the office, Liz had taken to heart his plea not to leap on him as soon as he got in. It gave him the opportunity to turn on his computer and trawl for information on the play he was meant to have seen in Newcastle the evening before. He made some notes from the theatre’s website and scanned their Twitter stream to make sure Benedict Cumberbatch hadn’t made a surprise appearance. With some judicious knitting, no one would be any the wiser that he’d had a really, really obscured view of the performance.
He didn’t allow his mind to roam back over that room or Grietje – he wasn’t that man here, although his muscles kept reminding him something spectacular had happened to them.
Liz, having obviously decided that it was safe to disturb him now, was standing in the doorway holding what he thought of as her little paper hand grenades.
‘You look perky,’ she said, coming in and sitting down. ‘Obviously enjoyed the play.’
He kept his eyes on the computer screen. ‘Yes. Very interesting. Very … challenging.’
Liz made a noise that could have meant anything and he stopped looking at the screen.
There seemed to be something sluggish about her this morning. Even her curls looked less bouncy.
‘Rough night?’ he asked, and she screwed up her face.
‘Waited up for No. 1 to come in.’
Tom wondered how someone with as keen a sense of humour as Liz could refer to her daughters as No. 1 and No. 2. Still, that was less wince-making than how she referred to her ex-husband.
She might have said more if Victoria had not appeared. She leaned against the door frame, all bright-eyed and wide-smiled.
‘Got some lovely pieces from that new jeweller who’s going to move in next to the post office.’ She must have seen his expression, because she added, quickly, ‘It’s OK, she does a range of prices.’
‘Great. Good work.’
Victoria pushed herself off from the door frame, did an elegant turn and was gone.
Liz was able to convey the words ‘brown-noser’ in a variety of facial expressions. Today she chose to let her mouth drop open and cross her eyes.
Tom looked past her out into the office where he could see Monty. He actually appeared to be typing.
‘See Monty’s out-of-body experience is continuing,’ he said.
Liz turned to look. ‘He’s finished one of his pages. It’s on my desk now.’
‘That’s very worrying.’
Liz faced him again. ‘Yup, and you know what else is worrying …?’ One of the pieces of paper was handed to him. It was headed up Thailand for all budgets and he guessed it was something Jamie had written.
‘Hard to believe English is his first language, isn’t it?’ Liz said as Tom scanned through it. He could only agree.
‘You got time to help him?’
Liz’s look suggested she didn’t. ‘I’ve given him some old copies of the mag and told him to read, learn and rewrite.’
Tom put that problem to the back of the queue and turned to the more pressing one. ‘Any breakthrough on the illustrator?’
‘Felix is interviewing the last one now. Said could you pop up and discuss options. Half an hour or so?’ She stood up and put her hand over a yawn. ‘Other than that, things are peachy.’
‘Peachy and perky, what a great team we make,’ he said brightly, knowing it would get Liz out of the office like a shot. He followed her, noticing how Kelvin was, as usual, in orbit around Victoria’s desk like some priapic moon.
Upstairs, he could tell by the expression on his Creative Director’s face that the interview had not gone well. Thepolar opposite to Liz, Felix was unerringly upbeat – from his cheery T-shirt and jeans, to his face like a big-eyed open book with spiky cartoon hair on top. Felix’s section was like a playpen; a couple of young designers, noses to Apple Macs, bright posters on the walls and silly gadgets on the desks.
‘No go then?’ Tom said, perching on the edge of Felix’s desk.
Felix’s earring danced with the ferocity of his
He didn’t allow his mind to roam back over that room or Grietje – he wasn’t that man here, although his muscles kept reminding him something spectacular had happened to them.
Liz, having obviously decided that it was safe to disturb him now, was standing in the doorway holding what he thought of as her little paper hand grenades.
‘You look perky,’ she said, coming in and sitting down. ‘Obviously enjoyed the play.’
He kept his eyes on the computer screen. ‘Yes. Very interesting. Very … challenging.’
Liz made a noise that could have meant anything and he stopped looking at the screen.
There seemed to be something sluggish about her this morning. Even her curls looked less bouncy.
‘Rough night?’ he asked, and she screwed up her face.
‘Waited up for No. 1 to come in.’
Tom wondered how someone with as keen a sense of humour as Liz could refer to her daughters as No. 1 and No. 2. Still, that was less wince-making than how she referred to her ex-husband.
She might have said more if Victoria had not appeared. She leaned against the door frame, all bright-eyed and wide-smiled.
‘Got some lovely pieces from that new jeweller who’s going to move in next to the post office.’ She must have seen his expression, because she added, quickly, ‘It’s OK, she does a range of prices.’
‘Great. Good work.’
Victoria pushed herself off from the door frame, did an elegant turn and was gone.
Liz was able to convey the words ‘brown-noser’ in a variety of facial expressions. Today she chose to let her mouth drop open and cross her eyes.
Tom looked past her out into the office where he could see Monty. He actually appeared to be typing.
‘See Monty’s out-of-body experience is continuing,’ he said.
Liz turned to look. ‘He’s finished one of his pages. It’s on my desk now.’
‘That’s very worrying.’
Liz faced him again. ‘Yup, and you know what else is worrying …?’ One of the pieces of paper was handed to him. It was headed up Thailand for all budgets and he guessed it was something Jamie had written.
‘Hard to believe English is his first language, isn’t it?’ Liz said as Tom scanned through it. He could only agree.
‘You got time to help him?’
Liz’s look suggested she didn’t. ‘I’ve given him some old copies of the mag and told him to read, learn and rewrite.’
Tom put that problem to the back of the queue and turned to the more pressing one. ‘Any breakthrough on the illustrator?’
‘Felix is interviewing the last one now. Said could you pop up and discuss options. Half an hour or so?’ She stood up and put her hand over a yawn. ‘Other than that, things are peachy.’
‘Peachy and perky, what a great team we make,’ he said brightly, knowing it would get Liz out of the office like a shot. He followed her, noticing how Kelvin was, as usual, in orbit around Victoria’s desk like some priapic moon.
Upstairs, he could tell by the expression on his Creative Director’s face that the interview had not gone well. Thepolar opposite to Liz, Felix was unerringly upbeat – from his cheery T-shirt and jeans, to his face like a big-eyed open book with spiky cartoon hair on top. Felix’s section was like a playpen; a couple of young designers, noses to Apple Macs, bright posters on the walls and silly gadgets on the desks.
‘No go then?’ Tom said, perching on the edge of Felix’s desk.
Felix’s earring danced with the ferocity of his
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