poorest will be able to afford it because of the sliding scale we've –'

‘Yeah, yeah,' Sam interrupted. ‘Charley, this is what I mean. Yes, it's huge. Yes, it's amazing. But what about you? Where does your
life
fit into all of this?' He went puce. This was easily the most profound thing Sam had ever said to me. As if to compensate, he stuck a finger in his ear and poked about a bit.

I finished my wine and stared at the glass, feeling stupid and patronized. What business was it of Sam's how I conducted my affairs? I felt my hatches slamming down. ‘I am happy, busy and successful,' I said stiffly. ‘I'm living the life I always wanted to live. Do you hear me? This is what I want.' I got up to go to the loo.

By the time I got back, Sam was engrossed in conversation with a pretty little girl on the table behind us. ‘I work between London and Scotland,' he boomed, in the Bowes Actor Voice.

I got my BlackBerry out and started replying to my work emails.

John MacAllister is writing
, the dialogue box said. Then it cleared. John MacAllister had stopped writing. I pursed my lips. What was he up to?

John MacAllister is writing
, it told me again, after a lengthy pause.

I sat back from my computer, surprised. This was not John's style. He could do sexual, he could do powerful. But
feelings
? No. Never!

Was it something to do with Susan? A tendril of nervous excitement started to uncoil somewhere deep inside me, but I wrestled it back down. After all, I'd been here several times before. And, most importantly, he was married now. I was not, under ANY circumstances, interested in reigniting our old flirtation now he had a ring on his
finger. It had been wrong then; it would be twenty shades of wrong now.

I stared at the screen, even more shocked now.
Tread very carefully
, I told myself.

I closed the dialogue box and marked myself as offline. A catch-up prior to our big (enormous) launch day on Friday. That was all.

My head snapped up to the door where Margot had appeared, a saccharine smile plastered to her face. ‘Any chance of a chat?' she simpered.

Margot had been suspiciously pleasant since I'd threatened her with disciplinary action last Thursday. I knew she was up to something – and this worried me – but the more I threw myself into my work the less I cared. I was back at the helm and we both knew it.

‘I've got ten minutes,' I said carefully, looking at my watch.

‘Great,' Margot said. ‘I just wanted to update you with the schedule for Friday as it stands at the moment.'

Margot, I had to concede as I flicked through her paperwork, had done a good job with the schedule. I told her as much and was met with a frightening seahorsy smile.

‘Thanks for your time,' she said, ten minutes later. ‘Isn't it great to be working together again?'

I watched her and her nasty short skirt slink out. And felt a little chill.

Wednesday arrived, the day of my dinner with John. And at seven that evening I simply got up and walked out of my office, explaining to Cassie that John and I had a last-minute meeting in the city centre. ‘I'll call you a car,' she said. Margot, who was walking past with exaggerated slowness, stopped completely. ‘Who's the meeting with?' she asked pleasantly. I hadn't left the office before ten p.m. all week.

I ignored her. ‘No need,' I said to Cassie. ‘John's PA's already organized a car for him and I'm going to drive. See you tomorrow, guys!' I all but Olympic-sprinted out of the door.

As I turned out onto the A1 and started heading towards town, I realized my hands were actually clammy on the leather steering-wheel. ‘Sort it out, Lambert!' I snapped. It was only John, after all. I'd known him for seven years!
And wanted to hump him pretty much every day for that seven years
, my brain added. I shook my head as if to dislodge the thought. It was a dinner. Nothing more. I'd promised myself no more fantasy about men who weren't interested and that was that. Especially men who weren't interested and had a history of playing games with me
and
were now married.

I forced my thoughts towards First Date Aid. Shelley had accepted William's opera tickets with a nonchalant
email (‘Don't you dare tell him how excited I am,' she had boomed) and, date number two now sorted, Sam and I had agreed we should take it back to light banter until Shelley was home from New York. This morning, on my recommendation, ‘William' had emailed to ask her about her family. ‘Men talk about themselves far too much,' I'd told him, as I ran around the kitchen eating Weetabix while sending emails, trying to find my notes for this morning's meeting and ironing a cardigan. ‘Girls always notice when a man doesn't ask questions.'

