The Importance of Being Married (18 page)

Chapter 12

PROJECT: MARRIAGE DAY 9

To do

1. Listen to Anthony with fascinated look on face.

2. Flirt your socks off.

3. Be Jessica Wiiiiiiiiild.

Marcia was in Anthony’s office when I got in on Monday morning—I saw her sauntering out five minutes after I sat down at my desk.

She stopped at my desk and looked me up and down. I was wearing a lime-green cardigan that Helen had insisted on. It made me feel like a nighttime cyclist.

“That’s bright,” she said.

“Yes,” I agreed, trying to suppress the urge to take it off immediately and, instead, checking my calendar for the day. Nothing all morning. Meeting with Max at 2
PM
. “So, good weekend?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Great, thanks. You?”

“Oh, really good.” I forced a smile, trying to feel like Jessica Wiiild and failing miserably.

“Really?” Marcia looked surprised. “Oh, and before I forget, someone called for you,” she said. “A Mr. Taylor.”

“Mr. Taylor?” The blood drained from my face. “When?”

“This morning. About half an hour ago.”

“And did he say…what he wanted?”

Marcia looked at me, wide-eyed. “Of course not—I didn’t ask.” She smiled curiously at me. “He left a number, though.” She handed me a scribbled note.

“And he didn’t say anything else?” I asked anxiously.

“Should he have?” Marcia asked, her eyebrows raised slightly.

“He sounded quite old for you,” she continued. “I didn’t realize you were into older men.”

“I’m not,” I said, about to explain that Mr. Taylor was not in any way a romantic prospect, then decided not to bother. I had other things to worry about. Much more important things. “Right, well, thanks,” I said.

Trying to breathe normally, I turned on my computer. Marcia had spoken to Mr. Taylor. There was no need to panic. Obviously he hadn’t said anything because if he had, Marcia would have told everyone in the office and would now be laughing in my face. It was fine. Everything was fine.

Moments later Marcia stalked off toward the kitchen and I quickly dialed Mr. Taylor’s number.

“Good morning, Mr. Taylor speaking.”

“Mr. Taylor! Hi, it’s Jessica Wild.”

“Oh, Jessica. Yes, thank you for calling me back. I was just hoping to get a meeting in the diary.”

“Yes,” I said, biting my lip. “About that. It might be tricky. I’ve got a…a lot on, over the next few weeks, I mean.”

“The next few weeks?”

I looked down at the floor guiltily. “Actually, I’m going away. Out of the country.”

“A holiday?”

“Yes. Kind of. Work and holiday. That’s why I’m going to be gone for a while.”

“That is a shame. And you’re not free later today?”

“No. No, I…I leave this afternoon,” I said, feeling my cheeks getting hot. “Last-minute thing. But I’ll call you when I get back. Right away.”

“That’s very good of you. And bon voyage.”

“Thank you. Thanks, and…and speak to you in a few weeks.”

I put the phone down and let out a deep sigh, then let my head hang backward.

“Jess?”

I jumped as Anthony appeared from behind me.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, seriously. “It’s just that I think I owe you a very big apology.”

“An apology?” Easily, elegantly, he leaned against my desk.

He looked right at me, his expression one of dismay. “It was you on Friday night, wasn’t it? I didn’t realize what had happened until too late, and then you and your friend just ran off…I’m really so sorry. Did the car hurt you?”

“No,” I said quickly. “No, not at all. Really, it’s no problem.”

“It is a problem,” Anthony said, shaking his head as his blue eyes twinkled into mine. I could see Marcia returning to her desk, straining to hear what we were talking about, and I felt the surprising satisfaction of being the person Anthony wanted to talk to ripple through me. “And I want to make it up to you.”

“You do?” My hands moved to straighten some strands of hair that had fallen across my forehead.

“I was thinking maybe lunch. Do you think you could bear to let me buy you lunch?”

“Lunch?” I looked at him uncertainly. “You want to have lunch with me?”

“If you’re not too angry. You’re not too angry, are you?”

I shook my head. “No, no, I don’t think so.”

“Good. Shall we say one-ish?”

