A Passionate Love Affair with a Total Stranger

by Lucy Robinson

  Chapter Ten

  On Saturday morning I was awoken by a loud roaring and the sensation of a furry animal having taken residence in my mouth. Hailey and I had got in from our cocktail adventure at two forty a.m., and although last night I’d been rather proud of this, I now regretted it severely.

  The roaring continued. Confused and irritable, I straggled through to the kitchen where a rather remarkable sight awaited me.

  ‘Good morning!’ Sam boomed. His voice hovered dangerously close to the BAV and he was pouring a bright green smoothie out of the blender into two glasses. For no obvious reason, Phil Collins’s Serious Hits LIVE was pumping loudly out of the iPod dock.

  ‘Eh?’

  Sam grinned. ‘I said, “good morning”.’

  ‘What … What are you doing, Sam?’ My voice was beautifully croaky.

  ‘Just looking after myself, Chas. One has to work hard to look this good.’

  He did look good. I’d never seen Sam awake at this time of day but normally when he did emerge – some time around midday – he was clothed in a rotting towelling dressing-gown and would spend most of the day lying on the sofa watching DVDs. But today he was conspicuously vertical and was wearing a pair of – excuse me? – running shorts? ‘Are you OK?’ I asked him suspiciously.

  ‘Never better! Pear and rocket – try it.’

  I took a tiny sip. ‘Bloody hell! That’s delicious!’

  ‘Ha. Now, we need to get cracking with William and Shelley. William called me at bloody seven o’clock asking what was going on. And after that we can have a proper chat about First Date Aid. Forward planning, financial stuff, marketing.’

  I stared at him in amazement. ‘Er, sure thing, Bowes. But I smell like a badger’s dump. Can I have a shower first?’

  He saluted.

  ‘By the way,’ I croaked, ‘what’s with the sportswear and healthy breakfast? Where’s your dressing-gown?’

  ‘Oh, I burned it last night.’

  ‘You what? Where?’

  ‘In the fire,’ Sam replied, emptying the last dregs of smoothie out of the blender.

  I looked. There in my grate, amid a large pile of ash and charred logs, was a forlorn little section of dressing-gown belt. ‘Bowes, you’re a psychopath.’

  The opening bars of ‘Take A Look At Me Now’ started playing, accompanied by screaming and whistling from Phil’s live audience. As I dragged myself off for my shower, I was still laughing. Sam was ridiculous.

  ‘Hey, Chas,’ he called, as I left the room. I stopped and turned. ‘Ten years ago they said I’d never get over my Phil Collins addiction. But take a look at me now!’

  Over a breakfast of porridge and green smoothie, Sam opened his notebook and started to talk Shelley/William strategy. ‘Right, so when is she back from New York?’ he asked, scrawling a makeshift calendar into his notepad.

  ‘Not sure. When she called on Thursday, she said she’d be away for a week. So let’s say Thursday, the seventeenth of October.’

  Sam drew an arrow through the days until then. ‘OK. Now, William’s given me direct access to his email. Do you have the same?’

  I nodded. ‘Yeah. She’s set up a special account for me to use. Trust me, she’ll be checking it every five seconds and phoning me with feedback on my efforts.’

  ‘Is she quite anal and controlling?’

  ‘No, she just likes William.’

  Sam was clearly amused. ‘Is she anal and controlling?’ he repeated, just a bit too pointedly for my liking.

  ‘Well, yes, a bit,’ I said grudgingly. I didn’t want to be tarred with Shelley’s anal brush. I ignored Sam’s grin and fired up my laptop. ‘Have you looked at their correspondence so far?’ I asked him.

  Sam squeezed honey on to his porridge. ‘Yes. It’s terrible. Read it now so we can develop a battle plan.’

  ‘Given Shelley’s email skills, a battle plan is a very good idea. Every time she contacts me it’s like she’s punching me in the face.’ No new messages, the page said when I logged into Shelley’s email. Disappointment momentarily overwhelmed me and I sighed.

