On The Market Chapter 26 - The done thing, a pride and prejudice fanfic

She stepped out of the cab and saw the venue ahead of her. Or rather, she saw a clump of penguin suits hanging by the entrance, took a deep breath and clutched at the book in her coat pocket for reassurance. She'd not been able to read on the way over, she'd been too busy fretting pointlessly, but it was good to know it was there in case she needed to pretend she wasn't fretting pointlessly. She could only hope Will was not going to carry on tonight the way he had all week, smiling at the smallest provocation. It was exhausting getting cross with him ten times a day. Jesus, even the Data Team had never raised her blood pressure at that kind of frequency. And yet Elisabeth couldn't help fear that tonight might be even worse.

But now that she was here and, thanks to Jane, dressed for it, she felt surprisingly calm. It probably helped that Will didn't smile when she picked him out of the crowd and he recognised her. He froze for a split second, and if anything he stepped back rather than forward, and then stood poker straight with his shoulders thrown back, his hands in the pockets of a coat she'd never seen on him before, but which looked even better than his usual one.

From that distance he reminded her of the Fitzwilliam Kingsley-Darcy of their first, ill-fated encounter by the lift: as perfectly tall and inapproachable as K2 in winter. Then, as she got closer, she recognised Will who looked like Will, only Will on a very good night. He didn't move until she'd walked right up to him, and then he leant in to kiss her on both cheeks.

They kept it a stiff and rather formal greeting, hence Elisabeth found herself growing more relaxed around him than she had in ages. She even took a moment to remember how lovely Will smelt up close, before they pulled back and he looked at her again, stone faced.

'Come on then,' he said, and before Elisabeth knew it she was inside, standing beside him in the queue for the cloakroom and, hang on a minute, holding on to his arm at the elbow. How had that happened? She let go and frowned back at the few steps they'd gone down through the narrow doorway.

But she wasn't angry with him and, more strangely still, she wasn't kicking herself over it either. It was a wonderful feeling, which she could only put down to Jane's dress. Perhaps when you put on someone else's clothes you also borrowed a bit of their personality. So while she'd never feel as small and pretty as Jane, Elisabeth did feel a bit of what it must be like to be her. Poised. Ready and able to deal with stuff, with situations, with people, even. Then as they waited on in silence she thought with a fleeting smile: what if the reason Charlotte dressed so loud was only so she could deal with her even louder clients? Conversely would she stop speaking in exclamation marks if she were made to wear jeans and Elisabeth's ancient black pea-coat?

Her smile vanished at the thought of that coat: it was letting the side down, and rather than stuff its pockets she really should have left her book back home, and brought instead the little clutch Jane had lent her, but which presently lay discarded on the carpet of her bedroom. At least she had, thank goodness, listened to Jane on the shoe front because, Jesus, she was right, even the girls manning the cloakroom looked like supermodels tonight, with their teeny tiny little black dresses, vertiginous heels and cheerless pouts. Their productivity was in direct proportion with the practicality of their outfits, so no wonder there was a bit of a line.

Elisabeth took her coat off and then watched Will do the same. Then she watched him watch her, black-tied and tongue-tied. She couldn't be sure why he was taking so long over it – probably just the shock of seeing her in something as nice as Jane's dress – but she too was finding it really hard not to stare, what with him looking so, well, good.

She tucked her hair back, tore her eyes away from him, and returned to looking at the backs queuing in front of them. Two more couples walked away from the coat check, the women shimmering like precious stones, and wearing them too.

'You keeping this?' Will asked when they got near the front of the line. He was pointing at Jane's black pashmina, which she'd added to her outfit at the last minute in a half-hearted attempt at both warmth and modesty.

'I don't know.'

What would Jane do? What was the done thing? None of the women seemed to be wearing anything on top of their beautiful dresses. Meanwhile all the blokes were wearing jackets so logically one of the sides must be out of their comfort zone, temperature-wise. Elisabeth assumed it would be the ladies, if only because they were in a roughly one to four minority:

'I think I'll keep it.'

'Naaa, don't,' he said, flicking it off her shoulders, and handed everything over to the lady behind the counter, leaving Elisabeth to shiver, stunned into compliance in the sudden draft.

