by Cathy Kelly
‘Please, take a seat,’ she said.
He sat down too, not beside her, thankfully, but in a chair at the top of the table, a few feet away from her.
‘Er…now I’ve been looking over your file and er…’ She opened the file but couldn’t seem to lay her hands on the cover sheet. She’d just been looking at it, where the hell was it? Clumsiness swept over her like a rash and she felt her temperature rise rapidly as she fumbled through the pages. It must be the heating. Either that, or the powers that be were pumping hallucinogens through the system, Stella decided wildly. Only that could account for the level of madness on the premises.
‘I’m sorry you’ve been thrown in at the deep end,’ Mr Cavaletto said. ‘Your receptionist said Jerry was unexpectedly called away…’
Stella glanced up to see if Lori had imparted the prawn vindaloo information, but was relieved to see that Mr Cavaletto’s craggy face held no amusement.
‘Yes, something unavoidable,’ she murmured, trying to pull herself together. Well, being glued to the bathroom was probably unavoidable in Jerry’s case.
She looked back at her papers, sensing that he was still gazing at her. She wished he’d stop it.
‘Now.’ She cleared her throat and finally found the cover sheet.
‘Shall I pour you some coffee?’ he interrupted.
She looked at him.
‘It’s just that you seem a little harassed and I feel responsible. You could do without having an extra client dropped onto your lap today, I’m sure.’ He looked so earnest, so genuinely apologetic, that Stella decided that he wasn’t trying to unnerve her. He was just being nice, after all, Stella sighed to herself. She was jumpy today and it wasn’t fair to take it out on him.
She sat back in her chair. So much for detoxing. ‘I’d love a cup. But I’ll get it,’ she added, getting up. He was the client after all.
He waved her back into her seat.
‘That doesn’t seem right,’ she said.
‘Let’s buck convention, shall we?’ he said.
‘Why not?’
He poured coffee while Stella watched him with interest.
He was tall, which she liked, and she liked the way his hair was carelessly swept back from his high forehead, as if he used an impatient hand to rake it into place far more often than a brush. He wore nice clothes, slightly casual but expensive. And he looked clever, too. Shrewd intelligence burned behind those eyes.
She idly wondered was he married? Then, shocked at herself for even thinking such a bimbo-esque thought, she sat up straighter in her chair.
‘Milk and sugar?’
‘Just milk, thanks,’ she said. Would he chance a hackneyed comment about her being sweet enough already?
He passed the test by saying nothing.
‘There’s nothing worse than one of those days when you have to take the flak for other people’s absences,’ he remarked. ‘Colleagues imagine that managerial positions mean nothing more than a bigger salary, but it’s a hell of a lot more than that.’
‘Tell me about it,’ said Stella. ‘I’m trying to sort out Jerry’s client list, my own, and deal with some disaster in the ladies’ loo because the maintenance men are out.’
‘Maybe I can help with the latter part?’ he said.
‘Are you a plumber?’
He grinned. ‘No, I’m in the engineering business, actually, but I know my way round the u-bend.’
Stella laughed. ‘That’s better than me. I’ll attempt any DIY that involves paint, a hammer or tubs of plaster, but don’t ask me about plumbing or electricity. Seriously,’ reality reasserted itself, ‘I can’t ask you to look at the ladies’.’
He got to his feet and made for the door. ‘Come on, show me. I might be able to tell you what the problem is.’
Stella followed, feeling surprised and amused.
Lori jerked her head up from her computer keyboard when Nick marched out of the Gin Palace.
‘Hello again,’ she breathed huskily, batting her recently mascara-ed eyelashes at him.
‘Mr Cavaletto needs to visit the ladies’ loo,’ said Stella gravely.
‘What?’ demanded Lori in her normal voice.
‘You’ve a problem in there, I hear,’ Nick said.
‘You mean you’re going to fix it?’ Lori said, batting furiously again.
Stella grinned. Clearly, Lori was one of those women who went limp at the idea of men who knew what to do with power tools. She’d never made such an effort for the firm’s maintenance man, but then, he didn’t look like Mr Cavaletto.
