Oh no. Nuh-uh. Denise turns away. I am not nosing around Nigels computer when hes due back any minute. Youre going to have to think of something else, Im afraid.
Please . . .
Its three minutes to three. Come on, Denise, you know Id do the same for you.
Like Id ever need you to.
Youd be saving my life . . . I plead.
It works. Looking as if she would rather be fed to piranhas, Denise makes her way over to Nigels desk.
She takes out her notepad and starts typing in all his passwords. You know Im not allowed to do this.
I know, I know, but this is a real emergency.
And what is it Im looking for exactly?
Look under research. Do a search for Investment Analysis. Denise carefully types the words as I spell outanalysis .
Nope, cant find it.
It must be there, I beg. Look again. Look under . . . I dunno, try magazines or something.
Still nothing.
Suddenly I have a brainwave. Try strategy, I suggest.
Okay, what about Management Strategy Review Documents?
Yes! I squeal. I bet its there. And indeed it is.
You want me to e-mail the report to you?
I do love you, you know, I grin. Any time you want me to take you away from all this, just say the word.
Suddenly out of the corner of my eye I see Nigel and Guy coming down the corridor.
Quick, hes coming.
Unflustered, Denise hits a button and picks up Nigels phone. As he turns into the office, Denises dulcet Essex tones can be heard on the phone to an imaginary customer.
No, absolutely, Mr. Bingham, Ill arrange that for you.
By the time Denise has carefully put the phone down and written an imaginary name and number on a bright yellow Post-it note, Nigel is hovering over his desk looking at her.
Hi Nigel, Denise says calmly. Your phone was ringing and I was on my way back from the Ladies, so I picked it up for you.
Very kind of you. Anything important?
Oh, no, just someone wanting a sample copy ofAccounting Facts, Part Two . Denise winks at me and takes the Post-it note back to her desk.
I race back to my desk and open the e-mail Denise has sent. The report is attached, one hundred questions ready to go. I quickly go into Edit and replace Investment Analysis with Pensions Bulletin, then print it out.
So, Georgie, Nigel turns to me. I assume you have the Pensions Bulletin research ready for Guy?
Absolutely, just printing it out.
I move over to the printer, which is churning out page after page. Feeling utterly pleased with myself, I hand the report over to Guy.
He looks at it briefly. Looks very impressive. You must have worked very hard, he says, handing it back to me. Would you mind e-mailing it to me?
Nigel is staring at me. Yes, well, Georgie has had the project for a while, he says.
Really? replies Guy. But we only commissioned the research last week. I think its a great effort from your team.
Nigel smiles thinly as Guy strides back down the corridor. Well done, Georgie, he finally manages as he sits down.
Oh, it was definitely a team effort, I say, raising my eyebrow at Denise, who splutters into her coffee.
I leave work on time and get home in time to have a hot bath before Buffy the Vampire Slayer starts on BBC2. I know Im probably not the target age group for this program, but I like it, and anyway, no one has to know. Not that Im a Buffy nut, or anything. I mean, I havent even watched its spin-off, Angel. Its just something I do if I have the time. And I generally make sure that I do. Have the time, that is. Anyway, Buffy has just managed to pin down a particularly nasty-looking demon when the phone rings.
Georgie Beauchamp. I am so engrossed in the fight action that I answer the phone as if I was at work. Sorry, I mean, hello?
Hello Georgie Beauchamp. Its Mr. Bradley here, says David, mocking me.
Oh sod off, Im just have a bad day. How are you?
Busy. But missing you. Do you want to do dinner later?
When you say later, just how late do you mean? Im looking at my watch and its already gone seven.
Eight-ish.
I have a better idea. How about you come round here at eight-ish with a take-away and we can watch the Paramount Comedy channel?
I love television. I mean, I do other things, its not like I just sit on my own and watch TV all day long, but theres really nothing better than curling up on the sofa with a good take-away and Friends or Cheers or something.
Sounds perfect. See you then.
When I first started going out with David we went out constantly. I was so pleased to finally have a boyfriend who would actually do some of the things I wanted to do, instead of Mike, who always told me where he was going and asked if I wanted to come, too, which just isnt the same at all. It was so great to be asked what I wanted to do that I got a bit carried away. In one week we would go to the cinema twice, check out two exhibitions, go to the theater, and eat out at any new restaurant that opened. After a couple of months we were both exhausted, but neither of us wanted to admit it, so we carried on for another month. I think it was me who finally broke, and one night suggested staying in rather than going to an Albanian film night at our local arts club. David thought it was because I thought he didnt want to go, and spent twenty minutes trying to convince me of his enthusiasm for film as an artistic medium and the importance of emerging cinema from countries like Albania. I was all no, really, we dont have to go, and David was like I really want to. Finally I told him that I didnt know anything about Albanian cinema, didnt care about it, and wanted nothing more than to watch reruns of Friends eating takeout. As I said it I suddenly got really scared that he would realize that I wasnt his type after all and would dump me immediately, but instead he burst out laughing and gave me a huge hug.
