Someone Like You

by Cathy Kelly

  Hannah grinned and attacked her orange juice gratefully.

  By eight forty-five, she was parking her car near the office, feeling a damn sight better than she had any right to. Leonie’s kindness, not to mention the hysteria that ensued in the Delaney household in the morning as three teenagers all vied with each other for bathroom time, had cheered her up immensely. Listening to Mel and Danny sparking off each other like two comedians would have to make you laugh. It was all part of the rich tapestry of post-Felix life, proof that life moved on no matter what.

  She breathed deeply a few times, trying to fill herself with calming energy, as the yoga-teaching aerobics instructor in her gym advised. Then she marched into the office, determined to get through this day as best she could.

  It wasn’t easy. Gillian had a grievance about Carrie, the receptionist, something to do with the pecking order, Hannah knew.

  ‘Honestly, I wouldn’t mind, but it’s the second time this week she’s told someone I wasn’t at my desk when I’d just nipped to the loo,’ Gillian droned, having hopped on Hannah as soon as she’d arrived, determined to get her side of the story to as many people as possible in case of repercussions.

  ‘What did you say to Carrie?’ Hannah asked wearily, knowing she should really tell Gillian that it was no longer her job to referee office squabbles. That was Sasha’s bailiwick now, thankfully. She was office manager, not Hannah. But she wasn’t up to a full-scale fight with Gillian.

  ‘I said she should mind her job because she wouldn’t be here long if she couldn’t tell the difference between someone being in the loo and not being at their desk,’ Gillian said hotly.

  Hannah tried to make sense of this bewildering sentence. ‘Well, you weren’t at your desk, were you?’ she said, giving up her attempts to remain neutral. Gillian was so bloody irritating. ‘So Carrie was right to say you weren’t there. It’s better than saying you’re in the ladies’, isn’t it?’

  Gillian swelled up in indignation. ‘I might have known you’d take her side,’ she hissed. ‘It’s outrageous. You’ve had it in for me ever since you came here! I know your type, Hannah Campbell. You’re nothing but a jumped-up, bog-trotting culchie from the back of beyond and I can see through you, even if nobody else does!’

  Big mistake, Hannah thought icily. Gillian had picked the one day in a million when it wasn’t wise to argue with Hannah. Slowly and quietly, like a lioness selecting which impala she’d kill, Hannah moved closer to Gillian until she was standing a mere two feet away from her. The rest of the people in the office, who’d all heard Gillian’s last outburst, held their breath.

  ‘This sort of unprofessional behaviour is why you’ve been bypassed for promotion every time, Gillian,’ she said, making sure she was speaking loud enough for all the onlookers to hear. ‘You fail utterly to see that it’s your fault you haven’t been made office manager because the reality is that you are lazy, slapdash and determined to do as little as possible with maximum fuss. If you spent half as much time on your job as you do on manufacturing personal grievances against other members of staff, you might be worth something to this company. But you can’t see that, Gillian. You’re hyper-aware of everyone else’s faults and blind to your own. If you’re not at your desk when your phone rings, then Carrie is correct in saying you’re not at your desk. That’s not personal, that’s doing her job. And because I pointed that out to you, you decided to launch a vicious personal attack on me with everybody listening. Not very wise, if you want to keep your job.’

  Gillian paled.

  ‘I will be writing a memo on all of this to Mr James, although I’ve no doubt he heard most of it.’ She gestured towards the reception where David stood listening, briefcase and newspaper in hand, an unforgiving expression on his face.

  Gillian went even whiter under her orangey panstick. She hadn’t heard him come in.

  ‘Finally, Gillian, I am proud to come from the country, and if that makes me a “culchie”, then so be it. At least I don’t try and disguise my roots by adopting a false accent.’ She’d been professional up to then, but Hannah, tired, angry and heartsore, couldn’t resist one low jibe at Gillian, who did her best to hide her normal Dublin accent with a posh twist when she was trying to impress anyone.

  ‘Hannah, would you be so kind as to join me in my office,’ David James said, walking past. ‘We need to have a discussion on staff.’

  Gillian clutched the chair behind her weakly. Hannah walked into David’s office and the level of conversation in the open-plan office went back to normal.