‘That’s wonderful,’ Lori said, as she led the way, explaining the problem as solemnly as if she was a doctor describing some hideous illness to a consultant.
Stella followed again, feeling like a third wheel in this adoring little procession.
Nick didn’t look like the sort of man who did much plumbing, she thought. Not unless plumbers were going in for fine tweed jackets, of the Milanese palazzo variety.
He reached into his pocket and took out a pair of frameless glasses, which added to the professorial, brain-the-size-of-a-planet effect.
Lori glanced back at Stella and made swooning motions.
Stella glared at her to stop.
Nick crouched down to examine the gushing loo. Both Stella and Lori admired his broad shoulders and the way he stroked his chin thoughtfully.
‘It’s a leak in the cistern,’ he said finally.
‘You’re so clever, we would have never worked that out,’ sighed Lori.
Stella began to feel irritated. Just because none of the fourth-floor staff had their plumber’s apprentice certificates, didn’t mean they were witless little women incapable of changing a light bulb. And why was Lori giving poor Nick Cavaletto the full treatment? Honestly, he was Stella’s client. Well, Jerry’s really, but Stella was dealing with him. Lori would get eyestrain if she kept batting her eyelashes seductively up at him.
‘Do you have a wrench somewhere? I’ll close the stopcock, which should solve things until your maintenance men get a chance to look at it,’ Nick said, seemingly unaware of the effect his presence was having on Lori.
‘There are tools in the maintenance office in the basement,’ Lori volunteered, then looked at Stella, as if to say that she certainly wasn’t going to leave Mr Cavaletto to trail down to find a wrench when it was far more fun to stay here.
‘I have to answer the phones, I can’t go,’ she announced.
For some reason that she couldn’t quite put her finger on, Stella found that she didn’t want to leave Lori with Nick. They’d probably be engaged by the time she returned.
‘One of the apprentices can go,’ replied Stella. She would kill Lori for being so blithely insubordinate but she couldn’t say anything in front of Nick.
‘Great idea. You better tell them; I have no authority over the apprentices,’ Lori added sweetly.
‘Right,’ said Stella and marched off, furious, to find one.
She dispatched one of the apprentices to look for a wrench and returned to find Lori perched demurely on the edge of her desk, ignoring the phone ringing off the hook.
If Nick thought this was strange, he didn’t say anything.
‘I’ll just wash my hands,’ he said. ‘In the men’s toilet, I don’t want to startle anyone.’
‘Mm, what a guy,’ said Lori when he was gone. ‘He can look at my plumbing any time.’
‘Don’t drool, Lori,’ said Stella, irritated. ‘You’ll ruin the carpet. And he’s not that gorgeous.’
‘Hello! Earth to Stella!’ said Lori incredulously. ‘You so need to get your eyes tested.’
‘He’s too old for you,’ Stella added, crossly. ‘You’re twenty-five.’
‘Older men are in,’ Lori said in a dreamy voice. ‘I’ve never gone for anyone older than thirty-five before but I could make an exception in his case.’
‘He’s forty-five if he’s a day,’ snapped Stella. ‘Far too old for you.’ She stalked off into
the Gin Palace.
‘She’s quite a character, your receptionist,’ Nick commented when he reappeared.
‘I suppose you want her phone number,’ Stella said sourly.
His gaze caught her by surprise.
‘Actually, I’d prefer yours. I’d like to ask you out to dinner tomorrow night.’
Stella sat down quickly on the hard chair, landing painfully on her coccyx. ‘Ouch,’ she yelped.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Was that totally out of order?’
‘Er, well…’ Stella stammered.
If only Nick hadn’t been looking at her, Stella might have drummed up her standard answer whenever men attempted to chat her up: ‘Thanks but no thanks.’
But before Stella the Sensible had a chance to say anything, at the precise moment she’d made her mind up to turn him politely down, in spite of everything, he suddenly moved the goalposts. He gazed at her, hopefully. And when Nick Cavaletto’s intelligent, warm eyes bored into hers, she’d had no option. Sensible Stella faltered and the long-buried Romantic Stella shoved her out of the way like a shopaholic on sale day.
