Just Between Us

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.

‘How can you forget lunch?’ Vicki wailed, shutting the door and perching on the edge of Stella’s desk. Then, catching sight of Stella’s serene face, she’d grinned. ‘You’re still living off love, then?’

‘It’s only a dinner date,’ protested Stella. ‘I wish I hadn’t told you. If you mention it to anyone else I’ll kill you.’

‘You mean it’s a secret?’ said Vicki, deadpan. ‘I’ve just e-mailed my 100 closest friends, all the LW & M partners and the Law Society with the news. It’s not unethical to sleep with a client, is it? I have such trouble remembering the whole ethics thing…’

‘We’re going to have dinner, Vicki, not rip each other’s clothes off over dessert.’

‘Pity,’ sighed Vicki. ‘Mind you, if it was me, I’d go for the actual dessert instead. It’s so long since I had sex, I can’t remember what it was like, except it was often an anticlimax, which is not something you can say about a double helping of double chocolate roulade with cream.’

‘We’re going for a sedate meal,’ Stella insisted. ‘That’s all. Anyway, you’ve been to bed with someone far more recently than me. I’m the poster girl for celibacy since Glenn and I divorced.’ Stella knew this wasn’t utterly truthful but she wanted to forget the disastrous fling she’d had with an old friend of hers and Glenn’s when Amelia had been a toddler. She’d discovered that even when you’d felt like you’d known someone for centuries, they were just as capable of being a sexual predator as a stranger. After a few weeks, he’d dropped her like a hot potato. Burned and humiliated, Stella had never told Vicki about it and she never intended to.

Vicki was in full flood on the subject of her last lover, a fellow lawyer she’d met at a charity ball. ‘If you’re referring to my encounter with that horrible man from Simpson and Ryan, then forget it. He was a disaster in bed. If he’d wanted to be paid by the hour, I would have wasted my money for fifty-eight minutes.’

Stella groaned. ‘You’re terrible, Vicki. The poor man would be horrified to hear you.’

‘Poor man indeed! He thought he was the last of the red-hot lovers,’ said Vicki in outrage. ‘That was the problem. He thought I’d be grateful, can you believe it? The louse. His sort think all women over thirty-five should quiver with thanks if a man so much as looks at them, never mind brings them to bed. They reckon we’re desperate for any crumb of affection that isn’t battery-powered.’

Vicki was getting into her stride on the women-over-thirty-five theme: ‘We’re on the conveyor belt to single TV dinners and interlock knickers that never come off…’

‘Vicki, you live with your sister,’ interrupted Stella, ‘and you know perfectly well that Craig from accounts fancies you rotten but you won’t deign to notice him.’

Deflated, Vicki sighed. ‘I know but he’s six years younger than me. That’s the last sign of absolute desperation. Imagine what people would say if I started dating a younger man? It’s easier to just sit at home and fantasise about Russell Crowe.’

‘Lunch,’ said Stella firmly. ‘You need your mind taken off men.’

Life conspired against Stella the next day. Jerry was still out sick, leaving Stella to deal with his clients again, which kept her in the office all through lunch when she’d planned to get her hair done. And the lurking demon of pre-menstrual tension paid a visit, bloating her stomach despite her post-Christmas detox.

‘Do hormones know when you’ve got something important happening and deliberately act up?’ Stella raged, as she realised she wouldn’t be able to wear the burgundy jersey dress she’d planned on because it clingfilmed around her stomach and could only be worn on thin days.

‘Yes,’ sighed Vicki. ‘It’s like herpes, which apparently appears on the occasion of any hot date.’

‘You have sex on the brain, Vicki,’ Stella reproved.

‘Don’t be so prim and proper,’ teased Vicki. ‘You don’t fancy him for his mind, do you? I bet you’re going to wear your best knickers too.’

Stella had to laugh. ‘I am, but only because they make me feel good, not because there’s any vague hope of anybody seeing them.’

As she drove home that evening, she remembered what Vicki had said. Vicki wasn’t afraid of the idea of sex, while it terrified Stella. It was five years since she’d felt a man’s arms around her; five years since she’d been to bed with anyone. If sex was like riding a bicycle, Stella decided that she’d obviously gone back to using stabilisers.

Going out with a man could, eventually, lead to sex but Stella wasn’t sure she was ready for that. Celibacy, by choice or otherwise, was easier, wasn’t it?

At home, she washed her hair in an agony of uncertainty. If only she could phone Nick up and cancel the date. Tell him she was washing her hair for the rest of her life.

No, she decided finally. That would be the coward’s way out. She’d go out and tell him that it was a mistake, that she was sorry. And she’d pay for dinner. If that wasn’t the way to stay in control, she didn’t know what was.

The restaurant was empty. So empty that Stella momentarily wondered if she’d got the time wrong. Starkly designed in black and white, there were no tablecloths on the black tables, and no other diners either.

The waitress inside the door fell on her with ill-concealed delight.

‘Good evening, lovely to see you, can I take your coat?’ she said joyously.

‘Yes.’ Stella surrendered her coat. ‘Miller for two.’ Why had she worried over booking?

‘Your guest hasn’t arrived…’ began the waitress.

‘He has now,’ supplied Nick, shutting the door behind him. His eyes were flatteringly appreciative as he looked at Stella, all dressed up in her faithful cranberry red shirt and a long black suede skirt she’d had donkey’s years but which was happily back in fashion again.

‘Nice to see you,’ he said, and leaning forward, he kissed her on the cheek. Stella felt something inside her go ‘ping!’ with excitement.

‘Nice to see you too,’ she said and, just as a test, proffered the other cheek for a double kiss. There it was again. Ping!

‘You look beautiful,’ he said, his eyes caressing her face.

Ping, ping, ping!

‘Will I show you to your table?’ asked the waitress.

Nick shrugged out of his coat, giving Stella a chance to admire him. He’d swapped the casual look for a steely grey suit worn with a pale pink shirt that only the most masculine of men could get away with. Nick got away with it.

‘Ready?’ He turned around and Stella rapidly averted her eyes, not wanting to be caught staring. But wow, could he fill a suit in all the right places. Nick didn’t look as if he needed a detox but then you could never tell with clothes on and…

Stella shocked herself. What was she doing thinking about Nick with his clothes off? Vicki was right: she was losing the run of herself. She gave herself a stern talking to while they were led to a table for four at the back of the restaurant. The waitress gave them menus and left them alone in the bare expanse of the restaurant.

‘It’s odd that we’re the only ones here,’ whispered Stella, leaning forward.

Nick nodded solemnly but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

‘What?’ Stella asked.

A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth.

‘Tell me,’ she demanded.