OK then. The coatroom girl, a cum laude graduate of the Sarah Atkinson School of Charm, shot her a contemptuous look as Elisabeth rubbed the goose bumps off her bare arms. Then, with a professional smile, she handed Will a numbered token. They walked on down the stairs, where they were welcomed by a middle-aged man carrying a tray of drinks:

'Champagne, orange juice, buck fizz?'

'Do you have any soda water?'

This seemed to take the man by surprise. He must have operated in transmit-only mode thus far because she had to repeat her question. Perhaps soda water was not the done thing either?

'But certainly ma'am, if you'd like to make your way to the bar,' the waiter bowed, and gestured behind him with a humble turned up palm, all the while keeping his massive tray balanced. By now there was a queue forming behind them on the staircase.

'Come on then,' Will said, and started cutting a way through the crowd. A few paces on she found herself running her thumb against surprisingly smooth skin and realised he'd grabbed her hand. Then before she could work out how she felt about it they came to an unexpected halt halfway to the bar and bumping into him she recognised, again, the smell his jacket had carried at the Christmas party. She forced her attention onto the cause of the blockage.

'…how are you?'

'Fine, yes, how about you?' said Will.

'Yes, great! Will you introduce me to the young lady?' asked a freakishly tall greying gentleman. She felt her hand drop out of Will's, and he cleared his throat before turning to her:

'Elisabeth, this is Nigel Hawthorne, Nigel is now with Nomura, but he used to be my sales guy at Beaumont's long long time ago, back when he worked for Peel Hunt.'

Elisabeth raised an eyebrow with faked interest and bit her lip. She knew by the look in his eye that Will had mentioned Peel Hunt in as an in-joke.

'Nigel,' he said, 'this is Elisabeth Bennet, who's running our new electronic trading platform.'

'Oh,' Nigel said with a look of annoyed confusion on his face. 'But I thought you guys moved off paper tickets ages ago?'

'We did, but we've just gone FIX and real time,' Will explained with an impatient look towards the bar, then checked on Elisabeth again. With Nigel she was in far more familiar territory than with pashminas and coat-tailed waiters, and was able to put on a passable impression of professional interest:

'Whatever do you need real time for?' Nigel asked, 'Anyway, what's become of our friend Christopher since he retired?'

'I hear his handicap is coming down.'

'Can't wait to play him again,' Nigel said, and was probably about to carry on but Will cleared his throat again.

'It's really nice to see you again, Nigel. But we'd better get this young lady here a drink before it all starts, hadn't we?'

'Nice to meet you!' Nigel and Elisabeth said in insincere unison, then Will took her hand once more, and this time they completed their journey to the bar without hindrance.

'Don't ever call me "young lady" to my face again,' she said when they got there, and prised her hand free. She saw his eyes darken, but only for a moment:

'Sorry, you mean you don't like being patronised by old toffs?'

'I do that professionally, thank you very much, but this was supposed to be my day off.'

She smiled as she said it, and so did he. Then he carried on smiling and she did too: hang on, how could this be happening? Elisabeth looked down but then she couldn't help but look up again: still smiling. It felt good, amazing even, such a relief, marred only by worrying how long they could possibly keep this up. Perhaps he did too:

'What are you having, now we're here?' he asked.

'Cranberry and soda? They should definitely have it.'

Behind the bar a myriad of brightly coloured bottles had been arranged against a mirrored wall and expertly lit, all surely more for aesthetic than for libatory purposes. Will relayed her order to an impassive barman who mixed their drinks with far more fuss than was necessary, occasionally interrupting himself to cast them a supercilious glance.

'You look lovely,' Will said while they waited.

'Good,' she said looking down to her new shoes and back up. Actually Jane was right, she was a teensy bit scared of her own legs in those. 'Thanks, so do you.'

'I look lovely?'

'Don't be pedantic, you get my gist.'

'Tchin tchin!'

'Cheers!'

They took a few sips in silent observation of each other. This Elisabeth was about to break when a plump little man with a vermillion cummerbund wrapped around his rotund belly relieved her of the task.

'Will!' he slapped the much taller man between the shoulder blades. 'Long time no see! How've ye been?'

'Good, yes, how 'bout you?'

'Great! How's life ? How's tricks?'

'Good, yes.'

'Christopher's gone though, isn't he?'

'That's right,' Will said with a nervous glance at Elisabeth. By now she felt comfortable enough not to bother faking an interest in this latest friend of Toad's, and just took another sip of her drink. Will turned back to the short man, who was now going on about various people working for various hedge funds, and she found herself looking forward to TSF. Even their singing had to be better than all this pointless name-dropping.

