Last but one chapter - can you believe it? I'm not sure I can. After this I think I want to have yet another hack at the opening chapters, though I'm also thinking about doing something with Persuasion. I'm not sure how many would read it, given the dismal stats on A Bee in her Bonnet (which is still a cracking read by the way) but I've been thinking something in two voices, from both Wentworth and Anne's perspective simultaneously, MAU obviously. I've had so much fun doing Darcy I'm thinking doing both perspectives throughout could be fun. Early days yet, but if I don't post anything for a while that's probably what I'm doing.
Or perhaps an HEA for these two if I can think of one... Anyway, do enjoy this nice long chapter – even though you already know how it ends.
The least Will could do was to make sure he didn't keep Elisabeth waiting. But given that quants like to show up early in order not to be late, that meant Will had to show up really stupidly early, then attempt to kill time by reviewing his position. He knew he'd been a right pain in her beautiful neck all week, smiling at her almost constantly, which was pushing her to the limits. By Thursday she was beginning to look physically exhausted, the irony being, that by that point Will wasn't even trying to flirt with her anymore. He was just that happy to think that she might care.
And now, to top her wonderful week, Will was about to put her through what she'd described back in 3.11 as her idea of hell. He too would much rather have gone to one of Georgie's gigs than to TSF's, but as dB had pointed out the very awfulness of such corporate dos was also an opportunity for him to rise above. To show Elisabeth he could be good to be with. Hell, if he could show her any kind of fun in there tonight then dB was right: perhaps they really were meant for each other.
Best foot forward then: cigar at the ready in his breast pocket, introduce her to people, as per dB's instructions, try not to stare unless she stared at him first, try to make her feel as comfortable as she'd ever get in dress shoes, dance if absolutely necessary, find Jens, say hi and thanks and bye, and then…
Then he still wasn't clear quite what he was supposed to do or not to do, because so much depended on where Elisabeth would be at. Whether she'd have bitten his head off already or just be getting ready to, or whether she'd have died from the sheer exhaustion of so much socialising on one night, or else through some freak accident brought on by her legendary hand-eye coordination.
But if she was still alive, and if he managed to get her to agree to come out for dinner with him, then according to Harden's the best French place around here was down the road, right, second left and first right. Will then rehearsed the route to the best reviewed local Japanese and Thai restaurants, and was working his mental way to an Indian when he recognised her coat in the distance. The rest of her he didn't recognise, because he suddenly lost the ability to think, move or indeed speak until she finished walking over and they kissed on both cheeks. Her move or his, he had no idea but probably hers, because she didn't look like she wanted to chew his head off afterwards, which was an amazing start.
'Come on, then,' he said, nodding at the door, and she nodded back and followed.
She looked a little stiff, and taller than usual too, but not angry yet, even though Will was pretty sure he must be staring. But he did try to stare primarily at the little sparkly slides she'd stuck in her hair, and wondered whether that meant she'd not be tucking it back tonight.
Shame.
He also wondered how long he could keep not staring at her legs in those new heels, but he did his best not to, and it helped greatly that she still wasn't getting mad at him. If anything, she looked as focused as he'd ever seen her. Clearly she was approaching this evening as some sort of acoustico-socio-emotional obstacle course, and had therefore implemented all the risk mitigation quants are famed for, down to those little sparkly slides, and her must-do, not-here-for-my-own-amusement attitude.
Oh well.
But hey, OK, they might not have uttered over three words each yet, but at least they weren't fighting, right? This was good.
A solid start.
He must have stuck a hand out for her when he saw the stairs down, because next thing he knew she was using it to help negotiate the first step, from the added height of those dangerous new heels of hers. Dangerous to his sanity, that is. She'd had no problem negotiating the pavement's cracks in them.
And still she wasn't angry, or sad, or mad at him. She just seemed focused on keeping upright, which became easier once she'd finished turning through the doorway whilst simultaneously stepping down. Then she pulled herself up and possibly blushed a little, but she didn't huff or grumble when he placed her hand under his on his elbow. Will, in return, was very good. He didn't stare, but looked straight ahead of him, and enjoyed the feeling of her hand resting peaceably under his as they walked down. Perhaps he even allowed himself a brief flight of fancy, a short evening-dream, of a future when they might do this again: of her own initiative, and in her own free time...
