A/N: A series of flashbacks. I hope no one minds. I still own nothing.
January 2012
"Miss Baxter?" Elsie approached the secretary's desk. The younger woman looked up. It was just after noon. "Has Mr. Carson not yet left for the conference?"
"He left shortly after nine this morning, so that he could get there by noon," Phyllis said, confused. "At least, he told me he was leaving then. Why?"
Elsie closed her eyes. "He left his overcoat here." Miss Baxter's mouth fell open into a perfect O.
"Oh, no. It's freezing! And the weather report called for snow!"
"I'm sorry, but you'll have to take it to him. He has to have it, he won't be back until Friday night. I'll have you fill out an expense report when you get back," Elsie said, sighing. It seemed a shame Phyllis would have to waste a six-hour round trip drive just because the managing partner forgot his coat.
Phyllis blushed. "I would take his coat to him if I could, but I can't. My car is in the shop today, I'm getting a new timing belt."
"For heaven's sake," cried Elsie. "And we have no courier today, no one to spare!" Phyllis's face was crimson.
"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Hughes-"
"It's not your fault, Miss Baxter," she said, waving her hand. "If there is fault with anyone, it's Mr. Carson." Daft man. "I will take him his coat."
A whole afternoon wasted. And yet, as Elsie drove, she found she didn't mind. She was glad of the time alone in the car. At home the feelings felt alien; at work, they were unimaginable. In this space in between, going from one place to the other, she could think about what she felt without guilt.
Her face grew warm as she glanced in the rearview mirror. His coat swayed against the backseat door. His coat. Shaking her head, she clutched the steering wheel tighter. The butterflies in her stomach made her feel like a girl again. But she knew she had never loved anyone like she loved him. Even though he had yet to acknowledge his own feelings.
Have you? Why would he say anything to you, when you've said nothing to him?
She was trying, subtly, to show him how she felt. On the surface, it would not seem as though anything had changed between them. This was deliberate. She knew he would be mortified if rumors began circulating at the office. Truth be told, she did not want gossip circulating about her, either. She'd caught Beryl giving her a knowing smirk more than once. It made her nervous.
Stopping at a gas station, she couldn't resist the temptation. She opened the side door and pressed her nose against the inside of his collar. His scent stayed in her nostrils for the rest of the trip.
She parked the car at the hotel where the conference was being held. Robert had attended it in previous years, but Mr. Carson had decided to go this year. At the front desk, she was told that the attorneys were in a session, but would finish in a half hour, before going to a pre-dinner cocktail hour. Attorneys and their alcohol. She was glad for once that he had had surgery, and curtailed his consumption accordingly. She waited in the lobby, his coat slung over her arm. She sighed against the wall. It felt good to stand up after so much time in the car.
He exited the large ballroom with two new acquaintances. The crowd of men in dark suits and women in business attire flowed into the lobby, heading for the front doors. He was astonished to see Elsie Hughes next to the reception desk.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, unaware that his movements were being watched with interest. She raised her eyebrows, holding up his coat.
"You left your coat at the office."
"You didn't have to bring it," he protested. "Driving all this way, just for that? I won't need it. We barely go outside!"
"Hush," she said, piercing him with that glare. "It's snowing now. Don't be daft." She shook her head. "We can't have you coming down with something." She held open his coat, and he obediently let her slip it on. He pulled his collar tight around his neck while she brushed imaginary lint off of his broad shoulders and his sleeves. He turned around and buttoned the long coat.
"Thank you." His eyes softened. "I am sorry you lost the whole afternoon because of me."
"Don't worry," she said, twisting her fingers together. "I'll feel better knowing you won't catch cold. Will you be back on Friday?"
"Yes," his lips curving into a smile, "I will make sure I'm back by 5:00. I have an appointment Friday evening that I am loathe to miss." As he said it, he realized he meant it. He hated social functions, and avoided most of them like the plague.
But she was different.
She blushed, looking down, and he almost forgot himself. It would have been nothing to lean over and kiss her. Instead, he put his hands in his pockets.