'And how's Raj.. Rajput? Rajminder? I could never remember his name' the little man said, shaking his balding head. 'Bit of a serious kinda guy, hey?'

'Rajeev,' Elisabeth cut in while still staring into the mid distance above his shoulder. He must have expected her to be seen but not heard because at that he looked around from Will to her in stunned silence.

'Most remiss of me,' Will said, uncrossing his arms: 'Bob, this is Elisabeth Bennet, who released tradePad for us on the desk. Elisabeth, this is Bob Petersen, we used to work together at Goldman.'

'Charmed,' he lied, raising a sweaty hand to shake hers.

'Pleased to meet you,' she lied back.

Their handshake killed the conversation stone dead.

'Are you still with Goldman?' she asked to try and breathe some life back into it, for politeness's sake rather than for her own let alone Will's.

'No, I moved on two years after Will,' he said, looking at her right ear. She in turn watched his hand as he compulsively rubbed his fingers across his thumb. He took a shallow breath and moved his gaze down to her shoes. If she hadn't come across his kind a million times before she might have wondered if she had broken out into some freaky wart rash, or grown a second head, or both. More likely he just had issues looking women in the eye, which was weird since he sounded more American than British public schoolboy. Maybe that was why he'd crossed the pond?

'I'll go and powder my nose!' she concluded with exaggerated exuberance and a glance first at the clock, then at Will.

'I'll be right here,' he said when she handed him her glass. She nodded and turned, and made her way to the ladies, faintly aware of his gaze following her. She heard conversational ease return between them as soon as her back was turned so she took her time, leisurely trying out the hand lotion and marvelling at the thick luxurious softness of the towels. A couple of gazelle-like women with small bones, smaller dresses and elaborate woman-made curls were checking their makeup and casting each other competitive looks. Judging by their age and dress sense these were second-generation arm candy, so until they'd locked in a deal they needed to take the game extremely seriously. The first generation, represented to Elisabeth's left by a fifty-something clothes horse with a gaunt face and a dark red, expertly draped mid-calf dress, easily had the upper hand in terms of jewellery, elegance and practised social confidence, if no longer in terms of looks. Neither category would see any great threat in big-boned, under-groomed Elisabeth.

She was out of her depth here, this much was obvious, but Elisabeth also knew that without Jane's help it could have been a lot worse. Besides, as Charlotte was wont to say the only difference between fear and excitement is breathing, and she was still breathing just fine. Upon checking she also found that she still wasn't pissed off with anyone: not with Will, not with herself, not even really with Nigel from Nomura or with Bob Petersen or with any of the pretty young ladies not so discreetly comparing themselves against her in the mirror, and coming out on top.

She would have indulged them a little longer but it was about time to get back to it, so Elisabeth pushed back the little sparkly slide she'd stuck behind her left ear to keep herself from fiddling with her hair, and as a token gesture towards accessorising. She was still breathing and smiling, so all that left was for her to draw her shoulders back stand tall and walk back out again.

'Anyway, better go!' Bob Petersen said when he saw her approach. 'Lovely to meet you, Elisabeth,' he added, looking somewhere around her knees.

'And you, Bob!' she replied with a firm handshake and a firmer gaze, then sighed: 'What a wan...'

'Sorry,' Will said, looking as contrite as she'd ever seen him. 'You OK?'

'Sure!' she shrugged, and took her glass back from him.

'You look great.'

'Thank you, you said.'

It was the kind of thing she would have spat back at him yesterday in the office but tonight, here and dressed to the nines Elisabeth said it instead with only a hint of a blush.

'True,' he nodded, and kindly took his eyes off her.

'Is Bob a friend of yours then?'

'No!'

'Oh good. How's Dean by the way?'

'He's fine. He says hi.'

'That's nice of him. He's a nice guy.'

'Glad you think so.'

'Of course.'

Conversation dried up again. Perhaps it was her after all, she thought, remembering her effect on hateful little Bob Petersen.

'What did he do?'

'Who, Dean?'

'No Bob, at Goldman?'

'Head of equities, why?'

'He was your Toad then?'

'More of a Pig but yes,' Will said and she smiled, but then sighed again:

'Scary thought: did any women manage to stay and work there?'

'Oh yes, it's only the pretty ones he can't deal with. Want another drink?'