I straightened my new Stella McCartney dress as I slid out of my car in the New Town. I had spent a long time choosing it: smart enough for work but, once I'd shed my cardigan, tight and, well, sexyish enough for a date later on. It did not look like I'd bought a new slutty dress with which to impress John.

‘Lambert! You've bought a new slutty dress to impress me!' John said delightedly, as the waiter seated me opposite him. We were sitting by a floor-to-ceiling window at Oloroso with a candle burning seductively in an orange glass tube between us, a Manhattan-like sea of red leather spreading away towards views of the castle. Through the window at which we were seated it seemed as if night had fallen, but off to the north I could still see a distant pinkness clinging to the firth. I gazed across at it for a few seconds, trying to filter some of that relaxed twilight energy into my otherwise racing brain.

‘It's not slutty and it's not designed to impress you,' I said, as calmly as I could. ‘I've had it a while.'

‘Nonsense, Lambert. It's new. And you look ravishing in it, my dear.'

I looked him squarely in the eye. ‘John, stop it. I am your director of communications.'

There was a charged silence while we both processed this statement. Did I see myself
only
as his comms director? Probably not, if I were honest. John smiled. And to my fairly experienced eye it was a smile that was born out of more than just pleasantry. I got the distinct impression that he didn't see tonight as a dinner with his head of comms. I breathed slowly and deeply, scrabbling for control.
He's married, he's married, he's married.

‘Sorry, Lambert,' he said. ‘The problem is, I have a fatal weakness for powerful women.'

A waiter came over and poured Bollinger into my glass.

I smiled lightly. ‘Well, it's lucky you just married one,' I remarked.

‘Ouch,' John murmured. His eyes bored into me with the impossibly attractive and knowing smile that had made me fall for him in the first place.

‘So,' I said brightly, opening my menu. ‘To what do I owe this rather unexpected pleasure? You're not about to resign or anything, are you?'

John looked surprised. ‘Of course not! I plan to become a fat cat, Lambert. An enormous hairy tabby with a cigar habit and a Bentley. At present I'm only a slightly overweight farm cat. Long way off.'

I tried to keep a straight face, but it was impossible. ‘Oh, John, the tubby farm cat,' I said, laughter spilling out of me. ‘Poor you.'

John also failed to keep a straight face. I fancied him most when he became overwhelmed by his own hilarity. ‘Yes. Just a feral farm cat still,' he said, chinking my glass. He reached up and loosened his tie a little and, try as I might, I couldn't tear my eyes away from his neck. Damn him.

‘No, Lambert,' he said eventually. ‘I wanted to have dinner with you tonight because I wanted to have dinner with you. We're far too bloody busy and I miss having you to myself.'

‘You've never had me to yourself,' I said, to my fork. I never knew what to do when John stopped being naughty and started being affectionate.

‘You know what I mean, Lambert. I miss being able to have lunch with you in the canteen. I was very fond of our lasagne dates,' he added, in a sad voice.

I refused to take the bait.
He's married, he's married, he's married.
‘But we've been planning this launch for ages … Of course we're busy. The big moment's arrived!'

John snapped his menu shut. ‘Lambert,' he said. ‘Stop it.'

‘Excuse me?'

‘I said, stop it,' he repeated, with that impossible smile. ‘I don't want to talk about work.'

I began to panic internally.
What else is there to talk about?
I thought.
I don't have anything to talk about beyond work! I'm dull! He'll be disappointed!

‘OK,' I said, as confidently as I could. I buried myself in the menu and prayed for inspiration.

While we ate a complicated asparagus starter, John quizzed me about Granny Helen. ‘I can pull strings, Lambert,' he
said earnestly. ‘If she needs the best private medical care, I can make that happen.' He looked searchingly at me, perhaps keen that I take him seriously for once.