Yeah right: meanwhile in the here and now, they came to a stop and the moment they did, and started queuing for the coat-check, Elisabeth pulled her hand away. In fact she shrank back from him as far as the narrow staircase would allow. She still didn't get mad at him though. If anything, she looked pretty chuffed with herself. Not hell yes, I got you finally you stupid bug happy, but quietly and very prettily so. Perhaps, he hoped, perhaps she was chuffed with herself for managing not to get angry. He certainly was beginning to feel increasingly chuffed about that himself.
It was all going quite well, all things considered, until she decided that it was time to take her coat off and Will had to start doing the same, and sharpish, because,
Jesus.
Nope, never mind. No way he could help staring now. She sure had been cute in that thing at the Christmas party, but this? What was she trying to do to him?
No no, she was trying this time. The hangers thing at reception had just been an accidental meeting of her butter fingers and his dirty mind, he realised that now, but this? Something about the way she held herself told him that she knew precisely what she was doing. She knew her boobs were slung just so into that halter neck. She knew that she had the best satin-sheathed rear for miles around. She knew her shoulders looked even prettier when she threw them back, and she definitely knew that the whole package was somehow even more breath-stopping for being raised that extra inch at the heel.
So yes, no point fighting it now: he was staring, good and proper. Still just about managing not to drool, tongue-out, like some cartoon dog, but he was definitely staring and you know what?
She was staring too.
Only she soon realised she was and, unlike him, managed to stop. Instead she started faffing with her hair, and with that big stupid shawl that was keeping him from staring at her back properly. Plus, in his humble experience there was no way Elisabeth was going to last a whole evening managing this amount of redundant fabric while shaking hands with people, and not spill her drink all over the place. No way. Better lose the shawl thingy, for her own sake, before she tripped over it and fell.
'You keeping this?' he asked with his best show of indifference towards the damn thing.
'I don't know,' she said, then, after all the consideration a quant will expand on such temperature-optimising devices: 'I think I'll keep it.'
'Nah, don't,' he said, picked it off her shoulders, and then made sure to look at the coat check lady rather than at Elisabeth, hopefully for long enough so the latter would get over herself and not bite his head off.
It worked, just about, and Will heaved a sigh of relief when he turned back to see Elisabeth rubbing goose-bumps off her long, bare, gorgeous arms. But still not angry with him.
Phew.
Good.
Actually no, this was much better than good already but OK, quit staring.
At least try.
They came to the bottom of the next flight of stairs and were asked to choose from bucks fizz and champagne, because clearly Rheinland didn't have any quants on the events team, else they would have known to include alcohol-free, low-sugar alternatives. Elisabeth was understandably baffled by such poor planning, yet she was also structurally unable to stop apologising to the indifferent waiter over her inability to accept either of his kind offers. Meanwhile Will himself was structurally unable to stop smiling, though the people behind them were starting to grow impatient for their own free drinks:
'Come on then,' he said again, and started cutting them a way to the bar. A few steps on he felt her thumb rub the back of his, and realised he must have grabbed her hand, and that she must have let him. Dean would not have approved, he thought, but then Dean could have no idea how marvellous this felt and besides, Elisabeth didn't seem to mind.
Or at least her thumb didn't seem to mind but Dean, of course, would have argued that though this was all fine and dandy for now, by Monday morning Elisabeth might very well hate herself over it, and by extension Will himself.
That thought was not only highly unpleasant, it also distracted Will just when he should have been paying sufficient attention to swerve and avoid bumping into:
Nigel.
Nigel effing Hawthorne.
Will reluctantly let go of Elisabeth's hand and proceeded with the introductions, making sure to include Elisabeth's full job description so Nigel wouldn't assume she was just random arm candy. Which – awkward gulp from Will's throat as he drank her with his eyes - she very easily could have been tonight.
Conversely Will made sure to mention Nigel's stint at Peel Hunt to Elisabeth so she'd know that he was indeed a complete Cockney Rhyming. She got the hint and Nigel didn't disappoint, name checking the Toad whenever he wasn't voicing his paleontological dismay at the notion real-time electronic trading. It might almost have been amusing, had Nigel not stood, quite literally, between Will's hand and Elisabeth's.