We talked for hours that nightit was the first time we both admitted which bits of us were real and which were more for effect. You know, like I always say that my favorite band is some really obscure one with lyrics that are really deep, when, in actual fact, when no ones there I dance around to Madonna. And I always say I much prefer homemade food and hate artificial additives, but Ive actually got a cupboard full of chocolate biscuits and cakes with bright pink icing that bears no resemblance to anything in the natural world. David admitted that he doesnt really understand poetry, that he likes Jack Higgins novels, and that he prefers Stallone films to anything with subtitles.
Since then, we probably stay in more than we go out, which I actually love, but theres still a bit of me that wants to be the person who would prefer the Albanian film evening.
David arrives at eight-thirty with fish and chips. I carefully arrange the food on two large white plates. (I always try to re-create the look of food in expensive restaurants. So the fish goes on top of the chips, with the mushy peas kind of circled round them, interlaced with the ketchup. Actually, a lot of really smart restaurants serve fish and chips and its not like its that much better than the stuff you get from the chip shop; the only difference is presentation and ambience. So by re-creating the presentation Im sort of making our night more of a postmodern ironic statement. At least thats what it said in some magazine article I picked up on how eating in is the new eating out, and really I think its true.) We position ourselves on the sofa, food resting on cushions.
Nice day at the office? Im not really expecting an answer, but I always ask the question.
David looks distracted for a moment. Mmmm. No, not really.
Its not like David to say anything other than Oh, not bad, so I look at him quizzically.
For a moment he looks like hes about t
o tell me all about it, but then the music for Frasier starts and my eyes flicker away for a second or two. By the time Ive refocused on David, the moment has gone.
I tell him about my star turn today over the Pensions Bulletin research, and he laughs, but I dont mention my lunch with Mike. If things are tough at work, hes hardly going to be in the mood to hear about his girlfriend going out to lunch with her ex. And anyway, Im not going to see Mike again, I think to myself as I nestle into Davids shoulder.
I dont think about it again until later that night as were falling asleep. You havent heard from Mike, have you? David murmurs. Suddenly Im wide awake.
No, I lie, trying to work out why David would think that I had. Why would I?
Oh, nothing, David says, rolling over. Its just . . . I dont know. You will tell me if he tries to get in touch with you, wont you?
Does he know about the lunch? Why would he ask that?
Youre not jealous are you? I ask hesitantly.
Jealous? Why on earth would I be jealous? David says incredulously. I start to sulk slightly, but then figure that hes hardly going to admit that hes jealous. I know I should be feeling bad but instead I feel like a femme fatale.
But before I can sink into dreams of men fighting over me, David turns on the light and looks at me intently. Look, I just dont trust Mike, he says seriously. So tell me if he calls you, okay?
I dont ask him if e-mails count.
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I dont hear from Mike until Friday. All week I have been telling myself that I am relieved that he hasnt tried to get back in touch. But my stomach has been lurching every time I get an external e-mail, just in case its him.
Im on the phone to Candy, arranging a shopping and gossip session for the following afternoon when I hear the familiarping .
Candy and I are discussing the relative merits of Kensington High Street and Oxford Street. (I favor Ken High Street. Oxford Street is too busy, and anyway, my favorite shop on Oxford Street is Top Shop, and Id never be able to go in there with Candy. She buys things featured inVogue instead of searching the high street for rip-offs like the rest of us.) I absentmindedly go to my e-mail inbox, and there it is.
MIKE MARSHALL: So, I went away. Now its Friday afternoon and you cant tell me youre still busy. I feel like getting drunk tonight, fancy joining me?
My heart starts beating. Im meant to be going round to Davids tonight. Iam going round to Davids tonight. At least I think I am. I mean, of course thats what I want to do, but it could be a good idea to meet Mike, just to, you know, reinforce the fact that he wants me and cant have me. If you think about it, that would actually be really good for David, too, because it would show Mike that David is way better than him. And if I dont go, he might think Im too scared to go, that I dont trust myself around him, which is obviously ridiculous because I dont find him attractive anymore. Really. And David wont mind, Im sure.
George? Are you still there? Candy has always called me George rather than Georgie. I think it started at schoolthough we lived near each other during my Kensington Church Street phase, we went to different schools, and Candy liked being able to tell her friends at school about her friend George, without mentioning that I was actually a girl. Ive had a couple of odd meetings with people who went to school with Candy who looked really astonished to find out I was George.
I realize I havent been listening to Candy for five minutes. Sorry, somethings just come up, I say. So, tomorrow at twelve?
Candy is not happy. She was at the beginning of some story or other and is obviously annoyed to have lost my attention. Fine, she says casually, as we agree on a meeting place (Oxford Streetarguing with Candy, I remember in time, is hopeless).
I stare at my computer screen and read Mikes message again and again, searching for the meaning behind it. Could it be that he is actually interested in me again? Why now? Having made no effort to contact me in years, why is Mike now so keen to see me? Of course, its possible that he saw me with David and realized how much he missed me, but somehow that doesnt entirely ring true. I mean, he could have anyone, why would he come back for me? Perhaps he has some ulterior motive? In the past Id have assumed he wanted to borrow money, but now he seems to have enough of his own, so it must be something else. But what?