‘I’d love to.’ Had she really said that?
His face creased up into a smile. ‘I was sure you were going to turn me down.’
To hide how jolted she felt by the entire experience, Stella tried to sound light-hearted. ‘I was just about to but you looked so forlorn, I hadn’t the heart to say no.’
His craggy face looked even better when he grinned broadly. ‘Forlorn? Nobody’s ever accused me of that before. But whatever the reason, I’m glad.’
For a full minute, they stared at each other, Stella holding her breath for some bizarre reason. Then Melvyn rushed into the room, stammering apologies for lateness, and Stella instantly picked up a document to give herself something to hide behind in case he picked up on the charged atmosphere.
As business resumed, Stella managed to continue a professional conversation, all the while wondering if she was mad. He was a client. Well, no, he wasn’t actually her client and if Jerry hadn’t been ill, she never would have met him. But he was a man she knew nothing about, apart from the fact that he needed to sort out a property issue for his elderly mother. He could be married with ten kids for all she knew.
Stella cast a suspicious glance at his left hand. There was no ring but that meant nothing. She’d have to ask.
‘Jerry’s so very sorry and I’m sure he’ll be in for your next appointment,’ apologised Melvyn as Nick was leaving.
‘That’s good,’ said Nick, a faint smile hovering about his mouth. ‘Prawn vindaloo poisoning can be fatal.’
Stella smothered a snigger. She would have to have several words with Lori. So much for saying Jerry had been unavoidably kept out of the office.
‘I’ll show Mr Cavaletto out,’ she added smoothly.
She walked him to the lift, ignoring the looks Lori shot at them.
‘Just one question,’ Stella said, pitching her voice low so nobody could overhear. ‘Are you married?’
‘Divorced with two children,’ he replied, just as seriously. He held up his left hand. ‘Look, no ring.’
‘Did you wear one when you were married?’ Stella inquired.
Nick threw back his head and laughed. ‘No. And did you ever think of becoming a barrister? Your skills at interrogation are wasted here. About dinner, how about Figaro’s?’
Stella decided it was time to reassert her independence. Nick was calling all the shots here and she refused to be a pushover. ‘Figaro’s, I don’t think so,’ she said. She’d never been to Figaro’s but that wasn’t the point. Surely there was some modern rule of dating that said only pushovers cooed yes to the first suggestion.
‘You pick somewhere you like,’ he offered. ‘I’ve been out of the country for so long that I don’t know the good spots.’
Stella thought hard, storing away that snippet of information about his time out of the country. The only restaurants she knew were ones suitable for business lunches, girls-only get-togethers or meals with seven-year-olds. It had been a long time since she’d done the eyes-meeting-over-the-candlelight-at-a-table-for-two thing. Years, in fact.
Casting around wildly for an intelligent suggestion, a snippet of something she’d heard about a review of a new restaurant came to mind. Something about The Flying Carpet, a new restaurant on the quays. She hadn’t seen the review herself but from the bit of the conversation she remembered, the place sounded good, she was sure of it. ‘Mussels to die for’ or something.
‘The Flying Carpet,’ she said confidently. ‘At eight.’
‘May I pick you up or would you prefer to meet me there?’ Nick asked solicitously.
You’ve already picked me up, Stella thought mischievously.
‘I’ll meet you there,’ she said. ‘If there’s a problem, I’ll phone you. Your number is on the file.’ And it was a land line, she remembered. If he was married, he’d instantly give her a mobile number to phone instead. But Nick just nodded in agreement.
‘Till tomorrow,’ he said.
He turned to go.
‘Oh, Mr Cavaletto, you forgot something,’ Stella called.
‘Yes?’
Stella whispered so her voice wasn’t audible to the receptionist. ‘Divorced, one daughter. Just so you know.’
Again, the intense green eyes gleamed with amusement. ‘Goodbye, Ms Miller, it’s been a pleasure.’
