Happy Friday everyone

This one straddles from where we left off, to mid-way through the off-site. Hope you enjoy it.

If you do, remember A Bee in her Bonnet is there for you until your next instalment. A few more readers last week and some lovely reviews - thank you very very much.

Happy reading and all the best

Mel

Will made sure not to answer his friend's question, because if he knew one thing by the time they reached Dean's door, it was that his next move with Elisabeth was not going to involve anyone else but himself. Dean may, in hindsight, have outdone himself as a wingman tonight, but from here on this was on Will, and Will alone.

Half an hour ago he had felt exhausted but now, there was too much to reconsider, to reinterpret - possibly even to plan. So instead of walking straight to his own flat a couple of streets down, Will paced the river front from Butler's Wharf to China Wharf and back again, impervious to the same cold wind which, not five minutes ago, had frozen him to his core.

Material new information had reached him tonight. The kind of information which, were it to concern a listed company, would probably warrant a temporary market suspension while everyone wrapped their heads around it: Elisabeth Bennet might well fancy him. Not nearly as much as he fancied her, clearly, but he could work on that. Hell, he looked forward to working on it. To taking his tie off on purpose, to standing closer to her and to watching her freeze and tuck her hair back. This was going to be good, really good.

The only problem was, that this was not something he could experiment with in front of an audience, else Elisabeth would have every right to be mortified. Realistically she'd probably be mortified anyway but, if she did fancy him, even a little bit, it was worth a try.

Shame Will usually had only about five minutes in the mornings one on one with her and the coffees. If he got in early and she did too, but no one else did. Which in fairness was most mornings but still, that wasn't very long, and hardly the time and place to take one's tie off.

Although: one might of course neglect to put one's tie straight back on after a run, then only remember to do so a little later. Yes, that could work.

Still, as Will calculated while turning back East in front of Tower Bridge again, there were only six more morning coffees between now and that VP off-site next weekend, so not a lot of time to dial up the come-hither, as Dean put it. The off-site itself could be fertile ground for experimentation, but its timing was rubbish.

Too much too soon: Elisabeth was starting to get over herself, which was great, and to look beyond Tom, which was even better. She was possibly, if only occasionally, even starting to gaze in the general direction of his own neck, which was simply incredible. But left to his own devices Will would have given himself considerably longer than a week to move things along.

Besides, in the cold sober light of her Reuters screen, by tomorrow morning Elisabeth might just plain hate him again.

Will was now about five minutes' walk from his door again, and suddenly clean out of ideas but more exhausted than he'd felt in his life. Which didn't matter, because until he actually saw Elisabeth in the flesh again, there was literally no point thinking about any of this for a second longer. Much like trading, dialling the come-hither hardly lent itself to remote working. Just in case, though, he left his sister a voicemail asking whether he could drive over to hers at the weekend, then went home and collapsed face down onto his bed.

x

He slept like the dead at first, woke up at four to take his suit off, couldn't get back to sleep, nonetheless woke up an hour and a half later to Elisabeth shouting a very loud but equally imaginary yes, put his running things on, came back an hour later, showered then tried to time his walk back across the Thames early enough to maximise time with her over coffee, but not so early that hers would be cold by the time she arrived.

Unless of course she decided to miss the open and incur the round-of-coffees-for-the-whole-desk penalty. That would suck, but if she was half as tired as he felt right now, then he could hardly blame her.

As it was - and kudos to her yet again - she'd got in before him:

'Oh,' he said, clocking a latte between his keyboard and mouse.

Because he was really smooth like that. And supposedly on a charm offensive too. Dean would be so proud.

Yet another reason to keep Dean well out of this.

'I already had mine, sorry,' she said, looking up at him almost… timidly? Whatever it was, this look sure was cute. Cute enough put a smile on his own tired, confused-as-hell face:

'That's quite alright,' he said in the end, 'And thank you. Could you use another one yet?'

'To be completely honest, I was kind of hoping we'd double up,' she said, smiling as she held her hand out.

Will had never thought about it until now, but she never usually did that either. Normally, she just waited for him to pop her coffee onto her desk.

So…this was nice.

Alright, so playing nice was clearly another thing she beat him at, hands down. That was one game he really didn't mind losing though. Not if it meant she carried on… shit, wait, was he smiling like a moron again?

'Good job we didn't meet by the lifts, or I'd be wearing half of this by now,' he said, putting his coffee down and grabbing the one she'd so kindly bought him instead.

'Full disclosure, I think I might be wearing a little bit of it already,' she replied, pointing somewhere down her trouser leg under the desk. Will made himself keep his eyes on her hands for a bit when they re-emerged, before he trusted himself to look at her face again:

'Well thanks very much, Elisabeth. I could definitely use the extra caffeine too.'

