adds, in afterthought. He must be ill. His manners are usually unshakeable. "I was wondering if you could do me a gigantic favor, Cally? As I'm at home, I thought I'd do a bit of work on the Simpson merger, but I don't have my files here. Is there any way you could possibly pick them up and bring them round? You can just slide them into my letter box and I'll come down and get them. I've got a mild lurgi of some kind and I'd hate you to catch it too."
It's no mild lurgi. It's a forty eight hour flu bug that's going round the company. I had it a fortnight ago, while Innes was at an overseas conference.
"It's okay, boss. It sounds like the flu, and I've had it. I'll collect the papers and bring them round. Is there anything I can get you? Aspirin? Cough mixture?"
"Don't worry, I'm fine, Cally. Really I am." I detect a spark of life in his voice. "But are you really sure I'm not keeping you from anything? It is Christmas Eve. Shouldn't you be with your friends or family?" He pauses, and weirdly, it almost seems as if he's tentative, something that's totally unlike my super-confident boss. "Or your boyfriend?"
"Nope, I'm footloose and fancy free at the moment, boss. And I'm visiting my family next week." My turn to pause. "So until then, I'm completely and utterly yours."
I wish.
"I can't thank you enough, Cally." He breaks off for a coughing fit, while I try to fool myself there are nuances of meaning in his shattered voice that have nothing to do with gratitude. "You're an angel," he gasps when the cataclysm is over, "A true Christmas angel. I don't know what I'd do without you."
And I know what I'd like to do with you, boss man.
When gives me his address and rings off, I leap out of my fleecy burrow, thanking a Fairy Godmother I never knew I had.
This has got to be the best Christmas present ever and Cinders shall go to the ball!
*** *** ***
Forty minutes later, my taxi pulls up outside the large old building where Innes has his flat. I managed to catch the security man at work and get in for Innes' papers, and now I'm here with them, plus an emergency care package for my boss.
I've got lemons, honey and whisky to make toddies. I've got all the medicines that I dosed myself with when I had the same bug. I've even got one or two Christmas snacks and treats for when he's feeling better and his appetite returns.
I'm ridiculously excited. I've never been to Innes' home, and I'm dying to see if it's as stylish as I imagine, as stylish as he is. Not that I'm really interested in his furnishings and décor.
As I ring his speakerphone, I'm actually trembling, stupid as it seems, and I have to wait for an answer, until Innes' hoarse voice growls out, "Cally, is that you?" He sounds crabby, but I make allowances. The man is ill.
"Yep, it's me, boss. I've got the papers and some other stuff."
"What other stuff?"
"Oh, nothing much. Can I come up?"
"It might be safer if you didn't. Just shove them in the letterbox and I'll come down in a little while." I can almost hear him despairing of his own manners. "And thanks, Cally, really. You're a star. I hope you have a wonderful Christmas."
But I've come this far, and I'm not going to be fobbed off. It occurs to me for a moment that he might not consider himself presentable – he's so fastidious – but my desire to see him is too strong. I squelch my qualms and prepare to squelch his objections and his masculine pride. "They're too bulky for the letterbox," I lie. I haven't even looked. "I'll just come up for a minute and leave them. I won't linger, if you're feeling ill."
Silence. Then, "Okay. All right."
He sounds grumpy and ungracious. He must be really ill, this curmudgeon just isn't him. He's always composed and civil and friendly. For a boss, he's always on the side of us lesser mortals.
The lock uncouples and I push my way into the hall and make my way up the stairs. It's an old house, but elegantly appointed and at any other time I'd linger to admire it. But
It's no mild lurgi. It's a forty eight hour flu bug that's going round the company. I had it a fortnight ago, while Innes was at an overseas conference.
"It's okay, boss. It sounds like the flu, and I've had it. I'll collect the papers and bring them round. Is there anything I can get you? Aspirin? Cough mixture?"
"Don't worry, I'm fine, Cally. Really I am." I detect a spark of life in his voice. "But are you really sure I'm not keeping you from anything? It is Christmas Eve. Shouldn't you be with your friends or family?" He pauses, and weirdly, it almost seems as if he's tentative, something that's totally unlike my super-confident boss. "Or your boyfriend?"
"Nope, I'm footloose and fancy free at the moment, boss. And I'm visiting my family next week." My turn to pause. "So until then, I'm completely and utterly yours."
I wish.
"I can't thank you enough, Cally." He breaks off for a coughing fit, while I try to fool myself there are nuances of meaning in his shattered voice that have nothing to do with gratitude. "You're an angel," he gasps when the cataclysm is over, "A true Christmas angel. I don't know what I'd do without you."
And I know what I'd like to do with you, boss man.
When gives me his address and rings off, I leap out of my fleecy burrow, thanking a Fairy Godmother I never knew I had.
This has got to be the best Christmas present ever and Cinders shall go to the ball!
*** *** ***
Forty minutes later, my taxi pulls up outside the large old building where Innes has his flat. I managed to catch the security man at work and get in for Innes' papers, and now I'm here with them, plus an emergency care package for my boss.
I've got lemons, honey and whisky to make toddies. I've got all the medicines that I dosed myself with when I had the same bug. I've even got one or two Christmas snacks and treats for when he's feeling better and his appetite returns.
I'm ridiculously excited. I've never been to Innes' home, and I'm dying to see if it's as stylish as I imagine, as stylish as he is. Not that I'm really interested in his furnishings and décor.
As I ring his speakerphone, I'm actually trembling, stupid as it seems, and I have to wait for an answer, until Innes' hoarse voice growls out, "Cally, is that you?" He sounds crabby, but I make allowances. The man is ill.
"Yep, it's me, boss. I've got the papers and some other stuff."
"What other stuff?"
"Oh, nothing much. Can I come up?"
"It might be safer if you didn't. Just shove them in the letterbox and I'll come down in a little while." I can almost hear him despairing of his own manners. "And thanks, Cally, really. You're a star. I hope you have a wonderful Christmas."
But I've come this far, and I'm not going to be fobbed off. It occurs to me for a moment that he might not consider himself presentable – he's so fastidious – but my desire to see him is too strong. I squelch my qualms and prepare to squelch his objections and his masculine pride. "They're too bulky for the letterbox," I lie. I haven't even looked. "I'll just come up for a minute and leave them. I won't linger, if you're feeling ill."
Silence. Then, "Okay. All right."
He sounds grumpy and ungracious. He must be really ill, this curmudgeon just isn't him. He's always composed and civil and friendly. For a boss, he's always on the side of us lesser mortals.
The lock uncouples and I push my way into the hall and make my way up the stairs. It's an old house, but elegantly appointed and at any other time I'd linger to admire it. But
Similar Books