'It's really nice to see you again, Nigel,' Will lied, '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 to each other, and Will felt a fresh flush of pride for Elisabeth, for managing to lie so well, and perhaps even for his sake. He took her hand again, and his heart skipped a few beats when he felt her thumb start to rub his skin again. He gave her fingers a small squeeze of thanks, and contemplated taking several rounds of the room rather than make straight for the bar, but she'd definitely have noticed. In fact when they did get to the bar she looked a little awkward and she took her hand away from him and said:
'Don't ever call me "young lady" to my face again.'
She didn't look mad, but she clearly wasn't at ease either so he tried not to frown at her. Still, he rather feared the look he gave her might not have been an altogether easy one. But if Dean was right and holding her hand tonight was also too much too soon, then perhaps this wasn't a matter of timing at all. Perhaps it was just him. Perhaps he was too much for her, period.
What a great shame. Because though Elisabeth could be a little much at times for him too, somehow he also never could get enough of her.
'Sorry, you mean you don't like being patronised by old toffs?' he replied in the end, trying very hard not to look or sound as crestfallen as he felt, because it really was not her fault if she couldn't quite bring herself to like him with her head, as well as her thumb.
'I do that professionally, thank you very much, but this was supposed to be my day off.'
She smiled as she said it. Probably through the same sort of herculean effort that she was making with her heels and her dress tonight but hey, if the release of tradePad had taught Will one thing it was this: there ain't nothing like a quant on a mission.
Leastways there wasn't ever going to be anyone like this particular quant - not for him. Worse luck too:
'What are you having, now we're here?'
'Cranberry and soda? They should definitely have it.'
She was looking up at the bottle display behind the bar, her face pure childish awe. As indeed was his while he watched her:
'You look lovely,' he blurted out, because it was true. She did look gorgeous, but also lovely, and perhaps that was what had always made it so very hard to know what tone to strike with her.
'Good,' she said looking from the bottle display down to her new shoes and back up to him as if she couldn't quite believe her own legs either. 'Thanks, so do you.'
'I look lovely?'
She opened her delicious mouth but didn't say anything and then closed it again, and looked down. Add bashful to gorgeous and lovely, and Will felt himself gush with a mix of pride for her, hope for himself, and also fear bordering on panic.
'Don't be pedantic, you get my gist,' she said, bravely making herself look into his eyes. She could have no idea how hard it was to look back at her right now and not kiss her.
'Tchin tchin!' he said, clean out of witticisms, or indeed rational thoughts.
'Cheers!' she replied, in that French accent he now knew she only put on for people's amusement, but which had always made him go weak at the knees.
Will was wondering what to do with his eyes, hands, or indeed his mouth, when his nose jolted him back to the unpleasant reality of his wider surroundings. A vigorous clap on Will's back finished what the deathly waft of Bobby Petersen's halitotic breath had started: the moment was killed, stone cold dead, and presently Bob the Blob was enquiring about Will's new job.
'Good, yes,' Will said with an anxious look at Elisabeth. On the plus side she looked like she must be out of breath-range from Bob. But on the down side everything else about him was already winding her up a treat, and no wonder. So whereas throughout their acquaintance Will had always just switched off and waited for Bob to talk himself out, tonight for Elisabeth's sake he must at least try and cut him short.
But Bob the Blob wasn't making it easy:
'Christopher's gone though, isn't he?' he was saying, fishing for gossip while busy ignoring, two and a half feet away from him, the one person in this room best placed to fill him in on the juicy details.
All because she looked amazing in a skirt.
Will talked some indifferent nonsense at Bob while internally debating whether to err on the side of politeness and introduce Elisabeth, or whether it'd be quicker not to. For his own sake as much as hers he opted for the latter, and waited for a chance to conclude the proceedings while keeping an eye on Elisabeth. She seemed to be coping admiringly well, considering Bob was the second person to bring up her nemesis tonight. But when the Blob realised that he wouldn't get anything juicy on the Toad he went on about countless other idiots at other hedge funds and somehow got to:
'And how's Raj... Rajput? Rajminder? I could never remember his name. Bit of a serious kinda guy, hey?'
'Rajeev,' Elisabeth said, loud and clear.