  Sam looked up. ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said hastily. I didn’t want him to know that there was still a part of me that got upset when there wasn’t a new message from William in my inbox. This was going to take some getting used to. I gulped the remainder of the smoothie and opened the most recent email, scrolling down to the bottom of the chain.

  Hi, William had begun. He’d emailed at seven twenty-eight the morning after their date. You free Saturday night? Cheers, William.

  I was horrified. ‘Cheers? Cheers? Sam, they snogged! He can’t sign off with bloody “cheers”!’

  Sam nodded at my computer to indicate there was plenty more where that had come from. His eyes danced with mirth.

  Shelley had replied fifty-five seconds after William’s message. I winced.

  I have to go to New York. Work emergency. We’ll have to meet another time. Sincere apologies, Shelley

  ‘She is one cold fish,’ Sam remarked, reading over my shoulder.

  Hey, William had responded. That sounds like the worst excuse for cancelling a date I’ve ever heard!! When you back?

  ‘Double exclamation marks? You’re a doctor!’ I was outraged.

  I don’t know. I’ll advise you as and when I have more information. Cheers, Shelley.

  ‘No! “Cheers”? Not her too!’

  ‘Yup,’ Sam replied. ‘No bloody wonder they called us in.’

  Hi Shelley … So what’s going on out there? Global meltdown? W

  Hi William, it’s complex, a work thing. I can’t discuss it with you. Hey I heard a funny joke the other day. A man walks into a bar. (ha ha) Cheers, Shelley

  Right. Well, keep me posted on your return. : -) William

  I got stuck into my porridge. ‘Awful, Sam,’ I muttered. ‘Awful. Smileys? Opening with “Hey”? Signing off with “Cheers”? I can’t bear it! Good porridge, though. I’m impressed.’

  ‘Thanks. I mixed in some honey and cinnamon and sultanas and a tiny bit of single cream,’ Sam replied nonchalantly, as if whipping up a tasty low-GI breakfast was part of his daily routine. ‘Now, Chas. I think the problem is Shelley’s so bloody brisk that William’s got scared. So he’s knocking out really crap, defensive one-liners. I say we warm Shelley up first.’

  ‘Hang on. William started this. His email was terrible! It was him who started the “cheers” epidemic …’

  ‘But he emailed her at seven thirty the morning after a date! It doesn’t matter what words he used – that shows how keen he is!’

  ‘CHEERS?’ I shouted. ‘Cheers?’

  We had a face-off.

  Sam was laughing first and after a few seconds I joined in.

  ‘Oh, bums,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, balls,’ Sam said. ‘That’s not a good start to our working relationship.’

  I shook my head.

  ‘OK, Chas, I agree. They’re both rubbish. Let’s warm both of them up. It’s Shelley’s turn to write but perhaps William should kick off with a good-morning email so Shelley feels, I dunno, more wanted. Might relax her.’

  I thought about it and had to smile. During my correspondence with ‘William’, he had emailed early in the morning twice and I’d floated around on a pink fluffy cloud for hours. What woman in her right mind wouldn’t love being a man’s first thought on waking?

  Sam brought his own laptop over to the table and started typing.

  I thought about what Shelley had said to me in the last forty-eight hours. What would make this email super-special? ‘I know!’ I said suddenly. ‘Shelley told me she loves Central Park in the autumn. Say you love it too! Then she’ll be all like oh, my God, we’re like soooooo compatible.’

  ‘Good work, partner, good work,’ Sam muttered, and I went off to brush my teeth. When I returned five minutes later, I was rather surprised to discover him limbering up in a pair of brand-new trainers.

  ‘Bowes?’ I asked, con
fused. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Thought I’d go for a jog,’ he said. ‘I’m serious about this business, Chasman. I think it’s possible we could take over the world and I need to be in good shape if that happens.’

  I just stared at him.

  ‘Shut up and read the email I sent,’ he said, smiling.

  I sat down at my laptop but couldn’t resist eyeing up his running outfit while Shelley’s email refreshed.