Only one way to find out, I reason, and hit the Reply button.
GEORGIE BEAUCHAMP: I suppose I could meet you for a couple of drinks. The Atlantic Bar at 7?
As I hit the Send button I feel a pang of guilt. The Atlantic Bar is where Mike and I always used to go. It was too expensive for us to actually drink there, but we would hang out anyway, and he would steal drinks from the bar for us. I wish I had suggested somewhere more neutral, but reason that changing the venue now would be worse. I dont want to acknowledge to myself or anyone else that what Im doing is of any consequence.
Not wanting to talk to David directly about it, I send him an e-mail, blushing at my lie as I send it.
GEORGIE BEAUCHAMP: Hi gorgeous, do you mind if I dont come round tonight? Going for drinks after work for someones birthday. Ill see you tomorrow evening? Seeing Candy in the afternoon, so wish me luck! xx
About thirty seconds later, the phone rings.
Youre seeing Candy? I didnt know you two were still friends. Its David.
Hello to you, too. Just because I havent seen her for a while doesnt mean were not friends anymore. Why should you care anyway?
Nothing. I dont care. I just thought it was a bit odd, thats all, suddenly seeing her again.
David, is everything all right?
Of course it is. You have a great time tomorrow. Ill come round afterward, shall I?
Yes, come round about six. And give me loads of compliments because Ill be feeling dreadful after spending time in changing rooms with Candy.
Gorgeous girl. Youre much prettier than that skinny creature. See you then.
Gorgeous girl. When David says that, I know he actually means it. So why am I getting so excited about meeting Mike tonight?
At 7:05P.M. Im at the Atlantic Bar and Grill. I managed to get home early and had time to change and redo my makeup, and to tell the truth Im feeling pretty hot to trot. Or is it just that I havent been properly dressed up for a while? David and I do go out to nice restaurants, and Im always going to the pub after work, but there never seems to be a reason to really dress up with full makeup and stuff. David always says I look better without it anyway, so theres not much point putting on more than a bit of mascara when we go out. Tonight, though, Ive gone for the full works. I need toyou should see the girls in the Atlantic Bar; Im sure theyre all models or something.
I walk up to the bar and have a look around for Mike, trying to be as casual as I can. It doesnt look like hes here, so I order a gin and tonic. Turning my back on the bar, I survey the room. It isnt very busy but itll be packed later on. There are lots of tall thin girls walking around with amazing tans and high-heeled shoes pointing out from the bottom of their jeans. And not wearing very much on top at allone girl appears to have wrapped a ball of wool around her breasts and thats pretty much it. The men are either in suits with gold AmEx cards or arty types with odd haircuts.
I take a sip of my drink and remember why I used to smokewaiting in a bar is so much easier if you have a cigarette in your hand. Its something to focus on, something to do. You dont feel quite so vulnerable. For some reason, when I met David I stopped wanting to smoke. Plus, of course, he happened to mention over dinner that he hated the habit, so I just didnt mention the packet of Marlboro Lights in my bag and I havent smoked since.
The bartender is trying to attract my attention, and I turn round, slightly ir
ritated, to discover that I havent actually paid for my drink yet. I get out my purse to find some cash and feel an arm slip round my waist.
Put it on my tab, will you? says a familiar voice, and a gold-colored credit card is passed to the barman.
Mike! I experience a frisson of excitement as I turn to kiss him hello. Hes slightly unshaven and wearing a black suit and black shirt open at the neck. He has such an air of confidence about him, an insouciance that is so attractive. His hands move round my waist and my instinctive reaction is to turn and kiss him on the lips and move my body into his, but instead I manage a light kiss on the cheek. I am doing, I hope, a pretty good impression of someone who is totally unfazed and unimpressed.
Georgie, this is Tracey, my PA. And this is Brian, a top DJat least he is when he plays our records, eh Brian?
Brian grins and Tracey titters. Brian, I notice, is more interested in Traceys expansive cleavage than anything Mike has to say.
You known each other long? Tracey inquires.
Years and years, Mike replies before I can speak. He has turned to face Tracey and Brian, but his left arm is still wrapped round my waist. When we were together, Mikes arm would rarely be anywhere near me if we were out. I told myself then that public demonstrations of affection were really tacky and that I was pleased not to be in a couple that kissed and hugged in bars and clubs. But I had always suspected that Mike didnt touch me because he liked to give the impression that he was single.
Have you got any cigarettes?
Willpower be damnedthis is an emergency; I need something to steady my nerves. Tracey offers me a Silk Cut, and I put it in my mouth gratefully. It is lit immediately by a platinum lighter that Mike has whisked out of his pocket. This really is the four-star treatmentI didnt know Mike had it in him.
Georgies the one who encouraged me to start my own business, Mike tells Tracey and Brian. This is news to me. I do remember shouting at Mike and telling him to go and get a bloody job, or start making some money out of your stupid plans, but Im not sure I would class that as encouragement. Then again, maybe that was the kick-start he had needed. Brian and Tracey both give me a sort of well done smile and I smile back.
When in Rome Page 4