  ‘What was all that about, Hannah?’ he asked, settling himself behind his desk and phoning Sasha to bring him a coffee. ‘No, make that two – I guess you need it, Hannah.’

  She sat down in front of his desk, glad that she had the sort of relationship with her boss that meant she could be completely honest with him. ‘Gillian resents me,’ she explained. ‘She was furious about Carrie this morning and wanted people on her side of the argument, so she started telling me all about it as soon as I got in. When I pointed out that Carrie hadn’t done anything wrong, Gillian flipped and it got very personal.’

  ‘I heard that,’ he remarked drily. ‘I understand the problem, Hannah. My difficulty is that I have a vision of the same scene if a client had been in the office. Gillian is a stupid, lazy woman and she was wrong to say what she did, but you shouldn’t have let it degenerate into a slanging match in the front of house. It’s unprofessional and’ – he looked at her searchingly – ‘most unlike you.’

  Sasha arrived nervously with two coffees. When she was gone, Hannah sipped hers and hoped the caffeine would start to kick in soon. ‘This is no excuse, David, but a personal problem came up yesterday and I’m ashamed to say it affected my behaviour today. That’s no excuse, I know,’ she repeated. ‘It’s hardly intelligent management style to bawl out someone like Gillian with an audience.’

  ‘Will I sack her?’ he asked. ‘She certainly deserves it. Her work is mediocre at best and she behaves as if she owns the place.’

  ‘No,’ Hannah said. ‘I couldn’t have that on my conscience. She’d be fine if she’d stop believing that she’s hard done by and actually got on with her job. Gillian’s problem is that she feels everyone else is plotting against her all the time, trying to undermine her. If she recognized that they’re not, she’d be OK. But she’s blind to her own faults. I think she feels she’d be running Microsoft if other people didn’t keep ruining her opportunities.’

  ‘She’s got a second chance, then,’ David said, ‘thanks to you. Not that she’d believe it if I told her. I’m relying on you to make sure there are no more ugly scenes in the office and, if there are, or if she steps out of line again, I want to know. We’re not running a charity. Now that Dwyer is retired, she’s working for me, and if she can’t pull her weight or refuses to co-operate with the rest of the staff, she’s history. Right?’

  ‘Right,’ Hannah agreed.

  ‘I’ll get Sasha to send her in now and,’ he paused, ‘if you have any problem I can help you with, Hannah, my door is always open.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She got to her feet to leave.

  ‘I know my old pal Mr Andretti is back in town,’ he added carefully, eyes searching her face for something. ‘We’ve known each other for years and I’m fond of him, but as I’ve said before, he’s a bit of a lady-killer.’

  Hannah grimaced, not wanting to blub again but feeling the tears threatening. ‘I think I’ve figured that out already,’ she said hoarsely.

  ‘Just be careful. I don’t want him messing up the most talented trainee estate agent on the block,’ David said lightly.

  ‘It doesn’t matter any more, David,’ Hannah said dully, misery making her not care what she said. ‘It’s over between us.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Hannah wondered, had she imagined it or had David’s eyes lit up momentarily?

  ‘Tell you what, how about I bring you out to lunch to drown your sorrows?’ he said brightly
.

  Hannah was about to say no when she changed her mind. Might as well. After all, who knew when she’d next get invited out to lunch by an attractive man, even if he was her boss and was doing it out of pity?

  ‘Why not,’ she said, summoning up a smile.

  Outside, Gillian shot her a daggers look as they passed in the hallway leading to David’s office. Hannah ignored her and went to her desk.

  Whatever David said to her in the twenty minutes she was in his office, it must have been lethal. A subdued Gillian emerged, red-faced and silent. Hannah glanced at her and realized she really didn’t give a damn about Gillian and her neuroses. She had enough problems of her own.

  Nevertheless Gillian approached. ‘Mr James said I was to apologize to you for what I said,’ she said stiltedly. ‘It was wrong and it won’t happen again, I promise.’

  She sounded like a ten-year-old reciting a poem she’d learned by rote.

  ‘Apology accepted, Gillian. I’ll take your word for it that nothing like that ever happens again. This is too small a company for feuds.’