  ‘Don’t get any ideas,’ Sam said. ‘You won’t be ready to go running for months with that peg-leg.’

  I grimaced. Dr Nathan Gillies had hinted that I might never run again, a fact I had filed away in the back of my head for now.

  ‘You were serious in those emails, weren’t you?’ I said, watching him. ‘You do want to do more with your life. That had nothing to do with William.’

  Sam had apparently developed a strong interest in a shelving unit. ‘Mmm.’

  Shelley’s inbox loaded and I read his handiwork.

  Good morning Ms Cartwright!

  How is New York today? One of my favourite ever things is running through Central Park on an autumn morning. It’s so crisp and lovely and yummy that I often find myself able to run a substantial marathon as opposed to my normal hundred or so metres. Some fairly funny squirrels hanging out there too.

  So, a humdrum day yesterday. I had a tinker around in someone’s ear but didn’t find much. (NB Once I discovered a little woodlouse and her baby nestled in a patient’s eardrum. I got photographed for the ENT Journal for that one.)

  So. Are things improving out there or is the global economy about to actually collapse? Could I take you for one last dinner before it does? In fact, I’m not asking, I’m insisting. How long until you’re back?

  Wx

  I clapped my hands. ‘Lovely, Bowes! Brilliant Central Park stuff too. However did you know she’s a runner? I’m sure I didn’t tell you.’

  ‘Because she’s just like you, Chas,’ he said. ‘Course she bloody well runs.’

  He was saved from a swinging fist by the loud ring of my First Date Aid mobile.

  ‘Hello, Charlotte speaki –’

  ‘CHARLOTTE!’ Shelley bellowed.

  I held the phone away from my head. ‘Er, hi, Shelley.’

  ‘He’s sent me a divine email. Have you seen it? Have you?’

  ‘Er, not yet,’ I lied. The machine gun was well and truly back.

  ‘He even likes Central Park in the autumn! I mean, my God!’ she yelled. Sam, who at a distance of five metres could hear her as clearly as I could, gave me a thumbs-up and slid out of the front door in his running outfit.

  ‘I should probably wait a while before responding,’ I told her. ‘Always good to remain a bit mysterious.’ I thought of the fifty-five-second delay she had left before replying to William’s email on Thursday.

  ‘No, I want you to reply right now,’ Shelley barked. ‘I’m having brunch at my desk. If you reply to him immediately I’ll be able to read it.’

  ‘OK, well I –’

  ‘Please book him in for Thursday the eighteenth – that’s the night I get back,’ she screeched. ‘And in response to his question say I’m busy but not having a breakdown.’

  ‘OK … Are you having a breakdown?’

  ‘No,’ she said, after a pause. ‘No, but it’s stressful. A lot of responsibility. I could do with a massage and some sleep. Or, at least, a bit of a break.’ She sounded oddly vulnerable.

  ‘Well, take care of yourself,’ I said. ‘I’ll write to William now.’ I ended the call before she got the machine gun out again, and ran over to the window.

  ‘BOWES,’ I shouted.

  Sam, who was just exiting the front door below me, looked up. ‘She wants you to write back now?’

  ‘Yes! I agree, she is obsessive and she is anal. The most anal woman in the history of anal.’

  A well-heeled mummy, emerging from the Urban Angels café with a wholesome-looking child, shook her head angrily and glared up at me as if I were a turd.

  Sam burst out laughing. ‘Coming back up, Chas.’

  Good morning, Dr William,

  Ah, a dinner invitation before I’ve even finished my brunch. Bliss! I’ll say yes please.

  Sam strode in and sat down next to me, reading as I typed. He smelt of Persil.

  So here I am at my desk, wrestling with a super-sized American brunch delivery. The meals here are so huge I’ll barely finish a quarter of what was in front of m

  ‘No,’ Sam said. ‘Don’t give him all of that “Oooh I don’t eat much, oooh, I’m just a little dinky flower.” Men hate that shit.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘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.