The Office Party

Part 25

Back at the table, I bring up the subject of her speech again. I'm a little bit surprised to see Diana fidget uncomfortably. She looks at me with a curious expression in her eyes, but I find it difficult to believe the problem can be nerves. 'Don't tell me you're nervous, Diana? About speaking in public, I mean. You're a lawyer, for Heaven's sake.'

She sips wine and bobs her head from side to side. 'Well, no. Not really. You're right, I shouldn't have any problem with getting up and speaking. It's what will be coming out of my mouth that concerns me.'

It must be unusual for Diana not to know what she's going to say to a roomful of people, what she is supposed to say to them, indeed. I think for a moment. 'Why do you think they asked you?'

I mean the question as an innocent, straightforward enquiry, so I'm shocked to see her deflate in front of my eyes. Her shoulders sag and she sighs heavily. 'Fuck knows, Fiona.'

I would never have expected Diana could react in such a way. The way she just crumples alarms me. It's not very nice, seeing someone so normally confident – arrogant, even – expose themselves as being at such a loss. It's difficult to see. But, at the same time, it is very touching, as any hint of weakness in an overwhelmingly strong person always is.

I reach over and touch her hand. 'Sorry. I didn't mean it like that.' I nudge her hand away from her glass with my fingers and hold it in mine for a few moments. 'Come on. They'll have a very good reason for asking you.' I smile at her. Diana's fingers are soft under mine, and it's an interesting feeling to hold her hand like that, even for a few seconds. I like the contact, the feel of her skin on mine, of course. But I like the emotional contact the gesture gives us, too. Unable to stop myself, I stroke her fingers with the tip of mine, focussing just for a second on nothing but the way her skin looks and feels. She has nice hands.

She keeps her hand where it is and lets me stroke it. When I glance at her, she's looking fixedly at my fingers. The quiet gentleness of the moment thrills me. I refocus on what we were talking about and sip cider with my free hand. Then I say softly. 'We just need to work out what it is, this reason.'

We let our hands drift slowly apart, and both sit back in our seats. She shakes her head, as if shaking off the doubts, and maybe the little moment of tenderness we've just shared, and stares into space for a moment or two. I watch her quietly, not wanting to break her train of thought.

She asks me who were the speakers when I was a student, and I tell her the name of the novelist who was at the one dinner I attended. She nods and asks about the others, and I say I think the ones I missed were some sort of business leader and a high-ranking civil servant. We talk about the dinner as an event in general for a bit, what it was like in her day, its place in the life of the college, how it's used to showcase the college living up to its aim of producing confident and successful women. After a pause, Diana thinks for a moment again, then says, 'Well, it's obvious why they asked me, in one way.'

'You're successful in your field.'

She nods. 'I believe, though I've never actually checked, that when I got this job I was one of the youngest women in the country to be appointed at that level in business. As a lawyer, I mean.'

She says it very matter-of-factly, but I'm impressed. 'Really? God. Well done.' I realise that sounds silly. 'Sorry, I mean, that's quite something.'

She grins. 'Thanks. It was nine years ago, though.' I put my head on one side and look at her for a moment, until she asks, 'What?'

'Just wondering. How old were you then, Diana?'

'Thirty-eight. Just.' She smiles. 'It was about two weeks after my birthday, as it happens.'