And very clearly annoyed too, but who could blame her? Bob the Blob could: he now looked greatly shocked at her impudence. She stared on down at him, her eyes channelling a searing-cold anger Will was all too familiar with.
But Bobby huffed then ignored that, too, probably dismissing it as most unladylike of her. Had there ever been, Will wondered, any graceful or at least socially acceptable way for any woman to deal with the likes of Bobby? And sadly Bobby, though more physically unpleasant than most, was otherwise by no means exceptional, by City standards.
'Most remiss of me,' Will said with a firm voice, but with an apologetic look at Elisabeth too. Sadly she was far too busy cold-staring Bob to notice:
'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.'
They exchanged the briefest, most reluctant of handshakes. Lucky for Elisabeth, her arm appeared long enough to keep her face out of Bobby's breath range.
'Are you still with Goldman?' she asked, meaning: please piss off.
'No, I moved on two years after Will,' Bobby replied, meaning the same, and still refusing to look at her properly. And still rubbing his hands together like the miserable little creep he was. Will opened his mouth, ready to dismiss Bobby once and for all, but Elisabeth proved unequal to the wait and blurted another of her loud, over-exuberant lies:
'I'll go and powder my nose!'
'I'll be right here,' Will replied with a despondent look at the clock, then at her. She'd handed him her glass, so with any luck she would be back, some time...
But also, wait, was it him, or was she walking away extra slowly? And if so, was it because of her heels, or was she teasing him again, treating him to a better view of the back of her in that dress? Such a lovely thought helped him deal with being simultaneously bored and gassed to within an inch of his life, and eventually Elisabeth did come back. He watched her draw herself up a few paces away, then stare hard at Bobby, and this time it worked:
'Anyway, better go!' the Blob said as soon as she was back, 'Lovely to meet you, Elisabeth.'
'And you, Bob!' she lied, but with a steady voice, a straight face, and an even straighter spine, which together made Will gush with pride for her.
'What a wan...'
'Sorry,' he cut in before she went and made herself swear on Bobby's account. No one was ever less worthy of wasting her own, fragrant breath.
'You OK?'
'Sure!' she shrugged, and grabbed her glass back from him. She looked fine, more in control than she had all evening so far, but she still didn't look half as happy as he knew she could. So he tried hard to think what he could do about that, but this place was literally crawling with the Nigels and Bobbies of this world.
'You look great,' he blurted out in the end, because it was true.
'Thank you, you said.'
It was the kind of thing she would have spat back at him yesterday on the desk but tonight, here and dressed to the nines, Elisabeth Bennet said it instead with only a hint of a blush, which was all it took to send Will's pulse, and hopes, racing right away again:
'True,' he said, and looked down before he started grinning away at her.
'Is Bob a friend of yours then?'
What?
'No!'
'Oh good. How's Dean by the way?'
Dean?
'He's fine. He says hi.'
'That's nice of him. He's a nice guy.'
'Glad you think so,' Will said, but he did not want to think let alone talk about Dean tonight. Dean was a very nice guy indeed, who would never have embarrassed Elisabeth by grabbing her hand in public. Nor would Dean have dreamt of eating her face up on her doorstep, some rainy Sunday morning after the night before. Dean, in short, was a bit of a moron, who would have missed every chance of finding out how amazing it was to kiss Elisabeth or even merely hold her hand. So instead of discussing him or indeed Bobby, Will offered Elisabeth another drink, and then he took her hand again, and led her towards the stage.
'You nearly had my arm out,' she said when they got there.
It was true that Will had jolted them through many detours en route, thereby dodging a James, a Peter, two Andies and another Nigel. Well worth the occasional tug at her arm, in his opinion. That he'd enjoyed the squeeze of her hand every time the crowd threatened to split them had just been a bonus.
'Sorry. 'you OK?'
Well, yes, she must be fine, judging by the fact that her thumb was still busy rubbing the back of his. If only they could stand here without anyone else attempting to talk to him ever again, then Will felt he might die happy.
Perhaps even she might, too?
The lights went down and he edged a little closer to her but she didn't shy away or take her hand back. Then the music started, if you could call it that, and the curtain went up on four young hooded numpties doing high-knees.