'You're welcome. And if we're lucky and one of the guys sleeps in we might even get a third dose, right?'

Will nodded:

'That'd work for me. But maybe from here on you let me carry on with the coffee runs?'

'That doesn't seem fair, Will. We should at least be taking turns.'

'Life's not fair.'

She frowned and shook her head.

'Plus,' he said, 'Bear in mind Neil's not officially a VP yet.'

'True.'

'Tell you what though: you can get me a coffee again the day you make MD.'

'Oh, so you mean never?' she laughed.

'I certainly hope not.'

He realised, too late, that she could have taken it either way, but he'd definitely meant "not never".

He certainly did hope she made MD, and soon, because the company handbook was pretty clear: you weren't supposed to sleep with people whose invoices you signed off, and fair enough. Not that he was anywhere near dating her let alone sleeping with her but the point was, before go live she'd definitely have taken his words the wrong way, whereas this morning she shrugged and she said:

'OK, deal. Not your best trade this quarter, Will, but I'll make sure Raj never finds out.'

'Thank you kindly.'

She smiled and raised her cup to him before drinking, then turned back to her work.

OK, well, that went better than expected.

One coffee down, five to go.

x

Will heard the piano stop, then the door-chain clink, then before he knew it Georgie was wrapped around his neck and panting like a puppy:

'Will, there you are, finally, I'm starved!'

Nice to be wanted, even if only by your little sister, and even if only for your pancakes.

'I swear it's a good job you're here,' she said, letting go to see him in, 'Poor old Franz Liszt was getting a sad old butchering just now.'

'Sounded OK to me.'

'It was dreadful. I was dreadful. I need carbs.'

'It's great to see you in a good mood,' he said, taking his coat off, 'Almost like you're starting to forget to think about Sara.'

'I am, I'm getting better: I only forgot to forget her twice yesterday. How about you and your quant?'

'Oh I'm definitely getting worse,' he said then, thinking of yesterday's double coffees, yet again - he'd been thinking about those a lot: 'Or better… anyway that's kind of why I'm here.'

'No Sir, I think you'll find you're here to make me pancakes. How come Dean didn't tag along by the way?'

'Because I don't want Dean's input. Actually I kind of don't want yours either, if that's OK, but I do need a favour.'

'What a coincidence: I need pancakes. Kitchen's this way.'

Will set to work. That is, he started melting butter and breaking eggs, but he also said:

'I was wondering whether you'd mind swapping cars with me for a bit. I'd need to use your Golf next weekend, if you don't mind using my Jag instead.'

'Mind using your Jag?'

Will shrugged.

'Besides,' Georgie said, 'technically we're 50/50 on the old nanny's old Golf. But anyway, never mind that: did I just hear you say you'd let me drive your Jag?'

'Sure, of course,' Will heard himself say. Hey, it was only a car. It was almost three years old, and Georgie would be careful this time. Hopefully.

'Wow, how desperate are you?'

'No comment.'

'Hmmm…' Georgie said. She was supposed to be making coffee, but the kettle clicked behind her and she ignored it completely and crossed her arms, much as her brother was wont to while thinking away.

'So why do you need the Golf?'

'No,' Will said, grabbing the milk from her fridge.

'What?'

'Not telling you.'

'OK,' Georgie said, still not getting on with the coffee, 'So it's definitely about your quant.'

'I will neither confirm nor deny.'

'I'll take that as a yes.'

'Suit yourself. Where do you keep the baking powder again?'

She pulled it out of a drawer for him:

'Haven't you got some kind of work thingy next weekend? Wait, that's right: isn't Dean coming to my Wigmore concert instead?'

'Yes. No. I don't care. I'm making pancakes and borrowing your car. I don't need your input into anything else, if that's OK. But tell me about the Wigmore, is that when your Franz Liszt is due?'

'Oh don't your Franz Liszt Wigmore me, Mister. Are you… are you planning on driving your quant home after your thingy?'

'You'd better switch the kettle back on if we're ever going to have coffee, don't you think?'

'No, Will. What I think is: Blimey, she won't know what hit her!'

'No comment. Can I have the car?'

'Why the Golf though? Yours is kind of the ultimate babe magnet, Will. You do know that, right?'

'Then go and pull yourself a nice babe, Georgie, be my guest.'

'Why, thank you, I might,' Georgie said.

Not that Elisabeth did not qualify as "babe" material, mind. Only that was never the greatest of her attractions.

'Great. Now this is almost ready, but I'm not frying until you give me some coffee. Please?'

