A Passionate Love Affair with a Total Stranger

by Lucy Robinson

  ‘Wow,’ I said, flopping backwards on the sofa. ‘Those two are properly smitten. And a bit mad. Shelley called me last night screeching about being rejected. Then she emailed me overnight saying she thought she should just abandon it. She said she’s lost her nerve.’

  ‘What? He asked her out! How is that a rejection?’

  I waved him away. ‘Don’t even ask.’

  ‘Nutters,’ Sam remarked.

  ‘Nutters,’ I agreed. ‘Coffee?’

  ‘Yes. Make it strong.’

  I got up and switched on the espresso machine. ‘I think the only thing that’ll persuade Shelley to stop being such a silly sausage is if William turns this Friday-night date into something really extravagant.’

  ‘Why should he?’

  ‘Because she was devastated that he wouldn’t cancel whatever he was doing on Thursday. It’s going to take a big gesture to convince her that he’s serious.’

  Sam gasped. ‘Is she out of her mind ? He wants to spend Friday night with her! Why the fucking fuck should Thursday matter?’ He looked genuinely exasperated.

  I shrugged. It was mad, of course. Bonkers. But, rather embarrassingly, Shelley’s skewed reading of the situation did make some sense to me. Sam turned back to his computer, realizing that he wasn’t going to find as much solidarity in me as he might have liked.

  ‘What’s her all-time favourite thing?’ he asked eventually. ‘I can suggest they do whatever it is on Friday night, maybe.’

  I didn’t know and, moreover, I didn’t really want to think about it. I was feeling really twitchy about not having started my Salutech stuff yet. ‘Dunno. Look, Bowes, I’m afraid I need to get on with work. Just propose something that’ll make her feel special.’

  Sam eyed me levelly for a few seconds and I could see he was disappointed. After all, we’d made a deal – we sorted out William and Shelley together, pooling our resources and information.

  And that was that. I couldn’t have anyone disappointed in me: I was going to have to help him, in spite of my need to work. I’d just finish at midnight tonight rather than ten p.m.

  Not without relish, I opened up Shelley’s early emails. ‘Ummmm … Well, she likes going to the gym –’

  ‘You’ll have to do better than that,’ Sam interrupted. ‘What sort of a date would I suggest around that? A protein shake in the members’ lounge followed by a rogering in the sauna?’

  ‘Shhh, Bowes … I’m reading … Aha! She loves opera. Specifically, The Pearl Fishers.’

  I think the Pearl Fishers’ duet is quite incredibly beautiful, Shelley had written in her autobiography back in mid September. The force of her sentiment had surprised me. It makes me cry every time I hear it. So tragic.

  Sam turned away and opened up a Google page. ‘That’s the right sort of thing,’ he said. ‘But they never show The Pearl Fishers – I have no idea why. Shelley’s quite right.’

  I was surprised. I hadn’t known Sam was into opera, and told him as much.

  ‘I do have a cultural life, Chas,’ he said. ‘I’m not all about beer and birds, you know.’

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘Interesting. I could have sworn I’d just crossed paths with a girl in a Friday-night skirt,’ I said casually. Sam carried on looking at his computer screen but I could see his cheeks go red. ‘Blushing, Bowes?’ I asked him. ‘Everything OK?’

  ‘She was my first since Yvonne,’ he muttered. ‘Leave it.’

  I busied myself with the coffee, feeling a little ashamed of myself. Sam’s business was Sam’s business, not mine.

  ‘OH, MY GOD!’

  I whipped round. ‘What?’

  ‘It’s only bloody on at the Coliseum in London!’

  ‘What? Eh?’

  ‘The Pearl Fishers!’

  ‘No WAY!’

  ‘Yes way. Right, we have to get tickets,’ he said, loading up a new webpage. A few seconds later he thumped a fist on the table. ‘Sold out.’ He pondered the situation for a few seconds, then stood up, fishing his mobile out of his pocket. ‘Leave it with me,’ he said, avoiding my eye. He slunk past me and into his room.

  I sat down on the sofa to do some of my peg-leg exercises, sipping coffee. I looked over at our new ‘office’ and smiled. I was rather enjoying working with Sam. As long as he maintained his new wholesome and productive existence, and kept Friday-night Friends to a minimum, I felt living with him was becoming a rather good thing.

  ‘Oh, I am the bomb,’ he said, emerging triumphantly from his bedroom. ‘The BOMB!’

  I sipped my coffee, confident that he’d explicate. He did.

  ‘Two tickets, front of the royal circle, Friday night,’ he said. ‘Do I or do I not rule the world, Chas?’

  ‘You most certainly do. How the hell did you pull that off ?’

  ‘A girl I know …’ Sam said, winking. ‘Say no more.’

  It was weird. Certain as I was that my feelings for William had not been transferred to Sam, I was definitely finding myself more bothered about his myriad romantic trysts. Somewhere along the way they had stopped being funny and had started to seem a bit horrible; a bit tawdry.