She looked up at him – perhaps he was right and this wasn't the time or place to discuss the effect of pigs and toads on gender diversity in the financial workplace.

Funny how it never seemed to be a good time or place for that.

But hey, here she was, at a forty grand a head do all under her own name so yes, why not get another drink?

'Sure,' she said, 'let's get a drink and then try and get somewhere near the stage before it all starts?'

'Same again?'

'Yes please.'

He ordered, while she stared at a short, squat middle-aged woman squeezed into an indifferent grey dress. She didn't look like anyone's Plus One either. She was talking excitedly to a bunch of penguin suits, and despite her utter lack of physical attractions they all seemed to be listening. Listening to her, not to her ample chest. And from what Elisabeth could hear they were talking, the woman was talking, about the dot com bubble and the Euro, and being utterly serious about it. Part of Elisabeth longed for the day the guys at the office would listen to her like this too. Meanwhile another vain, shallow part of her hoped that she wouldn't have to grow that old and matronly first.

'Come on, let's go,' Will said, grabbing her hand again. This time she felt him squeeze it a little tighter, but she didn't mind. Right now his hand felt more comfortable than either her shoes or her dress, the former a bit too high and the latter a bit too narrow at the knees for her to keep up with Will's long stride as he cut through the crowd, greeting a few more people along the way. She hung on as best as she could until he stopped near the small stage and stood next to her, still holding her hand. On four inches of heels she was almost level with him.

'You nearly had my arm out,' she said, more to break the silence than because any serious harm had been done. This might have been taken as a hint for him to let go of her hand, but instead he stared back at her and gave it another squeeze:

'Sorry. 'you OK?'

Well, yes, she must be fine, judging by the fact that her thumb was already busy rubbing the back of his again. Which was very nice, so very nice in fact, that she couldn't persuade her own hand to let go of his though that, surely, would have been the done thing.

She kept silent, and as the lights went down she thought he moved a little closer to her. TSF were introduced, the curtain went up to loud cheers and an opening string section resounded across the room. A drummer started to tchakatchak and four youths appeared in white hoodies and matching trousers worn halfway down their matching underwear. On the fourth tchakatchak they started kicking up, their heads switched into a synchronised funky chicken and the cheesiness of it all at once became utterly unbearable.

Elisabeth started smiling a huge embarrassed smile, which had nothing to do with the fact that Will's fingers had just then woven themselves between hers – that somehow felt perfectly natural.

No, she was cringing at the cheesiness of the white-boy-proto-R'n'B booming from the stage. Oh, and the sight of a couple of hundred ungainly middle-aged men trying to boogey in their suits wasn't helping either.

Oh dear, giggles - not the done thing at all. By now the sound levels left room only for non-verbal communication and it was clear looking at her, that although Elisabeth was finally having fun, it wasn't the sort of fun that Rheinland expected to see in the front rows at forty grand a head. Thankfully TSF were far too absorbed in trying to impersonate the Jackson Four to pay attention to their audience and as for Will, he too looked amused, though whether by the band or by her reaction to it she could not tell. He took a finger off the rim of his glass and raised it to his lips. When this failed to do anything but exacerbate Elisabeth's hilarity he changed his hand hold, put his drink down, took a step back and a quarter turn, and with a nod of encouragement he sent her into a twirl.

Having splashed what was left of her cranberry and soda onto the floor Elisabeth clung on to his hand and bowed to put the empty glass down. She let the years of practice take over: you don't spend three years studying with le tout Paris without picking up a few essential life skills along the way.

Soon she found that focusing on her steps rather than on TSF did the trick. Will wasn't a spectacular dance partner, by any means. He belonged to that school of men who only dance with their eyes and their arms but he knew the basic moves and executed them willingly enough. Which was about as much of a claim to dancing as Elisabeth could lay for herself. Besides, unlike with most of her dance partners back in Paris, Will's height left her enough clearance to twirl without having to stoop, and she had sufficient experience of the alternative to be grateful.

She was now enjoying herself in a more acceptable way. The giggling subsided, and she concentrated on following him whenever he tried something she couldn't remember. More than once she bumped into people and turned to apologise, happily oblivious to Will's gaze following her with equal measures of concentration, pride and joy.