"I'll see you on Friday then, Mr. Carson," she murmured. At the sound of her voice pronouncing his name, he felt a stirring low, in a place he had not felt for years. She picked up her purse and strode across the lobby, her black skirt swaying, her pumps clacking on the hard floor. Charles stood staring after her a moment, the room gone unnaturally quiet. A crowd of no less than twenty people watched her exit, including the two men he'd been speaking with minutes before. Several men stood with their mouths gaping open.
"Well," the silver-haired gentleman, Mr. Shultz, laughed under his breath. "It's no wonder you normally don't attend the conference, Charles. No one could blame you for staying home. Your wife is beautiful, a real stunner, if I may say so. You're a very lucky man."
A million thoughts raced through his mind. They think she's my wife. I need to correct them. Bloody hell, none of them have a right to look at her like that! You don't either. Then why can't I stop thinking about the way her voice sounds? Or the way her hips sway when she walks? Does she do that on purpose? Or the way she smiles at me…
"Thank you," he heard himself say as they walked out to the street. "She is a beautiful woman." He made a mental note to insist Robert attend the conference again next year. It would not do for anyone to find out her mistaken identity. As the cold air outside and tiny flakes of snow swirled around them, he thought he caught a whiff of her scent.
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August 2013
He walked into her office without knocking and closed the door. She looked up with a start, holding her hand over her chest.
"You startled me! What's wrong?"
"Alfred," he said, leaning on her desk, "and Ivy. At least when John and Anna got together, they didn't let their private affairs affect their jobs. Alfred is a good lad, a solid worker, but he's losing his head because his girlfriend works in the same office!"
Elsie sighed. "I'll call Beryl. She was saying something similar about Ivy yesterday."
A few minutes later, the three sat contemplating the problem.
"I don't want to lose Ivy, not if I can help it," Beryl said. "She works well with Daisy now, and Joe Molesley is coming along well as a records clerk. I think he's happy to be away from Mr. Barrow."
"Even with Thomas's improved attitude," Elsie agreed. She turned to Charles. "It was one of the more brilliant moves for you and Mr. Crawley when you hired James. It's changed the entire atmosphere in the file room."
"That, and Miss O'Brien finally leaving," Beryl said. "Talk about a poisoned atmosphere around here-"
"But that has nothing to do with the problem now," Charles said, frustrated. "Mrs. Mason, I have a solution in mind, but you won't like it."
"Oh?" Beryl said. She put her hands on her hips. "And what is that, pray tell?"
"Madge Simmons has expressed an interest in becoming a secretary to you, hasn't she?"
"Yes."
"Why don't I let Miss Baxter train her? She can still help with the records work, but she can also help Miss MacClare to support Robert and Cora."
"That's fine," said Beryl, "but I don't see what that has to do with Ivy."
"I think Ivy would do well in our city office," he explained. "It's a smaller place, but they have more excitement there, being downtown. She can be both a secretary and a records clerk there. Mrs. Crawley needs a records clerk more often than I've been able to spare one, especially considering her medical malpractice work."
"And Ivy lives closer to downtown than to here," Elsie said quickly. "She would not have to drive as far to work."
Beryl slumped in her chair. "I don't like it, but it seems the two of you have already made up your minds. It seems I'm to lose a records clerk."
"Only if Ivy accepts the offer," Elsie said gently. "Although Anna told me she is interested in working in the city." She got up and headed for the door. "Would either of you like some coffee, or water? I'm going to the kitchen."
"I'll have some water, thank you," Beryl said. Elsie left, closing the door behind her. "Speaking of interest..."
Charles was lost in thought. "Hmmm? What's that?"
She rolled her eyes. "Do you know how long it took Alfred to ask Ivy on a date?"
What does that have to do with anything? "I'm sure I have no idea."
"She hadn't been working here for two weeks, Mr. Carson. That's less than fourteen days."
He frowned, drawing his eyebrows together. "Well, I suppose he wanted to ask her before anyone else did. Although I think asking someone he'd known for such a short time is rather improper."
"I'm glad you acknowledge the possibility that a woman might be popular with the gentlemen." She crossed her arms. "Would you say it was a good thing Alfred asked her? Showed her a bit of interest?"