  I dragged myself back to the matter in hand. ‘Right, then, Bowes, drop Shelley a line to tell her about the tickets. She’ll go mental!’

  Sam wasn’t keen. ‘I don’t think I can. William sent the last email … If a woman doesn’t reply you’ve got to sit and wait until she does. You can’t just send another. Double-messaging. Bad.’

  I shook my head. He had to email her, end of story. ‘Desperate times, Bowes.’

  ‘OK.’ He started typing. ‘Double message it is.’

  Now then Shelley, I’m presuming your silence means you are rendered immobile with adoration for me rather than that you’ve flown into a fit of pique about me being busy on Thursday.

  ‘Careful, Bowes,’ I said, reading over Sam’s shoulder.

  What I didn’t mention earlier was that I have two tickets for Bizet’s The Pearl Fishers on Friday next week. It’s a wonderful opera; that duet frankly makes me weep. You cannot say no. So ideally I suggest you say yes.

  Yes?

  I wonder how it’s going out there. You seem so incredibly driven, Ms Cartwright; I am quite sure you will be saving that company’s ass. You’re actually a bit amazing. X

  ‘Nice,’ I said, handing Sam his coffee. ‘Very nice. She can’t say no to that.’ As we chinked our cups, I felt a wave of excitement. ‘I love this!’ I told him. ‘I know it’s naughty, but isn’t it fun?’

  Shelley did not say no. Ten minutes later, she rang me and fog-horned down the phone so loudly that Sam, who was in the bath, could hear. ‘THE PEARL FISHERS ! IT’S MEANT TO BE! SAY YES FOR ME! WHAT ON EARTH WILL I WEAR?’ she roared. I grinned. If these two worked out, they would make the best success story our website would ever hold. Psychotic workaholic tamed by doctor with exclamation-mark addiction, I imagined. Sam and I were flying.

  Sam’s phone started to ring on the coffee-table and I leaned over to look at it. ‘Shit, Sam, it’s William!’ I called.

  ‘Bring it in!’ he yelled. ‘Door’s unlocked.’

  I covered my eyes and launched myself into the bathroom with Sam’s phone held in front of me like a shield. I heard the water swell as Sam leaned forward. ‘You’re such an uptight Victorian, Chasmonger,’ he remarked, taking it from me.

  ‘I just don’t want to see your knob,’ I replied primly. I sat down on the toilet lid, facing away from Sam with my hand over my eyes just for safety.

  ‘Hi, William,’ Sam said calmly. ‘What’s up?’

  A loud tinny voice filled the bathroom and I realized Sam had put William on speakerphone. ‘What’s up? That’s a very good question,’ William replied. I wasn’t sure I liked his voice. He sounded extremely self-important, the sort of person who made knowledgeable comments about champagne vintages.

  ‘Eh?’ Sam said. His casual manner alarmed me.

  ‘Are you in a toilet?’ William asked suspiciously.

&nb
sp; ‘Yeah,’ Sam replied. ‘I’m in the bath.’

  William exhaled irritably and I tried to do a throat-slashing gesture in Sam’s general direction. He ignored me.

  ‘Well,’ William continued, ‘I was calling to ask exactly what you think you’re doing, inviting Shelley to the opera on my behalf. I do not have tickets. Furthermore I’ve looked online and they are not even available to buy. What the hell are you up to?’

  ‘Chill,’ Sam said.

  I was flailing an arm in his direction. He couldn’t talk to a client like that!

  ‘Chill, William, I got you some tickets. The best in the house, actually. And you don’t even need to pay for them.’

  William was momentarily silenced. ‘Oh,’ he said gruffly. ‘Oh, well.’

  ‘I didn’t have time to email you before I sent that message,’ Sam continued, ‘but basically you’re taking her to her very favourite opera in the world ever. The duet bit makes her cry.’

  There was a pause. Appalled, I turned to look at Sam, who put a hand over his privates. You IDIOT! I mouthed at him.

  ‘Er – and how do you know that?’ William asked eventually.

  ‘It says so in her dating profile,’ Sam bluffed easily. ‘She changed it last night.’ He waved frantically to get me to go and update Shelley’s dating profile. I glared and ran through to the living room.

  ‘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.

&nb
sp; I got my BlackBerry out and started replying to my work emails.

  Chapter Twelve

  MacAllister, John: I must say, I’m enjoying your outfit today, Lambert. The way that crisp white shirt tucks into that little teenage skirt …

  Lambert, Charlotte: You got that straight out of Bridget Jones.

  MacAllister, John: Oh Lambert be nice. I’m having a horrible time.

  Lambert, Charlotte: Washington office?

  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.

  MacAllister, John: No. Just personal stuff.

  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.

  MacAllister, John: Can I take you to dinner please. Wednesday, Oloroso XXX

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

  Lambert, Charlotte: OK John [I typed gingerly]. Could do with a catch-up about Friday’s press launch anyway.

  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.