Chapter 6
Lucia
“Evening love.” William greets me with a warm smile. A white towel drapes a shoulder and his meaty hands grip the edge of the bar, giving the impression he’s bracing himself against it. But I’ve been coming here long enough I’m quite aware that’s not the case. He’s got the instincts of a therapist and he’s waiting for me to take a seat so I can tell him all about my problems.
Outside, the winds blow strong with a storm system from the north barreling in. Inside, gas lamps hanging on the wall burn golden, the television screens light up with activity, and there’s a hum of patrons from the tables, but I’m the only one at the bar.
“What can I get ya?”
“The normal.”
He doesn’t turn to pour me a bottle but remains fixed in place, watching as I unravel my crocheted scarf I’ve looped too many times around my throat.
“Shite day at the office?”
“You could say that.” The surprise appearance of Mrs. Wagner and her son threw some kinks in my day, not to mention my boss’s mood.
Drama at the executive level doesn’t ruffle me. Why should it? If Mr. Peltz’s worse fears are realized and he retires earlier than planned, I’ll have a new boss. Life changes. If it’s not one boss, it’s another.
The entire executive suite could play musical chairs, and my life would remain the same. As long as my work visa holds, my life remains the same.
The office isn’t my reason for needing a glass of wine. This afternoon, I received official notice from the attorney I hired that there are no grounds for appeal in my father’s case. There’s no hope that either he or my brother, a brother I barely remember, will be released from prison early. They’ll die in prison.
“You want to talk about it?” William asks.
“No.” I admit and force a smile. I don’t wish to tell him my father is in prison. It’s not that he would judge me, but it’s something I don’t offer freely. William isn’t Swiss, but he’s not Brazilian either. He’ll assume my father and brother did something truly awful. To throw him off, so he doesn’t think I’m down over something worth digging into, I add, “I’d rather leave it at the office.”
“Right smart of you. It’ll be there in the morrow.”
William turns to the back cupboard where he stores the wine glasses, and I pull out my phone. I should update Aline. She and Geraldo love my father and brother. But there’s no need to distress them while they are celebrating retirement. I can wait a month to tell them and it won’t change anything. We’ve been waiting months for this attorney to take action.
It took years, but I finally had extra money to put towards legal fees. I finally held hope. I’ll let Aline and Geraldo carry that hope a little longer.
An icy blast coats my back with the opening of the pub door. I’ve picked barstools poorly, but I don’t have the energy to move. William returns with a glass and a bottle, and greets the newcomer behind me with, “Nice to see you again.”
He pours the wine into my glass and I watch closely as he pours far more than he’s supposed to into my glass. That’s another reason to be a regular. He slides it to me and the hairs on my neck rise when a familiar, deep voice responds with, “I’ll take a Trois Dames. ”
The stool two down from mine scrapes the floor. The man who frazzled my boss, the same man who came here last Friday, removes his outer coat and lays it over an empty stool.
His eyebrow lifts in recognition as he sits heavily on the chair. Last Friday, he’d been mysterious with an undercurrent of mischievous. Today, there’s no trace of humor and for a reason I can’t put my finger on, he seems older.
I glance at William, the resident therapist. Does he see it too?
A pint of golden comfort slides across the wood.
“Can I get you anything else?” William asks the gentleman.
“No. This is good for now.”
William glances between the two of us, nods once, and goes to the far end of the bar.
“Is this your regular spot?” The man asks me.
“Close to work.” The tip of my finger traces the base of the wine glass. “I guess that’s why you ended up here?”
I’d expected to see him again today, after he left with Mrs. Wagner, but he never reappeared. I had his office prepared, an office which is too close to my workstation. Mr. Peltz didn’t assign him the worst office, after all, he has a window. But it’s probably the smallest office with a window in the building. At least, that’s my guess, since we’ve used it for storage for as long as I can remember.
The silence has me spinning slightly to him. His shoulders slump and his arms rest on the wood. I have this urge to knead his shoulders and tell him everything will be okay.
In lieu of giving in to maternal urges, I ask, “Did your meetings not go well?”
“They went fine.”
Either they went the opposite of fine or something else is weighing on him, so I step in where William should. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He taps the wood lightly with his fingers, and his eyes narrow. Will he open up? To a lowly assistant?
“I can think of few things I would prefer less.”
I straighten the stool and stare straight ahead, feeling like a reprimanded, nosy child.
“That’s not saying I wouldn’t love to carry on with you. I simply don’t want to talk about it.”
I sip my wine and wonder what in heavens the executives threw at him today. “They’ll warm to you. They’re territorial right now, that’s all. Once you settle in, you’ll find it’s a nice lot.”
“I’m sure they are,” he says, and lifts his beer for a long swallow. When he sets it down, with his body positioned straight ahead, he turns his head and attention to me. “What about you?”
“Me?”
“You stop in for a drink every weekday, including Monday, or is there another reason you’re drinking alone?”
I straighten at that. As if a woman can’t drink alone. “I like it here.”
“So you drink daily?”
“Sod off. How’s that your business?”
His close-lipped smile does funny things to me. I should finish this glass, wrap back up and face the winds whipping around the building. Get back to my warm apartment and comfy bed.
“You’re right, love. It’s not my business and I’m out of line.”