Will, as per Georgie's advice, ignored them and looked down at his right hand. By some miracle it was still held inside Elisabeth's left. And vice versa. He watched his fingers stretch out, his palm twist against hers, then his fingers furl back in to find each of the spaces between hers. Now his fingertips could explore new skin on the back of her hand, and she could on the back of his, and amazingly she seemed completely OK with all of it. In fact she soon started clenching at his hand rather harder than he'd ever dared hope, and looking back at her face he realised that she was having a sudden and violent fit of the quants. The most delicious, giggly kind of quant attack, and Will could have stood and watched her bite back the laughter all night, only no stage performers however cheesy or overpaid deserved to witness this as well.
Well, trust dB to have planned against that too. Still holding onto Elisabeth's hand, Will bent to put his empty glass down. He then positioned himself in front of her with his back to the stage, and held her hand up at the ready. He couldn't have been more than a few inches away from her, closer than he'd ever come to her without actually kissing her, but she was still too busy laughing at whatever she could see of the stage over his shoulder, to remember to freak out.
Good.
A little too good, arguably. Awfully tempting to stop her laughing by shoving his mouth at hers, but Will just about managed to send her off into a twirl instead. She quite forgot to put her own drink down first, of course, which definitely splashed a few of the dinner jackets nearest to her, but who cared?
Certainly not Elisabeth Bennet. With unexpected agility she belatedly set her glass down before twirling back, and by the time she faced Will again, two exact beats later, her lips were still smiling but the rest of her face was dead serious. Focused as he'd only seen her focus on bug-hunting through reams of data before, and impeccably on time.
Will mentally thanked his granny Darcy, something he literally had never had cause to do in his life. He also sent mental thanks to dB of course, for suffering through all those awful dance lessons with him. How wasted those Saturday afternoons had felt, back when he could have been running after a rugby ball and she could have been cadging smokes, or sketching caricatures of her latest frenemy on their house dorm's noticeboard.
The irony was, as Will now discovered, that there was actually very little point, and certainly no fun, to be had in dancing well. This must have been where he and dB had gone wrong all those years: they'd tried to dance properly so their grannies would stop sending them to those goddamn lessons, whereas now he was only sending Elisabeth off with some very basic arm moves, leaving her to do all the footwork as usual, and quite often sending her off with hand signals she didn't know or recognise. But the point was that with a beat to work to Elisabeth had the most perfect sense of timing, and always came back to him just in time, which was all that ever mattered. Dancing barely competently was, as it turned out, far better fun than dancing well, provided you danced to the same rhythm.
Will felt prouder than he possibly ever had as he watched Elisabeth miss his first attempt at a hand-behind-the-back move, then shrug it off with a happy smile while she waited to grab his other hand again and have another go. Whatever happened later or by Monday morning, Will thought, right now the two of them were the best. The best at dancing badly together, anyway.
Not that they were even that bad at it by the end of the first number. Ever the quick study, Elisabeth had by then worked out most of his small repertory of moves, and the rest of the first set flew by, with him watching her watch his hands, and work out his cues and then throw herself into steps designed somewhere in Heaven, always to bring her back to him.
Sadly the last number was a slow a capella cover, and Will and Elisabeth knew better than to attempt slow dancing together. She let go of his hand but came to stand by his side, the top of her bare shoulder rubbing up and down his jacket sleeve as she caught her breath.
' 'you having a good time?' he asked before the sight of her chest heaving so close to his finished taking his own breath away.
'I am!' she said with a smile that could have lit the room back up, '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?'
Another classic quant understatement:
'There definitely is, yes. With you.'
He was about to take her hand again but she took it up to her mouth, together with his eyes:
'I'm really sorry about the giggles by the way,' she said as if she was about to have another fit. 'I'm sorry. Quants, can't take us anywhere, can you?'
Well yes, but:
'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,' he said, another classic understatement.
'Oh good,' she replied, still panting a little, and still smiling.
She'd done some amazingly competent dissembling tonight, what with Nigel and Bob, but Will didn't think she was dissembling now. She was happy. With him.
And she'd just asked him to dance.
'More drinks?'
'Can you face this crowd?'
'For the sake of your cranberry juice? Definitely.'