'Huh,' Georgie said again, pulled the frying pan out of a drawer under the oven, slammed it in front of him and said to the extractor fan:

'So, hang on: your plan is you're going to drive the Golf to that thingy, ask to drive her back, somehow she's not going to tell you to go jump off a tall cliff. And then, what, you're going to snog her before she gets back out of the car?'

This was precisely why he did not want to discuss it. Spoken out loud it was mad.

'Ballsy but… OK', Georgie said, 'Poor thing definitely won't know what's hit her. Why in the Golf though? Has she got some kind of reverse snobbism about sports cars?'

'She gets car-sick.'

But come to think of it, Elisabeth might well also suffer from some kind of reverse snobbism about sports cars. Or rather, she might suffer from an entirely understandable snobbism about sports car drivers overcompensating for their lack of PhD, musical talent, or fluency in modern languages…

Up to this point, Will realised, he'd always thought that it was those people with a reverse snobbism about sports cars who were overcompensating - for a lack of sports cars, obviously. But as of right now he realised he'd ceased to give a flying proverbial about sports cars. Georgie could drive the Jag into the nearest lamppost for all he cared, provided Elisabeth had a comfortable ride home, with him. Instinct told him that she'd be happier in the old Golf than in his Jag, because as a child Georgie never used to get car-sick in the Golf, the way she used to in their Mum's MG.

Also, this was why he didn't want to talk about any of this with Georgie or anyone in the first place: Will didn't need reminding how far-fetched it was.

Too much, too soon.

Georgie had it all wrong anyway: this wasn't "the plan", it wasn't any kind of plan. All it was, was a collection of those small steps within his own control, which might in the very best of best-case scenarios open up options to take further small steps in the future. He didn't need reminding that the odds were against him, what he needed was:

'OK, the Golf: can I drive it home today then please? I don't think I'll get a chance to pick it up during the week.'

'Hmmm.'

'What?'

'Fry on, here's your coffee.'

'Thanks.'

'Have you thought any more about our cat?'

'What? No, what cat?'

'The cat we were going to get together, so you can look after her when I'm away.'

'Oh she's a lady cat now? Does she have a name?'

'Clara. After Clara Schumann... what do you think?'

'I think I never agreed to any of this.'

'I think you need a favour.'

'Only a very small one. And I think I've been making you pancakes.'

'And I think I've been making you coffee.'

The irony was, that if Georgie had plonked for trading instead of the piano she'd have been so much better at it than he was, by now she'd be owning all the Jags she ever cared for anyway.

'I prefer my coffee unconditional,' Will said with an umpteenth fond, but irrelevant, thought for Elisabeth's liquid peace offering.

'I prefer my pancakes unconditional too. So you can have the Golf as long as you like, provided we can get a cat and call her Clara.'

'Can't anyone else look after Clara?'

'Can't you go and buy yourself another old Golf? Or twenty, for that matter...'

'I'd feel better in our old one.'

'And I'd feel better knowing it's you looking after Clara.'

'Right.'

'Right.'

'Deal?'

Will's sigh coincided with the first splodge of batter hitting hot oil:

'Deal.'

x

Neil took it into his oversized head to run into work twice that week, and got in early so that Will only caught three more morning coffees one on one with Elisabeth before the VP offsite. They managed not to fight during any of them though, and then he drove up, and she took the train, and then there was a very dull dinner on Friday night after which, rumour had it, Elisabeth went swimming and then straight to bed.

Those numpties in Talent management had crafted Saturday's sessions with uncharacteristic attention to detail, and by the look of it purely to keep him away from her at all times. Seriously: plug wiring in marigolds? What the hell did they put in their morning lattes?

And could he have some too - please?

After what felt like the longest dullest dinner of his life, by Saturday evening Will had still not caught a single minute with Elisabeth, which was a sorry waste of such a great old country house. A country house not unlike that Granny Darcy's father had gambled away, come to think of it.

Anyway all this faff, and a blooming cat into the bargain too, and Will had got precisely nowhere, when he finally spotted Elisabeth at the other end of the bar lounge. He strode over before he lost her again:

'Elisabeth, here you are. You didn't go swimming again, did you?'

'I might have been swimming, yes, but come on, have you seen the pool here?' she said, perhaps a tad defensively.

And fair enough: his relief at having found her had probably come across all cold and mean and arrogant again.

'No, I haven't because, Elisabeth, you'll never get on if you don't spend a bit of time getting to know your peers,' he said, which didn't exactly qualify as "dialling up the come hither", but also sounded a lot more normal than "it's been one day and two excruciatingly long evenings and I've been missing you terribly".

For once Elisabeth didn't sweat the small stuff, and sounded more amused than annoyed by him when she said:

'Oh, Will please, give me a break: you're beginning to sound like Jane.'

