Chapter Eleven
On Tuesday of last week, Olivia had, in a rare occurrence, been asked to go into the offices of the Morning Shout to collect a payslip.
The payslip had fallen foul of some consequential clerical error, had been amended, and needed to be signed for in person, and Olivia could go in to collect it anytime she chose.
She chose that past Wednesday morning, after momentary consideration, and for no particular reason, except that there was a slight possibility a man she had met three years ago at an airport, and who she had once kissed in a London pub, might be there.
It had been a few years, it was true, but she remembered how much she’d liked that man, that there had been a real attraction between them, as well as banter that had been sparky and fabulous, and she hadn’t really experienced that with anyone since, and especially not in her wild summer and her wildish September of dating and of kissing, so why not?
The Morning Shout offices were near Green Park.
The lobby area was busy. The steps up to the editorial office on the first floor were quiet.
And there he was, that Wednesday morning, when she walked into the busy room with the people hammering away at their computers or dashing across the carpet clutching bits of paper, and he was standing at the huge grey photocopier in the corner of the room and swearing mightily at it.
‘Doing battle?’ she asked, behind his right shoulder and recalling what he’d once said to her about buying supplies for a war zone.
Leo turned, looked surprised, and then his face broke into a grin.
‘Bloody things. The machines, I swear they conspire against us. What are you doing here?’ He touched her lightly on the arm and she remembered how his touch had made her feel.
She also remembered how much she’d liked his face; she felt giddy, breathless and discombobulated to see it again.
‘Didn’t you once tell me you never come in? ’
‘No, I don’t, but I’ve come in today to pick up a payslip. Why are you here today?’
He was wearing a smart pair of grey trousers, with a pale pink shirt, no tie.
The sleeves of the shirt were rolled up.
He looked like a newspaper man, a finance guy, a really good-looking one with great hair.
She was glad she’d worn her new autumn check mini dress with the black tights and cute lace-up boots.
He was gorgeous and she had to compete. There were a lot of pretty women in this office.
‘I’m here every day,’ he replied. ‘I work here full-time. For a sister magazine, Money Talks. Ugly stepsister, more like.’ He pulled a face, glanced around him conspiratorially.
‘Shh . . .’ he whispered. ‘Don’t tell anyone, but it’s so boring.
And I’m writing for a financial magazine when I don’t know anything about finance. ’
‘And I’m a press officer when I don’t know much about the press . . .’ she offered. ‘I’m still at Harrington Blunt. But you’re still reviewing, right?’
She knew he was. She read his reviews every week.
‘Yep,’ he said. ‘And I know you are. Your writing is getting better and better.’
‘Really?’
She had been doing that reviewing job for so long, she felt like she was almost dialling it in these days. Especially when she was running late on a deadline.
‘Yes. Some of them have been truly beautiful. Particularly if you’re reviewing a love story or something. What you said about The Notebook was really quite moving.’
‘Oh!’ She felt chuffed. It was lovely to hear that. And especially coming from him. He had written about a restaurant last week she was now desperate to go to with Stella and Annabel. ‘Are you sure you’re not just being kind?’
‘No.’ He shrugged. ‘Couldn’t be less kind. So, are you writing that novel yet?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘You?’
‘No. One day, though, I promise. I have been thinking about writing some short stories, though.’
‘I’ve written a couple,’ she confessed.
‘You have? Can I read them?’
She shook her head. ‘God, no! I don’t think they’re fit for anyone to read.’
‘That’s a shame. And I bet they are.’
She wasn’t sure, and she wasn’t being entirely truthful.
She had recently sent one of her short stories off to a publication in Kent for a competition.
Someone must have read it, but it clearly hadn’t got anywhere.
She had heard nothing. ‘So, we’re not bestselling novelists yet,’ she commented.
‘What else is new?’ she asked him, as though she were asking it casually.
She was dying to find out if he had a current girlfriend or not. ‘Are you still living with Royal Ben?’
‘Oh, good memory!’ She was trying to gauge what he might be thinking about her.
Whether he was pleased to see her. Whether he, too, remembered the kissing, the frisson in the airport.
Whether he thought it lame she still remembered the nickname of his flatmate.
‘He’s good, he’s good. He’s an agent’s assistant now. Doing really well.’