I release a sigh. He’s catching me on a bad day. “I come here regularly, but not every day.” Events sent me straight here after work, but if I won’t share with William, I’m definitely not sharing with an executive-level colleague why I’m seeking solace in a glass.
He lifts his pint and says, “To days we’d rather not talk about.”
I clink my glass against his and sip.
“Your boyfriend? Husband? Someone coming to meet you?”
“You like to butt your nose into areas that aren’t your business, don’t you?”
He snorts at that, and then I get another glimpse of that closed lip smile. A flicker of amusement before the weight on his shoulders wins out.
“I was going to suggest we order some food and get to know one another, but if you’ve got someone meeting you...”
“I’m not particularly hungry,” I admit. When I got the news about my father, I couldn’t finish the cheese I packed for lunch.
I feel his gaze on me. Studying me. Where will he go with this next?
“So your bad day was the type that wipes an appetite. Someone at work?”
“No.” The answer is immediate. Instinctual, perhaps. “Nothing to do with work, really.”
“Good.” He blinks as it registers what he said. “I mean, not good. Just, I’m glad there’s no one at the office I’m going to need to rebuke.”
From what I gathered, he doesn’t have the authority to rebuke anyone, but I appreciate the sentiment. “What’s your story?”
The conversation between Graeme and Nelson sparks a wave of curiosity. Were they right? Is his goal to reclaim what his family sold? To leverage nepotism for a swift ride to the top?
“No story.”
I give him an expression designed to make it clear I do not buy what he’s selling. Was Graeme right? Is he working to meet the terms of his trust fund?
“What are people saying? Are there any provocative theories floating around?”
“A source of employee gossip, I am not.” I’m smiling, but I’m quite serious. “I need my job.”
“Perhaps an alignment with me might be the smartest thing you could do for your career?”
“So you want Mr. Peltz’s job?”
He snorts and this time I see a flash of white. “Good god no. I almost didn’t make it through the three-hour afternoon meeting.”
There’s no need to study him. I can hear the honesty in his words.
“So you’re there because you have to be.”
“Is that the other theory?”
“There’s a trust fund or something?”
“Or something.”
So Graeme was right. It figures that he’d be the one to nail it. He’s a people reader.
“Do you like your job?” His question isn’t an odd one, but it’s probably the first time anyone at Lumina has asked it. “It’s not a complicated question. Quite simple, really.”
“I do,” I draw the words out as I consider my answer. I enjoy all the tasks, from the mundane to the challenging. But I’ve lost my reason for striving. Or, that’s not quite right either. I’m contemplating change, in the midst of a frustrating job search, and I’m living through an unsettling period.
“I won’t dig further,” he says. He doesn’t believe me, but I wasn’t lying. “Let’s not talk about work.”
I immediately clink my glass against his pint in response.
He asked me about my dating status, but what about his? But I can’t exactly ask him if a girlfriend is meeting him. The words are a touch too flirtatious. “Are you new to the area?”
“Yes and no,” he says. “I spent my childhood here. Have lived elsewhere since.”
His accent differs slightly from many of my colleagues.
“Where?” I prompt.
“Sherborne. It’s a boarding school. Then Cambridge. After university lived for a time in France before landing in London. And you?”
“Born in S?o Paulo. Spent a few years in Lisbon. Then London. After university, I gained this position as part of a work visa program.” Geraldo knew a man who helped me secure the work visa.
“Do you miss Brazil?”
“Not at all.” The answer comes out too quickly and I’m sure he has questions, but I toss back the rest of my wine and signal to William for the check.
“Any chance I can convince you to join me for dinner?”
The handsome gentleman seems like a nice person. Maybe he genuinely wants to know more. I’d like to know more about him. But this is one of those situations where he has nothing to lose, but I could lose everything.
“I need to get home,” I answer.
As I’m sliding my card out from the back of my phone, he passes a black card to William and says, “I’ve got hers.”
William, traitor that he is, ignores my card. William believes he’s doing me a favor, but I’m not certain the drink is free.
“Would you like a lift to your place?”
“It’ll be faster if I walk. I’m only two blocks away.”
“It’s dark out. I’ll walk you.”
“That’s okay.”
“No, as a gentleman, I insist.”
“It’s a good idea,” William interjects as his credit card machine spits out a receipt.
“It’s a safe neighborhood.”
“A mite dodgy,” William says.
No, dodgy is where I grew up in London, or where my family lived in S?o Paulo, but there’s no point in arguing. It’s kind of them to care.
I wrap the scarf around my neck and push off. “Ready?”
“No coat?”
“This scarf is sufficient.”
He lifts his coat and places it around my shoulders. Part of me wants to defiantly shrug it off, but another part of me appreciates the thoughtful gesture.
Of course, if he throws himself at me outside my place or forces himself on me, I’ll feel silly for all the swell of cordial feelings.
Outside the pub, the wind forces our heads down, making conversation difficult for the two blocks to my place. His arm rests on my lower back, and I don’t push him away, because he may be seeking warmth. I’ve got his coat.
“This is me,” I say as we arrive at the nondescript building with unassuming architecture. “Thank you for this.” He takes the coat back and I brace myself.
Is he a good guy? Did I read his character correctly?
“I’ll wait until you’re in.”
I hesitate, mumble a thank you, and it’s not until I’m inside, looking back through the glass pane, that I see him standing there, watching with the air of an inquisitive protector.