'Who's Jane again?'

'My sister-in-law.'

'Your sister-in-law?'

OK. Right. He sounded like Jane. Her sister-in-law. How to steer this away from sisters in law, and dial up that famed come hither instead?

'Aha, seriously, you two can be such squares.'

Wait a sec: Jane, sister-in-law, so presumably the wife of some brother of hers, so…

'Hang on, you're not married, so she'd be a Jane Bennet, right?' he checked, and Elisabeth nodded uneasily, so…

'Perhaps she'd even be a Jane Bennet-Bingley if, say, she worked in Product Development?'

Elisabeth looked away as she gave another uneasy nod, which somehow made the penny drop the whole way down: Jane Bingley? The one with all the kids, currently on sick leave, pregnant then shafted, over MD promotions? That was Elisabeth's brother's wife? From what Will had seen of her, the woman was certainly uber-competent enough to be related. But also:

'Shit, I'm sorry. So this is who you go and see Thursdays, right?'

Elisabeth nodded, but was looking increasingly mortified.

Why? Oh….

'And that's also what you got all upset about, of course. At the Christmas party, were they talking about the MD promotions?'

Horrible though it must be for her to be reminded of that evening, Elisabeth could have no idea how much of a relief it was for him. To understand, finally. Well of course Elisabeth wasn't mad, so there msut have been a reason for her to get mad. And for once the reason was nothing to do with him! Will tried his hardest not to look as happy as he felt about that.

'They were, yes. Toad and her own effing boss. How he didn't get sacked...'

'Hey, one out of two ain't bad, Elisabeth, you guys did good.'

'I still don't know what you're talking about.'

'Yeah right,' he said, then carefully removed the smile from his face before carrying on: 'Look, I know it happens all over the place and it sucks, but Jane'll be a shoo-in next year. She's great and you're right, she is a fantastic corporate square: everyone likes her.'

'Of course, yes, next year...' Elisabeth said with a sad, forced little smile.

Thankfully, Will thought he might have just the thing:

'This will help though, right?' he said, trying not to look overly triumphant as he produced the cigar he'd snaffled for her after dinner. He probably failed but never mind: this cigar was only one small step, but Will had high hopes of what it could do for him.

If anything Elisabeth exceeded them all, exclaiming as she reached for it:

'Thanks so much, Will, you're a star!'

His heart skipped a few beats and he felt her smile spread onto his own face, until he remembered to put his trading game back on, keep the cigar out of her reach, and get on with some hard bartering. He had a deal to strike here, but before he did he couldn't help check:

'Really now? Can I have that in writing?'

Elisabeth stopped and looked down, the way she looked at her code when she was hunting down some elusive bug. Watching that great big brain of hers trying to work out why he'd be hitting on her, Will couldn't help break into a smile again. And then a bigger one when she squared herself off, crossed her arms, and said in a much too delightful impression of himself:

'Yes, yes you can, Will, absolutely. You can have it all in writing. Just as soon as we're live with tradePad for Baluchistan's derivative market.'

Now it was his turn to stop, and to wonder why she'd be playing along. With him. Once again he had to remind himself to put his poker face back on. This was supposed to be a negotiation, but he couldn't remember trading ever getting this much fun:

'I see,' he said, and watched her eyes follow the course of his cigar-bearing hand down towards her.

'OK, be a good sport now. Hand it over, it's of no use to you,' she said, trying to sound cool and confident, but looking heart-wrenchingly cute instead. Not smiling was becoming awfully hard, but Will had a job to do.

'Pretty please?' she changed tacks, and started grinning and fluttering her eyelids.

'Is this how we got our tradePad servers?' Will asked, giving up on the whole pretending not to smile thing, and edging the cigar closer to her again.

'Pretty much!' she shrugged, making a snatch for it.

Now.

'Can I drive you home tomorrow?' he asked, not letting go.

'Sure,'

He let her have it.

The cigar, that is. Then they looked away from each other and said nothing for a bit, probably equally stunned by what had just passed. Had she really just said yes? Did she like cigars that much? Or might she be beginning to like him a little too? That really did seem too good to be true.

'Happy?' he checked.

'Much happier yes, thanks.'

And she did look it too.

Incredible.

As for him, happy didn't begin to describe it, because he was both way beyond happy, and in a state of disbelief so profound, it felt as if this must be happening to somebody else.

'You're very welcome,' he was saying, when Neil found them and killed the moment.

So Will stood back and watched Elisabeth smoke, and tried to think rationally what his next steps might be.

He failed. Abysmally, but far from miserably.

On the Market is Copyright Mel Liffragh 2021, all rights reserved.