Chapter 3

Ian:My catching the prey

On the first working day after the holidays, Geraldine acts as though I don't exist. I know she's just playing the hard to get game with me, and I find it very attractive (almost endearing to see how much effort she puts in it). I'm better at it than she is, of course, and I keep her hanging for a few days, in the meantime observing that she awaits my next move with growing anticipation. On Friday, I decide to put her out of her misery.

I saunter over to her desk. It's after five and we're alone in the office. She has to work her hours, as she has been late a couple of times this week. And I, well, I have an agenda.

She pretends not to notice me, and I stand behind her, putting my hands on either side of her keyboard, leaning in a little.

'Would you do me the honour to marry me, Geraldine?' I ask, my lips a bare inch from her cheekbone.

She blushes, but doesn't turn her head. 'Sorry, I can't,' she says. 'I have this principle of not marrying my employers.'

Good, sensible girl, I can't help thinking. But I say, 'Well, that's a pity. But you could perhaps find it in your heart to soften the blow and have dinner with me.'

I step back so she can turn and look at me. 'I think I could,' she says happily.

Dining with Geraldine is a very enjoyable experience again. She accepts dessert this time, which I take as a good sign.

We decide on coffee at my place. 'You are going to spend the night, aren't you?' I ask, placing slow and soft kisses everywhere on her pretty face as I close the door behind me. She sighs and nods and I know I'll have her.

Shagging Geraldine appears to be very gratifying too, especially because she enjoys it so much. She probably has been starving.

Afterwards I fall asleep while I'm holding her, too sated to worry.

I do when I awake, however. Before I even open my eyes, I know she's looking at me with that happy expression of a woman with expectations. She's picturing us walking down the isle, playing in the park with our kids, a boy aged six and a girl aged three. Oh, God, what have I done?

I brace myself, though. I can do this. For the duration of a fortnight, I can pretend to be the perfect boyfriend. I open my eyes. 'Good morning, love,' I smile.

Positively beaming, she snuggles beside me. 'Oh, Ian,' she sighs.

I force myself to stay relaxed, to kiss her hair. 'Stay in bed,' I whisper. 'I'll make you breakfast.'

We spend the entire weekend together. She's nice company, I believe – sweet and funny and sensuous – but she shows so abundantly that she's in love that I'm feeling utterly uncomfortable. To cause this kind of happiness in another person is a real burden. I find it suffocating. And I realise – again – that I'll never marry.

I do pretend that I'm in love too, though. On Sunday night, I'm exhausted. We do agree that no one at the office must know about us.

The next morning, we sort of ignore each other – which suits me very well. I leave early, declaring – in general – that I wish everybody a pleasant evening and a healthy return the following day. From the corner of my eye, I see that Geraldine looks rather disappointed. Well, she'll live.

She calls, of course, that night.

'Hi, Ian, it's Geraldine. I was wondering …' her voice trails off.

I force myself to say gently, 'Hi, honey. Sorry to have ignored you today. But we agreed upon a low profile at the office, didn't we?'

She must confess we did.

'And besides, I don't think it's a good idea to see too much of each other at the start of a new relationship,' I resume. 'But why don't you think of something you'd like us to do together this weekend, and I'll come over on Wednesday night so you can tell me about it.'

She's clearly thrilled about the prospect of spending the weekend with me, and seeing me on Wednesday.

As I put the phone down, I sigh deeply before continuing reading my book. It's Ross Philip's debut novel, and exceptionally well written. The publisher in me hates this, as Philip isn't one of our authors. I remind myself to talk to the chap about his contract on next Friday's book ball, before I submerge in his words again.

On Wednesday night, Geraldine is overjoyed to see me. Three days of Ian-abstinence is a lot for her, apparently. (She'll be in for something worse soon, poor girl.)

She has thoroughly thought about the weekend and comes up with sleeping in late (oh, really?), going to a matinee on Saturday to see a romantic movie (of course), dining out in the evening (mandatory, indeed), sleeping in late again the next morning, and going ice-skating in the afternoon (the epitome of romance, obviously).

'And … and sex,' she blushes.

I smirk. Her wishes for the weekend are detailed but modest. Part of me is surprised that she hasn't mentioned a trip to Paris. 'Sex doesn't have to wait till the weekend,' I say, 'let's start with that right away.'

We have a very pleasant shag. I tell her so, before I go home. And I ask her to be my date to the book ball on Friday. (I know. People from the office will be there too, probably inferring that we're a 'couple'. But I've decided that if – for a fortnight – I'm pretending to be Geraldine's boyfriend, I'd better do it right.) She says she'll be happy to join me.

As we arrive at the ball, I bump into someone familiar. As does Geraldine, apparently.

'Cedric!' she exclaims.

'Geraldine.' He looks from her to me. 'Ian,' he states coolly, then looks back at her again. 'I see you've found yourself a boyfriend. Congratulations.' His voice distinctly sounds as though he's offering condolences.

Geraldine looks confused while CC wishes us a pleasant evening and leaves.

'Do you know Cedric Carmichael?'

'I could ask you the same question,' I return.

'I met him a few weeks ago, at a New Year party,' she says.

'I met him in college. We went to law school together,' I enlighten her, in the same matter of fact tone.

'He doesn't seem to like you very much.' Ah. Very perceptive Geraldine.

'Well, you know how it goes,' I say flippant. 'It's the same old story, really. Two chaps fall in love with the same girl. She chooses one. The other resents it for life.' Though this isn't exactly a lie, it isn't the whole truth either. But I don't see the point in informing Geraldine about my role in the animosity between CC and myself.

'Poor Cedric,' she states.

Yes, well, he was asking for it, in a way. Terribly gullible of him to think that Henrietta would be faithful. We started having an affair, months before the wedding.

'Let's see if we can talk to Ross Philip,' I say. I really could do with a change of subject.