A pleasure, thought Stella dreamily as she took the stairs up to the fourth floor. She certainly hoped so. After six years on her own, well, longer really, as you could hardly count the last year with Glenn as actually being with anybody, she was utterly unprepared for the prospect of going on a date.
She went back to her office.
‘Isn’t he lovely?’ said Lori dreamily. ‘Sort of Sean Connery-esque with a hint of Michael Douglas in there somewhere.’
‘You’ve got to stop reading Movieline,’ Stella said, biting her lip to stop herself beaming idiotically.
‘He was gorgeous, though. Come on, Stella, even you can see that.’
Stella felt a quiver of electricity shoot through her at the thought of Nick’s smile. ‘I suppose you could call him attractive,’ she said.
‘Who?’ demanded Vicki, appearing at her door. ‘Have I missed something?’
‘Vicki, can I talk to you for a moment?’ Stella asked. She had to tell someone and if she told Lori, there was a fair possibility of being stabbed with Lori’s trademark silver-ink pen.
Vicki’s jaw dropped when she heard the news.
‘Lucky you,’ she sighed. ‘They say that lots of love stories begin at work, but it’s never happened to me.’ Vicki suddenly looked thoughtful. ‘Can we search through Jerry’s client list and see if there’s anyone else gorgeous coming in today?’
By half twelve, Stella had raced through her workload at twice her normal speed. She felt inspired and excited, as though she’d had ten espressos and no breakfast. She’d been asked out on a date and she’d said yes! What would she wear, what would they talk about…?
Her phone rang and she switched into work mode instantly.
‘Hello, Stella?’ said a woman’s voice. ‘It’s Jackie Hess.’
Even through the phone lines, Stella could hear her client’s anxiety.
Without giving her lawyer a chance to speak, Jackie rattled through her problems.
‘If we don’t get the contracts signed by tomorrow, I’ll lose the new house and I can’t do that. I can’t. This is a new start for me and I love that house…’ Her voice rose almost hysterically.
Stella had heard enough. Calming people was one of her many skills, a vital one in the business of legal conveyancing, although nobody had mentioned it in college. There hadn’t been any lectures on dealing with real, agitated clients who were splitting up with their husbands and hoping to buy new (smaller) houses in order to start again.
‘Jackie,’ soothed Stella, ‘we’ll sort it out, I promise. Please
leave it with me.’
Jackie was quiet, as Stella knew she would be. When Stella Miller told you she’d sort everything out, you believed her.
There was something about the low, measured voice that calmed even the most highly-strung client; something about her serene, smiling face with its kind dark eyes that made anxiety seem silly. More than one person had seriously considered taking up yoga after learning that the tranquil Stella was a devotee.
‘Are you sure everything will work out…?’ Jackie asked more quietly.
‘Yes, I’m sure.’
Once Jackie was gone, Stella made a firm decision to stop thinking about Nick Cavaletto. It was ridiculous for a grown woman to get so excited about dinner with a man. This dreaming and staring out the window had to stop. She worked steadily for the next half an hour, making phone calls and trying to sort out Jackie’s problems. Jackie had split up with her husband of two years and every time Stella spoke to her, she seemed more shell-shocked than the last, muttering about joint credit union accounts and what were they to do with the oil painting of Venice. Was it Jackie’s because her rich old grand-uncle had given it to them as a wedding present or was it joint property? Privately, Stella thought that the distraught Jackie should seek counselling to help her climb out of the dark pit of sudden break-up. She’d hated that painting, she’d told Stella. Yet she was fiercely determined to have it, as if salvaging something that wasn’t communal property, could salvage her damaged soul.
Over the years, as she dealt with clients like Jackie, Stella had come to realise that she’d never loved Glenn enough to feel such emotion over their break-up. Teenage sweethearts who’d married when they were ridiculously young, they’d drifted apart. Their over-riding emotion at the break-up had been apathy for each other, and parental worry over Amelia. She wondered what it would be like to love and hate with such passion that splitting up would destroy you.
‘Lunch?’ said Vicki, peeping round the glass door with her tongue out, her normal signal that starvation was setting in.
‘Lunch. Yes, I forgot,’ Stella said absent-mindedly.
