in his left palm and feels the softness of her skin.
‘You know, you’re quite beautiful.’
She looks at him, but says nothing. He stretches out his other hand so that her face now sits in the chalice that he has created. His eyes lock with hers, but he is conscious that he must not hold this pose for too long. He leans forward to kiss her, but at the last moment she twists her head offering him a cheek and withdrawing her face at the same time.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I didn’t mean to do anything to cause offence.’
Suddenly, the confidence seems to have drained out of her and she stares at him, her eyes moist with what he imagines is disappointment.
‘At night I am a cleaner. I work in an office building so I must go and do my job.’ She puts down her glass of wine and stands. ‘I do not wish to be late.’
To be misunderstood, and thereafter disliked, is always hurtful. At work he is a boss, and his colleagues have not always appreciated his gestures of authority, no matter how sensitively he has tried to bestow them. Clive Wilson has occasionally reminded him that he is not paid to win popularity contests, and the discomfort of being misunderstood comes with the privilege of being a decision-maker, so he just has to ride it out. Sometimes he can repair the damage of a comment or gesture that is offered in innocence and received with indignation, but more often than not he has learned to say nothing further and trust that time will heal any temporary distress in the workplace. However, as far as women are concerned, he has little experience of how to navigate such awkwardness, and the unfortunate episodes with Lesley and Yvette speak eloquently to this fact. Really, he asks himself, why push it and cross a line with this young woman? He could have waited and seen how things developed and discovered how she wanted to play it, but instead he stupidly does something which makes him feel like he is taking charge and now she is rightly outraged. She moves quickly to pick up her rucksack, and he finds himself stricken with anxiety. Okay, he does want to kiss her, and yes he doesn’t want her to leave, but he also doesn’t want to have full-on sex with her, at least not yet. Jesus Christ, he’s already seen the mess that can get you into. Perhaps some kissing and fooling around, but her eyes indicate that she thinks he wants more than this, and maybe she is even a little saddened that their promising friendship should have been sabotaged by his pitiful impatience.
‘I am sorry, but I must leave.’
He stands and walks with her to the door.
‘Will you be getting a cab? There’s a minicab place on the corner, I can walk you there.’
‘No, it is not necessary.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘Sorry.’
She silently follows him back down the stairs and he scrambles around in his mind for something to say. He unlocks the front door and holds it wide open so she knows that she is free to go.
‘I don’t have a car. It’s just too much hassle in London.’
He wants to reassure her that he earns more than enough to have a car. That he is a respectable middle-class professional man, not some leering jerk who preys on women. He wants her to know that the attempted kiss wasn’t a clumsy gesture of foreplay, with the next stage already programmed in his seedy mind. He likes her, even though she is a little bit chippy. She is a single woman from another country, on her own, learning English. Of course, she has to be a little bit chippy to survive. He understands, he gets it, it’s fine.
‘Thank you for the drink, Mr Keith. And the conversation.’
She tosses her rucksack up on to her shoulder and deliberately avoids any eye contact as she sweeps past him.
One hand holds the edge of the open door, while his other hand is jammed flat against the wall as if to steady himself. She doesn’t look back as she turns right at the gap where there should be a gate, and he watches as she walks up towards the
‘You know, you’re quite beautiful.’
She looks at him, but says nothing. He stretches out his other hand so that her face now sits in the chalice that he has created. His eyes lock with hers, but he is conscious that he must not hold this pose for too long. He leans forward to kiss her, but at the last moment she twists her head offering him a cheek and withdrawing her face at the same time.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I didn’t mean to do anything to cause offence.’
Suddenly, the confidence seems to have drained out of her and she stares at him, her eyes moist with what he imagines is disappointment.
‘At night I am a cleaner. I work in an office building so I must go and do my job.’ She puts down her glass of wine and stands. ‘I do not wish to be late.’
To be misunderstood, and thereafter disliked, is always hurtful. At work he is a boss, and his colleagues have not always appreciated his gestures of authority, no matter how sensitively he has tried to bestow them. Clive Wilson has occasionally reminded him that he is not paid to win popularity contests, and the discomfort of being misunderstood comes with the privilege of being a decision-maker, so he just has to ride it out. Sometimes he can repair the damage of a comment or gesture that is offered in innocence and received with indignation, but more often than not he has learned to say nothing further and trust that time will heal any temporary distress in the workplace. However, as far as women are concerned, he has little experience of how to navigate such awkwardness, and the unfortunate episodes with Lesley and Yvette speak eloquently to this fact. Really, he asks himself, why push it and cross a line with this young woman? He could have waited and seen how things developed and discovered how she wanted to play it, but instead he stupidly does something which makes him feel like he is taking charge and now she is rightly outraged. She moves quickly to pick up her rucksack, and he finds himself stricken with anxiety. Okay, he does want to kiss her, and yes he doesn’t want her to leave, but he also doesn’t want to have full-on sex with her, at least not yet. Jesus Christ, he’s already seen the mess that can get you into. Perhaps some kissing and fooling around, but her eyes indicate that she thinks he wants more than this, and maybe she is even a little saddened that their promising friendship should have been sabotaged by his pitiful impatience.
‘I am sorry, but I must leave.’
He stands and walks with her to the door.
‘Will you be getting a cab? There’s a minicab place on the corner, I can walk you there.’
‘No, it is not necessary.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘Sorry.’
She silently follows him back down the stairs and he scrambles around in his mind for something to say. He unlocks the front door and holds it wide open so she knows that she is free to go.
‘I don’t have a car. It’s just too much hassle in London.’
He wants to reassure her that he earns more than enough to have a car. That he is a respectable middle-class professional man, not some leering jerk who preys on women. He wants her to know that the attempted kiss wasn’t a clumsy gesture of foreplay, with the next stage already programmed in his seedy mind. He likes her, even though she is a little bit chippy. She is a single woman from another country, on her own, learning English. Of course, she has to be a little bit chippy to survive. He understands, he gets it, it’s fine.
‘Thank you for the drink, Mr Keith. And the conversation.’
She tosses her rucksack up on to her shoulder and deliberately avoids any eye contact as she sweeps past him.
One hand holds the edge of the open door, while his other hand is jammed flat against the wall as if to steady himself. She doesn’t look back as she turns right at the gap where there should be a gate, and he watches as she walks up towards the
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