  Duty done, Gillian stomped back to her desk. Hannah sighed. She’d made herself an implacable enemy.

  She’d almost forgotten their lunch date when David appeared in front of her at twelve forty-five, drumming his long fingers on her desk. He’d splashed on some cologne, she noticed with a grin, smelling that soft scent redolent of musky, spicy nights.

  ‘Did you get a better offer for lunch?’ he enquired, eyes glittering.

  Hannah laughed. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ll just be a mo.’ They walked to a small pub around the corner and ordered soup, sandwiches and a glass of wine each. David attacked his chicken sandwich hungrily, consuming half of it before Hannah had managed one bite of hers.

  ‘I’m ravenous,’ he said apologetically. ‘I was up early for a run in UCD and I didn’t have time for breakfast.’

  Hannah pushed half of her sandwich over towards him. ‘Have this,’ she offered. ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘I hope it’s not Felix putting you off your food,’ David said lightly, eyes meeting hers.

  Hannah looked away first.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,’ he said gently. One big hand crept over the table and landed on hers, clasping it in a comforting manner. It felt nice to be touched. Hannah missed that, even though Felix, for someone so sensual, wasn’t that affectionate. Tactile when lovemaking was involved, he wasn’t much of a man for little kisses or gentle, affectionate strokes as he walked by. David’s big warm hand enfolding hers felt lovely. Only he didn’t leave it there long. Clearing his throat, he removed his hand and took a gulp of wine. ‘I do put my size twelves in it sometimes,’ he remarked. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you, Hannah. That’s the last thing I’d want to do.’

  She forced a grin to her lips. ‘Size twelve feet? How ever do you get shoes?’

  David laughed, a deep throaty laugh that made several people look over at their table. One nearby diner gave a squeal of delight and got to her feet, hurrying over to where David and Hannah sat.

  ‘David James,’ she purred, pleasure written all over her pretty face.

  The woman was probably around Hannah’s age but with a modern crop of dark hair and clothes far trendier than anything Hannah ever wore. Hipster lycra jeans, a childish-looking bright T-shirt and a fitted French Connection denim jacket clung to her slender frame.

  ‘Roberta,’ David said, getting chivalrously to his feet to shake hands with the woman. Roberta wasn’t into handshaking: she threw her arms around him. Hannah watched it all with interest.

  ‘I thought it was you, David! How lovely to see you,’ Roberta cooed. ‘You’re a terrible man, David James. I invited you to our Christmas party and you never turned up. All my single girlfriends went into mourning because I told them I’d found a gorgeous man for them and then you don’t show, you bad boy.’

  The woman was flirting with him and Hannah found herself taken aback. She’d never seen David in that light really. It wasn’t that she hadn’t thought he was attractive. He was. Some women loved that sort of big, solid bloke with the rumpled face and the crinkled up eyes. And he had a commanding presence.

  David was the sort of man who made everyone from waiters to managing directors dance attendance on him. He was very calm and relaxed, and treated everyone the same. In control, methodical and shrewd, he saw everything and forgot nothing.

  But as a romantic possibility – never. Roberta obviously didn’t agree. She was actually twirling a bit of short dark hair in her fingers. Hannah began to get irritated.

  ‘We’re thinking of selling up again,’ Roberta said gravely. ‘Perhaps you’d come out and do a valuation for me…’

  If it’s like you, honey, it’s cheap, Hannah glowered. Honestly, talk about throwing yourself at a man. What if she’d been involved with David and this cow turned up, ignoring Hannah and flirting like a sex-starved nymphomaniac. She sat there primly, eating her sandwich and pretending to ignore the other woman.

  When David finally managed to pry Roberta’s French-manicured claw from his arm, he sat down wearily and rolled his eyes at Hannah.

  ‘She’s a bit intense,’ he whispered.

  ‘Not your type, huh?’ Hannah enquired nonchalantly, astonished to find that she actually cared.

  ‘You can say that again,’ he winced. ‘I sold a house for her a year ago and she’s been on my case ever since. I thought if I didn’t turn up at her Christmas soiree she’d get the hint.’