He was smiling mischievously now, and I grinned up at him. I had totally misread him. Anthony wasn’t rude. He was really sweet. He felt really bad. And he wanted to have lunch with me.

“Um, okay. One-ish.” I nodded.

“Great. Well, I’ll see you then.”

He gave me a little wave, then wandered off back toward his office, leaving me reeling slightly. I was having lunch with Anthony Milton. Just the two of us.

“Oh, so Anthony found you, did he?” Marcia said, sitting back at her desk. “He said he wanted to talk to you. Was it about Jarvis? Something to do with the account? Tell me if you need any help, won’t you? I mean, what I don’t know about handbags isn’t worth knowing.”

“Um, something like that,” I said uncertainly, quickly digging out my phone to send Helen an incredulous text. “And thanks. I’ll let you know.”

Lunch was at a little wine bar just a few hundred yards down the road, where we were ushered to a small corner table. If I’d been self-conscious leaving the office, then I was even more so when we sat down. The table was so small, our knees were almost touching. Me and Anthony Milton.

As soon as we sat down, Anthony pulled out a cigarette.

“You mind?” he asked, suddenly catching my eyes on him. “Because I don’t have to.”

“No,” I said quickly. “No, it’s no problem at all.”

“What a relief.” Anthony lit up two cigarettes, passed one to me, then leaned back in his chair. “People are so funny about smoking, aren’t they? I mean, give it a few months and I’ll be banned from doing this. No one’s allowed to have any fun anymore. I mean, would
Pulp Fiction
be any good without smoking? Would Camus have written such great books if he hadn’t been able to sit in Left Bank cafés breathing in nicotine?”

I was as surprised by the Camus reference as I was by the cigarette, which I surreptitiously stubbed out.

“You like Camus?”

His mouth creased upward slightly. “That depends. Do you?”

I nodded. “Actually, I do. I think
The Outsider
is one of the best existentialist texts around.”

“I see. Well in that case I’ll have to confess that I’ve never read any Camus. I was hoping you hadn’t, either, in which case I’d have gotten away with pretending that I had.”

He grinned and I looked at him uncertainly. “And
Pulp Fiction
?”

“Seen it. Loved it.”

“Me, too.” I smiled nervously.

“Well, that’s something we’ve got in common then. So, Jessica, what do you fancy eating? You’re not a vegetarian or anything, are you?”

“Vegetarian? No, not me,” I said, picking up the menu and relaxing slightly.

“Glad to hear it. The steak here is wonderful, if you fancy it?”

“Sounds great!”

Anthony called the waiter over and ordered, adding a bottle of red wine as an afterthought. Then he turned to me and grinned.

“You’re going to have to help me drink that, you know,” he said. “We don’t want a repeat performance of Friday night, do we?”

I smiled. “No. No, we don’t want that.”

Anthony nodded and a slightly awkward silence descended.

“So I’m meeting Max later to talk about the Jarvis account,” I said brightly after a minute or two. “I can’t tell you how excited I am to be leading it. It’s such a great opportunity.”

“Yes, it is,” Anthony said. “But that’s work and this is lunch, so we’ll hear no more about it until we’re back in the office. Okay?”

“Okay,” I agreed. “No work.”

There was another pregnant pause.

“It was really cold today, wasn’t it?” I heard myself say.

“Was it?” Anthony frowned. “Can’t say I really noticed.”

I swallowed awkwardly. God, I really was boring. But if I wasn’t allowed to talk about work, what else was there?

I picked up the menu again, my eyes scanning the words but not taking any of them in. And then, suddenly, I could hear something in my head.
You heff to ask questions. You heff to find everything he says fascinating.

Nervously I looked up. It would never work. Not in a million years. I didn’t
want
it to work—it made me feel like a 1960s airhostess. But it wasn’t like I had many other options. I cleared my throat, again. “Um, you…You must be so proud of what you’ve achieved at Milton Advertising,” I said. “I’d love to hear about how you set up such a successful firm.”

Anthony raised an eyebrow at me. “You would?”

“Oh yes.” I sounded phony. Completely ridiculous. I knew I did. Anthony was going to think I was weird, and he’d probably eat quickly, and…

“Well, in that case, I’d be delighted.”