‘That’s great.’ She wasn’t sure what to say next. She had run out of questions, except the one she was beginning to think she really wanted to ask.
‘Who’ve you come in to see? Harry?’
‘Yes.’ Harry was the editor of the Morning Shout.
‘I don’t think he’s in until eleven. Want to come over to my desk and wait for a bit?’
She thought about it. She looked at Leo’s face. His eyes. ‘Yes, please.’
Leo’s desk was by a sash window at the front of the building, overlooking Green Park.
The chair was pulled back and at an angle, and the desk was a bit of a mess: pens and papers scattered everywhere, an upside-down stapler cruising down the centre, three coffee mugs with days’ old dregs skulking around.
‘Do sit down. ’Scuse the mess.’
‘That’s alright.’
She sat carefully on his chair and Leo pushed it forward for her, to its rightful place nudged up to the desk. It was way too low for her and she felt a bit silly, down there.
‘Do you want a coffee or anything?’
‘No, I’m OK.’
‘Sure?’
‘Well, OK. Yes, please. Coffee, milk and half a teaspoon of sugar, please. Quite milky. Not too full in the cup,’ she added.
‘Coming up,’ he replied with a grin, and he headed off to the small kitchen at the side of the office.
While she waited, she flicked through a copy of Money Talks. Found his name inside several times. Lined up his old coffee mugs together. Peered into her bag and checked her pens, her notebook; ordered what was already in order.
‘There you go.’ He was back. ‘Milky, half a sugar, a clear inch from the top.’ He placed a mug in front of her which said, Another 8 hours of pretending to work.
Then he pulled another swivel chair over from an empty desk behind them and sat right next to her.
Put his elbows on the table and his chin on his hands.
‘So?’ he said. ‘Why are you really here?’
‘Why am I really here . . . ? I’m here to see Harry.’
‘Really?’ Leo looked amused, cheeky, delicious. ‘Was it to see me? Do you want to ask me out?’
She took a chance. ‘Would you like me to ask you out?’
‘Turning it back on me, I like that! Well, I wouldn’t mind,’ he said. ‘Seeing as you’re here.’
‘We haven’t seen each other for years,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why you think I might be interested.’
‘I think this kind of chemistry is hard to deny, don’t you?’ Leo whispered close to her ear, and she felt herself blush.
‘I might even be engaged or married,’ she said. She surreptitiously hid her left hand under the desk.
‘No rings,’ Leo said. ‘I already checked. And I’m not engaged or married either, so what’s stopping us, Olivia? It’s good to see you,’ he added sincerely. ‘I’m glad you came in. Where would you like to go on our date?’
‘Well, when are you free?’ she asked. She sounded more assured than she felt. She felt like he was a boss giving her an induction, sitting here next to him at his desk like this. Like he was her mentor. And the thought of that made her blush, too. ‘Are you available next week sometime?’
‘How about Tuesday?’
‘Tuesday I’m out for my dad’s birthday.’
‘How about Wednesday?’
‘Wednesday is good.’ She was supposed to be meeting a man named Nick for drinks, but she could cancel that.
‘Great. How about Swiss Cottage? I can book Nicoletti’s, a little Italian I know. It’s really fantastic. I think you’ll love it.’
‘Yes, Swiss Cottage is good.’
‘Great. Seven o’clock?’
‘Great.’
‘Want to exchange mobile phone numbers?’
‘No. I’ll be there.’
She already felt brazen enough to have walked in here and approached him. She didn’t want his number. That felt a step too invested. And she didn’t want to give him the opportunity to cancel.
He held her gaze. He had a soft look in his eyes that made her feel like they were the only people in the room, that the hubbub around them, the industry, had faded to nothing.
‘I’ve been cheeky,’ he said finally. ‘I know you didn’t come here to ask me out. But as soon as I saw you by the photocopier I knew that’s what I wanted to happen, and it was fun getting there, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, it was fun,’ she replied. ‘And your desk is really messy,’ she added. ‘You really should do something about that. A tidy desk is a tidy mind.’ He laughed. She remembered she had loved how he laughed. ‘And I’ll just go see Harry about my payslip.’
She knew he was watching her as she walked across the floor. She knew their encounter had once again been bouncy, effervescent, magical.
And she had walked out of that office with both a payslip and a date.