"I suppose so. Beryl Mason, what are you saying?" Something was obviously going on in her mind. She shook her head.
"Mr. Carson, all women need someone to show a bit of interest every now and then. Preferably in a manner that's not entirely proper." She raised her eyebrows. "That's all I'm saying."
They sat not speaking. Charles tapped his pen on his shoe. All women. There was only one woman that occupied his thoughts that way.
It occurred to him that he had known Mrs. Hughes for far longer than two weeks. But could it be possible that she felt…felt that way? He thought that it was dreamland that she could like him as anything more than a friend. That any sign, word, or action that could have been construed to mean romance, surely was a flight of fancy on his part.
But what if it wasn't only a dream? What if he'd been wrong?
He could not deny that ever since her cancer scare, it was getting harder and harder to ignore certain things. Like how she teased him, gently, in front of others. Perhaps once he would have gotten angry, but now he was used to it.
How he noticed more often the things she wore, in particular the clothing that complimented her natural beauty.
How he'd rather risk the social ire of his peers, rather than skip the Friday drink at Pedro's with her.
How he looked forward to seeing her during the week, and how empty the weekends seemed to be in comparison.
How unlike it was from her early years at the firm, that he couldn't remember the last time she'd mentioned going on a date.
How the thought of her going on a date with anyone was hateful to him.
Maybe he should show a bit of interest, just to see what happened. If the thought wasn't so terrifying, he probably would. Old doubts, memories of his youth, bubbled to the surface to taunt him.
She's a beautiful woman, why would she want to be with you? She's fine with being your friend, but if you mention anything more, she'll reject you. Or laugh. She hasn't gone on a date in a while? So? That doesn't mean she'd want to go out with you. What would it look like, you going out on a date with your office manager? Do you really want to ruin your friendship?
He would rather things continue as they were. Even if he kept thinking about her in ways that were more than friendly.
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January 1, 2015
Bill handed him a Sprite. He glanced up from the pre-game commentary on Oregon versus Florida State.
"Thanks." He took a sip, and scratched the black lab's ears, Captain's. Bill sat down on the couch.
"Beryl wants a word. I'm just warning you."
"Oh? About what?"
"I'm surprised you have to ask, you big lump." She plopped down next to her husband. Charles let out a huff of anger.
"That was uncalled for!"
"No, what's uncalled for is you being here today. Alone." She drew it out into a long, multi-syllable word. He leaned his head back against the recliner.
"Not this again. How many times do I have to tell you? Mrs. Hughes doesn't want to go out with me." He felt a stab of hurt in his chest at the thought of her.
"How do you know? You've never asked her!" She petted Morgan, who was laying on the floor.
"Why should I?" He set down his soda can with more force than he intended. "You, and she for that matter, are always going on about how I need to realize we are in the twenty-first century. If she wanted to go on a date with me, and has wanted to for years according to you, why hasn't she asked me?"
"Oh, I see, it's all on her, that's convenient-"
"Bee, that's not helpful." Bill put a hand on her arm. "Charlie, what would you say if she did ask you?" His tone was merely curious. Charles had never really thought about the possibility. I would not like it, and probably would overreact. Make things worse.
Shame welled in him. He opened his mouth, and shut it again. She has never asked because she knew you would not react well.
She knows you well. Probably better than you know yourself.
"I would say that she was being unprofessional," he said hoarsely. "If she asked me out, I would not take it well. I…would probably panic, considering how I hate to think about how I feel, much less…have someone confront me about it." Beryl snorted.
"How do you feel about Elsie?" asked Bill. Charles looked at Beryl, a plea in his eyes. She got up.
"Right. I'll leave the two of you to chat," she said. She whistled for the dogs and disappeared into the kitchen. The room was quiet except for the voices on the television. Charles thought hard, but in the end, he had to tell the truth. In some ways, it hurt to admit it, admit his own foolishness.