In this pleasant fashion they enjoyed a couple more bouncy numbers, before the shortest member of The Soul Factory positioned himself centre stage and solemnly announced a cover of Robbie Williams's "Angel". How apt, given the whole idea was to one-up his Deutsche show. Will and Elisabeth silently agreed that this wasn't the occasion for cheek to cheek slow dancing, as a few more bona fide couples had started doing. Instead Will let go of her left hand so they could turn and attend to TSF's over-harmonised, over-vibratoed a capella rendition. To Elisabeth's intense relief this turned out to be the last number of the first set. The lights went on and they started to look around them.

' 'you having a good time?'

'I am!' she smiled. 'I'm having a great time. I had no idea you danced. I didn't think British guys did.'

'I don't.'

'Well, I don't really either but you know what I mean: there's fun in trying, isn't there?'

'There definitely is, yes. With you.'

She raised a hand to her mouth again:

'I'm really sorry about the giggles by the way,' she said, took a deep breath and got a precarious hold over the returning hilarity. 'I'm sorry. Quants, can't take us anywhere, can you?'

'No, believe me it's great to see you happy.'

'I'm really sorry about that. Oh dear, we might just have to have some more terrible dancing if they carry on like that in the second half.'

'I'm game.'

'Oh good.'

'More drinks?'

'Can you face this crowd?'

'For the sake of your cranberry juice? Definitely,' he said, and grabbed a hold of her hand again. This time they made it about three yards in the direction of the bar before being stopped:

'Vill, I catch you at lazd! Hove are you?'

'Fine, fine!' he said, firming his hold on her hand. Elisabeth looked away to contain a fresh fit of the giggles. This evening kept baffling her expectations, in many good ways but, in this case, in some majorly bad ones too. This time the guy was about her height, early forties, with short mousy blonde hair and the most enormous, the most spectacular pouty lips. He reminded her, in an unpleasant way, of a skinny younger Toad, only crossed with a goldfish and with the added attraction of a comedy German accent.

'Hafing a kood time, I zee!' the man continued in a high pitched voice and with a proprietorial air which, combined with his accent, made her guess he must be a Rheinland man.

'Thanks, absolutely!' Will concurred with a polite nod.

'Kood!' he slapped Will on the back, then turned to Elisabeth with a jovial smile. She took on as demure an air as she could muster in the circumstances.

'Szo von't you introduze me to ze lucky lady?'

Will winced and gave her hand another squeeze before replying.

'Elisabeth, this is Jens Langewand.'

Jens Langewand? Not Jens GroβenLippen? No no, wait: Jens VonEffingGoldfish, surely?

'Jens is Head of Sales at Rheinland,' Will explained, which hit Elisabeth like a bucketful of ice-water, instantly neutralising her penchant for cross-linguistic schoolgirl puns. This was Jens of "Neil, give me Jens's direct line, I'll take this in 3.11." fame. This was the man for whose sake they were here.

Will seemed to realise this just as she did and let go of her hand. Though she hadn't thought it possible she found she begun to dislike Jens Langewand even more.

'Jens, this is Elisabeth Bennet, she joined us from research last summer to run tradePad.'

'I zee! And are you enjoying it on ze dezk?' he asked her, 'Are zese kuyz behafing zemzelves for you, ha ha?'

'Yes, and no… I mean I do, but they certainly don't,' she said, stifling a sigh.

'Zo you must vörk vor zis chappie, Paul Dellanoo?' Jens carried on, unfazed as he simultaneously demoted her and butchered Paul's surname.

'Paul De-la-no-é,' she corrected him. 'He works for me, yes.'

OK, how much more of a hole could Jens dig for himself? Oh but wait: he could!

'I ssee. He's a kood guy, pbut isn't he a pbit…'

'French!' Will cut in. 'I know – taking over the place, aren't they? Look, Jens, it's great to catch up with you. I'm sorry but we really need to get Elisabeth here a drink. Please excuse us. Call me on Monday, great do!'

Jens nodded, and with that the Rheinland ban was officially over. Elisabeth wondered fleetingly whether the man's obnoxiousness might have been deliberate, a ploy to hasten the negotiations. Will nodded back at Jens and then he pulled her away again, taking off in the direction they'd just come from. At first she didn't question it, only too glad to feel his hand around hers again, and to put any distance between herself and Jens. Will was probably just trying to circumvent the crowd instead of cutting through it and if this reduced the risk of bumping into further patronising gits then she was with him all the way.