He grabbed her hand but, much like Orpheus leading his own beloved out of hell, Will couldn't help looking back at her, and revelling in her unabated smile as he cut them a way through the crowd. As with Orpheus, the Gods soon found a way to punish him, and with his head turned back he literally smacked right into the side of Jens Langewand:
'Vill, I catch you at lazd! Hove are you?'
'Fine, fine,' he said, trying to warn Elisabeth by squeezing her hand. But this was another dance move they hadn't practiced yet, and which she laughed away with delightful abandon. In fact she looked awfully close to a fresh and particularly ill-timed fit of the quant giggles.
'Hafing a kood time, I zee!' Jens said.
'Thanks, absolutely!' Will nodded, stiff jawed. On the plus side Elisabeth looked like she might be cottoning on to Jens's ever so subtle German lilt. But on the down side her attempting to keep the giggles down wasn't going great. Will squeezed her hand again and cast her a pleading look:
'Kood!' Jens was saying and clapping him on the back. Then turning to Elisabeth the idiot said:
'Szo von't you introduze me to ze lucky lady?'
The lucky lady? What lucky lady? This was the woman Jens had sent a named invite to.
But again, Will hadn't had a chance to make proper introductions, though that would have been the best cure for her quant giggles:
'Elisabeth, this is Jens Langewand,' he said: 'Jens is Head of Sales at Rheinland.'
Her face froze, and they simultaneously, if belatedly, remembered to let go of each other's hand.
'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? Are zese kuyz behafing zemzelves for you, ha ha?'
What?
'Yes, and no… I mean I do, but they certainly don't,' Elisabeth said, suddenly almost sombre.
Jens trying to front run Neil on an industrial scale was one thing, Will reflected, but for this guy to steal Elisabeth's smile, now and for the third time tonight? Well there was literally no excuse for that.
'Zo you must vörk vor zis chappie, Paul Dellanoo?' Jens carried on, the confounded idiot. If she did, then why would Raj have insisted on an invite for her, rather than for Paul? Why?
Because Paul didn't wear skirts?
Not in public, anyway.
'Paul De-la-no-é,' Elisabeth said instead of punching Jens in his stupid long face, which Will himself was having to work hard not to: 'He works for me, yes.'
'I ssee. He's a kood guy, pbut isn't he a pbit…'
'French!' Will cut in before the two of them started World War III. '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!' he said, and dragged Elisabeth away.
x
Away where, though? This was hopeless: he was surrounded. Surrounded by numpties and sexist idiots hellbent on pissing Elisabeth off on his one night out with her. Will took another desperate look for a clear route, but Jens was still only a couple of yards back, Nigel number two was waving at him at three o'clock, a Richard had just hand-signalled to him at noon, who also wasn't half a Peel Hunt, while some other idiot had started a pincer movement from the left. His name momentarily escaped Will, so overcome was he by a sudden surge of the purest cold fury.
This really must be the definition of Hell. Yes: hadn't some French tosser said Hell was other people? Well it was: it was all those wankers blanking Elisabeth while bringing up Toad's golf handicap in front of her. On any other night he would have dealt with them easily enough, but why tonight? Why tonight, when all Will wanted was a chance to hold her hand in peace and perhaps watch her dance with him in that very nice, very close-fitted dress.
Why?
Elisabeth clearly had no idea what lay in wait for her between here and the bar. Even on her new heels she wasn't quite tall enough to scan much of the crowd, but more to the point she was lucky enough not to know most of these wankers. Her surprise was therefore entirely understandable when Will started dragging her back where they'd come from, instead of towards the bar.
x
Will was, unfortunately, in no fit state to explain. How stupid, how bloody infuriating was it, to have to leave now, when she'd finally come around to the idea of having a drink and another dance with him?
But no. Not tonight either.
Tonight they offered a choice of bucks fizz or champagne. A choice of standing there being patronised by old gits in dinner jackets, or standing there being blanked by fat little halitotic pervs in dinner jackets. Hence the only way to evade the next random wanker was to leave the building altogether, which meant that soon he'd be standing out in the cold, and she'd start hating him all over again, and herself, for having held his hand down here. It was all Will could do not to punch the last Dave to wave at him as he dragged Elisabeth towards coat check.