  ‘Are you not interested in meeting all her lovely single friends?’ prodded Hannah archly.

  His head still bent over his sandwich, David raised his eyes to hers, dark eyebrows giving him an ironic gleam. ‘I’m not interested in them,’ he said, heavily emphasizing the word ‘them’. Their eyes locked, toffee-coloured orbs meeting the shrewd grey eyes that were suddenly warmer than Hannah had ever seen them before.

  A laser beam of awareness pierced through her. David fancied her. It was so obvious! How come she’d never noticed before? That was why he wasn’t interested in any other woman the irritating Roberta could set him up with. To hide her shock and confusion, she quickly drank a spoonful of soup. To further discomfit her, the soup went down the wrong way and she began to choke.

  As soon as she began to cough and splutter, David threw down his sandwich and started slapping her on the back.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he asked anxiously.

  ‘Yes,’ spluttered Hannah, coughing into her napkin. Her eyes had watered madly, so she wiped them and wished she could think of something to say, something to defuse the situation. She didn’t need to. As if aware that he’d stunned her with his revealing statement, David sat back in his seat and resumed eating his sandwich.

  ‘Roberta’s house was beautiful. A genuine Georgian townhouse. They’d put a lot of money into it,’ he remarked, as calmly as if they’d been discussing business a minute before instead of romance.

  Embarrassing subject avoidance was something Hannah was becoming an expert at. She’d had enough experience every time someone asked her how Harry – and later Felix – was. ‘Really?’ she said brightly, as if she was enthralled in what sort of stately pile the nauseous Roberta had lived in. ‘What did it go for?’

  They talked business for another fifteen minutes before Hannah said she really should get back to work.

  ‘Me too,’ said David.

  As they reached the office, he touched her arm briefly. ‘Let’s have a proper lunch soon,’ he said. ‘The full works: not just a quick sandwich.’

  ‘Sure,’ Hannah agreed. She might possibly feel more normal in a week or so and capable of having a meal with a man who fancied her. Right now, she simply wanted to cry over the man who clearly didn’t fancy her.

  It was an exhausted Hannah who drove home that night, worn down by the combination of a lingering hangover, a huge workload and Gillian sitting close by with a face like a thundercloud. She’d tried not to think about Felix all day but it had been
hard. That afternoon, she had sat in the pine kitchen of a Dalkey cottage while a man and his wife ooh-ed and ah-ed over the cottage’s alpine garden and hardwood deck, and her thoughts had run to Felix. She could just imagine them living together in this house, she realized sadly, gazing around at the pretty kitchen. Two bedrooms with a split-level sitting room that had a mezzanine containing a tiny dining room: it would be perfect for the two of them.

  Airy and stylish, wonderful for entertaining Felix’s friends and throwing marvellous dinner parties where guests from their various worlds mingled successfully. She loved the real fire in the bedroom. How nice to light it and snuggle up in bed on cold nights, watching the flames leap up until their own flames ignited…

  She parked the car outside her flat, happy to find a space that wasn’t four blocks away for once. It was chilly even for January and she wrapped her red wool coat tightly around herself as she walked to the gate. And stopped. It looked as if someone had transplanted an entire florist’s shop to the garden. At least fifteen bouquets confronted her: giant white lilies trailing greenery, vast armfuls of red roses, with myriad pinks, purples and yellows dotted here and there. In the midst of this riot of stephanotis and blossoms sat Felix, scrunched up on the doorstep and looking as if he was freezing in just his suede leather jacket and jeans.

  ‘I didn’t want to come to the office so I waited here,’ he said with chattering teeth.

  ‘You poor love,’ Hannah said instinctively, rushing towards him. ‘You must be freezing. Did you bring all these flowers?’

  He nodded. ‘I wanted to show you how much I loved you, and I know you adore flowers. I didn’t know which ones to pick, so I got them all.’

  ‘Are you here long?’ she asked.

  ‘Only half an hour. I knew you’d be home soon. Can I come in?’

  While he sat with a cup of whiskey-laced coffee and warmed up, Hannah brought her flowers up to the flat, blushing puce with embarrassment when the people in the downstairs flat arrived and stared in wonderment at the blaze of colour in their usually barren garden.