But when they cleared the crowd on the other side of the room he made a bee line for the stairs, climbed them two at a time while still dragging her along, and with his free hand started rifling his pockets before slamming his plastic token onto the cloakroom's countertop.

'What the…?'

'114, please,' he said, and threw a couple of coins into the tips bowl with such rage, they clinked as they rolled around for a while before settling down.

'Will, what are you doing? I thought we were getting a drink?'

Instead of answering he carried on death-staring the coat lady while squeezing the blood out of Elisabeth's fingers. Her garrotted fingertips started throbbing while with his free hand he flicked his remaining change in his trouser pocket.

'Will, are you OK?'

This was not something she'd often had cause to worry about. You just didn't worry about Will, he was tautologically fine. He was the man who daily kept his cool while handling Toads, Pigs, German brokers and half-French quants. He had form in pissing off and/or spooking half-French quants too, of course, but even when he did there was always a sense that he was in control, doing what he meant to be doing.

Not so now: while she continued to hope that some sense might eventually emerge out of Will's strange behaviour Elisabeth begun to suspect that the man now crushing her hand might not bear much relation to the one she thought she knew.

'Get your coat,' he said in a tone she was all too familiar with, yet none too keen on.

'I don't want to leave,' she said, and just about managed to pull her hand free.

'Too bad, our work here is done.'

Since she wasn't complying fast enough he grabbed both their things off the counter, tucked them under one arm, seized her hand again with no further attempt at delicacy, and yanked her still bare shouldered out and into the cold.

'Will, do you mind?'

She shook herself free again, freezing.

'There,' he said chucking her coat at her. She struggled with it until she realised the pashmina was what was blocking her sleeve, and this little comedy turn appeared to loosen Will up a fraction.

'Do we have to leave? I know it's cringey but I didn't want to. Plus don't we have to stay and network and stuff?' she said in a more conciliatory tone as she pulled her coat collar up around her scarf.

'Sorry.'

'There's another whole set to come. I fully agree it's faintly embarrassing, but you said you were game.'

'I'm not anymore.'

'You're not?'

'Changed my mind.'

'I see. Why?'

'Why?'

'Yes, why? It's a legitimate question.'

'Is it?'

'Yes!' she said, stamping her foot with exasperation. He shrugged and looked down. 'Why do we have to go, Will? You're not feeling unwell or anything?'

'No.'

He looked at her, smiled again, and then shook his head:

'No I'm not unwell, not at all.'

'Oh good,' she said, relieved. 'What's wrong then?'

Once again his smile vanished, and once again her mind boggled.

'You want to know what's wrong?'

'Yes!' she cried. By now she was not so much baffled by their sudden exit, as by this new frequency of Will's mood swings – most stock prices didn't tick up and down this fast.

'Yes – please,' she said more patiently, for it did pain her to see him like this.

'Elisabeth,'

He stopped again. He looked, and sounded, exasperated, the way he did when he was really pissed off with IT, say. She wasn't scared of him when he was really pissed off with IT, and she wasn't really scared of him when he was pissed off with her either. But she'd never had no idea why Will might be pissed off so bad, and if not downright scary that felt at the very least a bit worrying. It felt wrong, painfully so, and she would have done almost anything to make it stop not for her own sake, she realised, but actually for his.

'What is it, Will?'

She saw him take a deep breath and cross his arms, and braced herself for the worst as he locked her in his patented death-stare. She thought she'd done her best out there, what with Jane's dress and the heels and everything. She'd thought she'd pulled it off too, but maybe in hindsight she hadn't at all. Maybe it was the giggles – not the done thing, it's true, not at all, oh blooming quants, you really can't take them anywhere…

'Look, Elisabeth, it's hard enough trying to flirt with you at the best of times but with these guys,' Will said, uncrossing his arms to point an accusatory thumb at the club's door behind him 'with these guys it's just beyond me, sorry.'

Whilst Elisabeth stopped breathing her eyes followed his hand, and saw that he was unwittingly pointing at a 20 stone bouncer a few yards behind them, who shot them a threatening look. So she pulled Will's forearm back down and stared wide-eyed and dizzy-headed at the point where the lapels of his coat met.

'I see,' she nodded, looking down in a daze, and felt his hand reach for hers.

'Do you?'

'I…' she mumbled as their fingers found each other.

'Oh, fuck it!' he said, dropping her hand again.

She looked up and attempted to ask "What?", only no sound came out, because his mouth was already on hers.