Images flooded his brain. Her first interview, her at her desk, at Pedro's, at the Komen race in 2010. She, by his side as he recovered from heart surgery. There was hardly any aspect of his life for the last quarter-century that did not involve her. "I love her. I think I've always loved her, since the beginning. Not in the same way as I do now, but somewhere it changed from the affection between friends to loving a good woman," he said. He put his fingers on the bridge of his nose, feeling a rush of emotion. "Bill, I've been a damned fool when it comes to her."
Bill leaned forward, his hands on his knees. "Well then, I think you know what to do. You're not getting any younger, and neither is Elsie."
He wet his lips with his tongue. "But what if…she doesn't want me? How could I work with her after that?" Somewhere in the back of his mind, a small voice said that Elsie was nothing like Alice; she would never betray him like that.
"Charlie," Bill said, tapping his knee, "I think it's well past time you stop second-guessing yourself. Move forward. Beryl feels the same way I do, she just uses different words. And," his eyes twinkled, "do you really think she'd keep on you if she didn't know how Elsie felt? If there was nothing there, she would leave you alone." They looked up as Beryl came back into the living room, unable to stay away for long.
"I don't know what he said, but I've got advice for you. New Year's advice."
"What's that?"
"Carpe diem, seize the day. It is the first day of the year, always a good time for a new start." She held up her hands. "I promise, I won't say a word to her about this conversation." She walked over and poked him hard in the shoulder with her finger. "But I'm warning you, if you hurt her, you'll have me to deal with."
"I would expect no less," he said. He didn't know what he would do if he asked Elsie out, and she said no.
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January 2015
She rubbed her eyes, peering at the screen. Thank God tomorrow was Friday. The first full week after the holidays was always difficult, but this one seemed particularly so. She felt bad for crying at Beryl's on New Year's Eve. She wished she could have had more restraint. Part of her wanted to blame it on the whisky, but she knew that was not the problem.
She had had patience. And still nothing from him. There were flashes, moments sometimes, but in the last few months she'd begun to despair that he would ever say anything. She had tried to think about dating again, but could not imagine it. She could not date anyone else, not as long as she loved him.
Well, she had his friendship. That was better than nothing. And Becky, and her friends, and a surrogate family. Life was not empty, far from it. She was never one to wallow in what might have been.
He knocked quietly on her open door. "You're here late." She glanced at the clock, it was almost 6:30.
"I could say the same for you," she sat back in her chair, removed her glasses. "What do you say, should we call it a week and go to Pedro's a day early? I could use a drink, couldn't you?"
He gulped, held his hands up. "I don't think I should."
"Why not? We can toast our already-broken New Year's resolutions," she said.
He cleared his throat, hands tugging on his trousers. His face was tense. She had never seen him look like this, so nervous. What was wrong with him?
"I was wondering…instead of going to Pedro's tomorrow…would you like to go out for dinner? I know a nice place downtown."
She could not be convinced she was hearing this right. The look on his face convinced her she was not dreaming.
Oh my God.
She tried to recover from the shock and make sure she was hearing it right.
"Mr. Carson…are you asking me out on a date?"
His forehead crinkled with worry. "Yes. And…you're not offended?"
Darling man, no one else would think that! "Mr. Carson," she smiled, her eyes sparkling, her voice trembling, "I can assure you the very last thing in the world that I am at this moment, is offended." It was all she could do to contain her joy. Her entire body was tingling. What she really wanted to do was leap over her desk and kiss him.
"I won't press you," he said, still looking solemn. "If you want to think about it until later, that's fine." He looked down and said very low, "I'm not asking anyone else."
She blinked rapidly. It would not do for her to cry, not now. "Well then."
"Well?" he asked. He looked like he was waiting to be rejected. Her heart melted.
"Of course I'll go to dinner with you, you old booby!" Her face broke into a smile that he had never seen before. "I thought you'd never ask."
A/N: First flashback…I kept hearing the opening riff to Stevie Wonder's "Superstition", thinking of Elsie walking out of the lobby. The other ones, I know they're Beryl heavy, but really, Charles would always need a nudge from her, wouldn't he?
The next chapter will also be a flashback. Their first date. :) I will get back to the main story-line, but these are fun.