‘Thanks. But she's ninety-one and she's had a stroke. I don't think there's much that anyone can do.'

‘I'm sure your father doesn't see it that way,' John said mildly. ‘Sounds like the poor chap is devoted to his mother. The offer of help is there, Lambert. You can call me twenty-four hours a day.'

I paused, an asparagus tip halfway to my mouth. ‘Thank you,' I said, genuinely touched. I felt a slight shiver. It would be dangerously easy to let John get close to me if that was what he was trying to do. I looked at him: tall, immaculately dressed, unbearably handsome and suddenly quite … real. Not the smoothly caricatured Sexy Boss but a person, a normal, decent person with feelings of his own.

Be careful
, I reminded myself.

Over main courses the conversation steered towards John. I discovered he had a brother; a fact of which I had been wholly unaware.
Dear God
, I thought. Two naughty MacAllisters roving Scotland?
Lock up your daughters.

I was just cutting into a piece of turbot, beginning to unwind, when he dropped the bomb. ‘You haven't asked me about Susan,' he said.

‘I … Sorry,' I replied, going instantly crimson. ‘Er, how is she?'

‘Having an affair,' he announced. ‘She left me last week. She's packing up her stuff and flying out to the States this weekend.' He sliced off a piece of fish and chewed, watching my face.

With a huge effort, I managed to look unfazed. ‘Oh, John, I'm sorry,' I said calmly. ‘Are you OK?'

‘Fine,' he said, shrugging and spreading his hands wide. ‘Really, I'm fine. She left her rich American husband for this tubby farm cat sitting in front of you and clearly she must have missed the platinum cards she used to have access to … because she's now run off with an even richer American.'

I watched him, mute. I hadn't the faintest idea what to say but fortunately he didn't seem to need me to talk. ‘It began while we were on our little honeymoon in California, actually,' he said, with a wry smile. ‘We were invited to dinner by the owner of a wine estate and she met him there. He's a funny shape, Lambert. Normal except for a huge beach ball shoved under his shirt. I sort of wanted to prick him with a pin to see if his stomach deflated.'

I snorted into my napkin.

‘I didn't prick him with a pin, of course. I felt fairly resigned about it. I married Susan because I thought that having a ring on my finger would help me get over you, but it turned out that the ring did not have the desired effect.'

‘Is everything OK with your meal?' our waiter asked, appearing suddenly at my elbow. He had the shiniest shoes I'd ever seen, which I stared at as if my life depended on it.

‘GREAT!' I screamed. ‘AMAZING!' Had John just said that? Had he? It was the sort of thing I'd wanted to hear him say for a very long time but now it was out there I was paralysed.

John, who'd been looking a tiny bit vulnerable for the
first time in our seven years' working together, relaxed and smiled affectionately at me. ‘Steady on, old girl,' he murmured.

I looked at him, and then at my lap. My heart was hammering; I was enthralled and terrified by what John would say next.

‘I long for you,' he said quietly. ‘As much now as I did before I became a married man.'

After a pause, during which I felt both euphoric and disbelieving, I muttered something.

‘Sorry?' John said, leaning in.

‘I said, you long to sleep with me, John. That's all.'

John laughed. ‘Yes, well, that's a given,' he said. ‘And you want to sleep with me.' I started to protest but he held up his hand and carried on. ‘Sex is irrelevant,' he said thoughtfully. ‘You and I have never been just about sex. We're a meeting of minds, Lambert, and you know it.'

I thought about this. I wanted to see us as a meeting of minds; I loved that idea. But were we? We'd never even properly talked! Until a few minutes ago I hadn't even known he had a brother. In a rather unsteady voice, I pointed this out.

John shook his head. ‘I'd argue that we avoid “talking”, as you call it, Lambert, because it would lead us quickly into dangerous territory. Like this territory right here.'