'What the…?'
'114, please,' he said to the coat lady. What on earth gave her the right to stare at Elisabeth that way anyway?
'Will, what are you doing?' Elisabeth was saying, 'I thought we were getting a drink?'
Yeah well, I wish.
'Will, are you OK?'
No of course he wasn't:
'Get your coat,' he said to Elisabeth once that sad high and mighty skinny cow behind the counter finally handed their stuff over.
'I don't want to leave,' Elisabeth said, and yanked her hand free. Perhaps, Will belatedly realised, he had been squeezing it a little hard.
'Too bad, our work here is done,' he grumbled, grabbing their things off the counter and dragging Elisabeth on up the stairs.
'Will, do you mind?' she said, shaking herself free again.
There you go. Just like he thought. Two seconds back out at sea level, and already she didn't want anything to do with him. Or his stupid hands.
'There,' he said, perhaps not handing over her stuff over quite as nicely as he might have. His head felt about to explode.
Until, that is, she went and staged one of her classic comedy turns with her coat sleeve and her shawl. Much like she had in the Golf, in fact.
'Do we have to leave?' she was saying, 'I know it's cringey but I didn't want to. Plus don't we have to stay and network and stuff?'
'Sorry,' was all that he could say to her, while he stared at where her glorious collarbones once had been, now concealed beneath layers of winter fabrics.
'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?'
Why-oh-why-oh-why indeed? Why couldn't all those effing wankers down there disappear, so he could have the place to himself, and hold Elisabeth's hand in peace again?
'Yes, why? It's a legitimate question.'
'Is it?'
'Yes!' she said, stamping her foot.
Well if she felt exasperated at this point, then that made two of them. He knew if he tried to say anything he'd probably end up swearing, which she didn't like, so he shrugged and looked down and heard:
'Why do we have to go, Will? You're not feeling unwell or anything?'
'No,' he smiled at the pavement, shaking his head. Of course not.
He looked back up but wait: she really did think he was feeling unwell?
'No I'm not unwell, not at all,' he said.
'Oh good,' she replied, frowned, bit her lips: 'What's wrong then?'
Oh for Christ's sake, couldn't she tell what was wrong? Wasn't it a bit bleeding obvious by now? In fact hadn't he taken time to tell her explicitly, that morning in 3.11, what was wrong with him?
'You want to know what's wrong?'
'Yes!' she cried, then, more like someone trying to talk the gun out of a psychopath's hand: 'Yes – please.'
'Elisabeth,'
'What is it, Will?'
Seriously, did he have to spell it out?
OK then:
'Look, Elisabeth, it's hard enough trying to flirt with you at the best of times but with these guys,' he said, thumbing over his shoulder at the club's door, 'with these guys it's just beyond me, sorry.'
x
Stunned silence. Well there you go: she had asked, hadn't she?
Will had no idea how long he'd been staring over the top of her shoulder when he felt a small warm hand wrap itself around the back of his, then slowly pull down the arm he hadn't been aware was still thumbing at the club door behind them.
He forced his eyes back onto her face. Hers were frozen somewhere on the lapels of his coat. She let his hand go and dropped her arm.
'I see,' she nodded, looking down at his shoes. Yet it didn't look to him like she did see anything, at all.
Will stood staring at his hand, in much the same way she was staring at his shoes. In his case it was still fury though, rather than shock, that left him lost for words. Then gradually his anger-addled brain began to remember that this hand he was staring at, was the very same hand that she had pulled down, just now, using her very own hand. Then he remembered how lovely and warm it had felt, around his.
Still warm.
Probably from the dancing downstairs.
Then suddenly, and for no fathomable reason, the remembered warmth of her hand washed right over him. Suddenly all that cold fury Jens and those countless other idiots had sent coursing through his veins drained right away, melted into a torrent of the most gushing, idiotic tenderness:
'Do you?' he asked, taking her hand again, and trying to tease her eyes into looking back up at him.
'I…'
Thankfully their fingers found each other more easily than either of them could find words.
'Ah, fuck it,' he thought, and possibly said out loud, and swooped in and kissed her.
On the Market is Copyright Mel Liffragh 2021, all rights reserved.
And remember A Bee in her Bonnet is still out there too - do me proud.