I swing by Michelle's desk on my way back to the stairs. (I take the stairs whenever I can, because someone told me once it's good for your arse and legs and I figure it saves me joining a gym. It's a bummer in heels, though.) Michelle seems pleased to be distracted, which is nice, and leans back in her chair as her hand goes for the packet of fags in her top drawer.
I still her hand. 'Relax. This won't take long. We just need to scratch something off that list.'
Michelle changes reaching for her cigs into reaching for the list, in the bottom drawer. I look at it and wonder at the extent to which alcohol makes my handwriting go utterly awry. She watches me run my finger down the scrawly writing. 'Been to see her by yourself, then? Your idea or hers?'
'Hers. Here we are.' I twist round and borrow a pen from Michelle's desk, to scratch off one of our entries. '"Keeping her hands to herself".'
Michelle grabs the list back and stuffs it back in its drawer. 'Keep your voice down.' She locks the drawer. 'So, she asks you up to the office and then doesn't come on to you? And why is that even something significant?'
'Yup. I even brushed my hip against her arm and everything. And it's only significant if she doesn't touch me when I want her to. I gave her the chance, and she chose not to take it.' I grin. 'So it counts.'
Michelle sniggers, then frowns at me. 'I dunno, Fi. I know we've only been here a few months, but I've seen her in action. It's not usually like this. You'd be a distant memory for her by now, normally. Something's not right, and I don't like it.' She gestures at the closed bottom drawer. 'And I definitely don't like that.'
I sigh. 'OK, rip it up, then.' I lean in. 'But seriously, I am going to make her take me on a date. I want that. I want her, of course, but I know I want to get to know her first.' I stare out the window for a moment and sigh. 'I know that's an odd thing to say, because she's a bitch, but...'
Michelle shrugs and looks past me, where she can presumably see someone senior circling suspiciously. 'OK, fine. Good for you. Now, piss off and let me do some work. I'll catch you later.'
I blow her a kiss and trundle back to the Finance department.
***
Diana, Roger and I seem to end up having regular meetings - at least twice a week. To be fair, the complexity of the accounting in the case is particularly baroque, and Roger confesses to me on several occasions that he would love to take his counterpart in the other company for a pint sometime. He says it must take a mind of particularly subtle financial deviousness to have come up with the scheme they tried to work on us, and that an evening spent in that person's company would be entertaining indeed.
I can understand his point of view. Being more naïve than him - lacking his 30 years' worth of experience - I'm possibly less excited about the actual accounting, though I can appreciate the inherent beauty in the numbers. What does please me immensely, though, is that I find I have a facility for explaining it in terms that outsiders (and Diana, in particular) can understand. Roger begins to insist on taking me with him to meetings all over the place, to act like his translator.
One Friday afternoon, about a month after the disastrous party, a group of us are sat round in Diana's office, intending to discuss the case: me and Michelle, Roger, Diana and Sandra. It's the last few hours before the weekend and no-one really wants to be there - apart from maybe Diana. We're milling, before the meeting starts. Michelle is doodling on her pad and daydreaming about Toby. Sandra and I are discussing a band that we'll both be going to see the next night - I've bumped in to her and her husband a few times now, at pub gigs. Roger is on his mobile to his wife, discussing something their son has done at school. Diana is standing at the window, hands behind her back, staring out over the town's skyline. Her reading glasses are pushed back on top of her head.
While sharing Sandra's enthusiasm for the upcoming gig, I'm keeping an eye on Diana too. Truth be told, I'm slightly pissed off. Not because she's keeping me from my plans, far from it. I'm one of the few people who usually bothers to work until the office closes, particularly on Fridays. But this meeting was only called a few hours earlier, so I haven't dressed for it and have had very little time to prepare for how to deal with it. My skirt and top are boring in the extreme, I've come out without my emergency make-up because I picked up the wrong handbag when leaving the house, and my hair is a fucking disaster. Worst of all, my body has descended to its lowest monthly ebb and I know for a fact that I have a spot on my nose, a spot on my forehead, and another two on my chin. I try to ignore the dull ache inside.
Diana comes back and takes her seat at the meeting table in the corner of her office. I'm in a seat on the side, at right angles to her, and I see her eyes slide down me casually as she settles into her chair. I cross my legs self-consciously. 'Where's this band on, then?' she asks Sandra. 'Haven't been to a band in a pub for ages. Not since I was about your age.' She nods at me. I meet her gaze with a dull blink, and watch the smile die on her lips. Shame, because it was a nice smile, and looked genuine. Oh well, I'm not in the mood.
Sandra tells her a little about the band. I smile and nod when I need to, but mainly I keep quiet and tug ineffectually at the hem of my skirt over my crossed legs. And generally wallow in feeling crap, while hoping that everyone - but particularly Diana - will ignore me. Roger joins us finally, and Diana calls the meeting to order.
Fat chance of sitting there quietly and letting them get on with it. I soon find that the room's attention is definitely on me, and Roger is beaming at me in expectation of me doing my thing, turning the numbers we both love into generally intelligible English. Sandra looks unconcerned, biro poised above her pad waiting for my words of wisdom. It's her job to take notes, she doesn't care what the import is, as long as it's a true record. Michelle, for once, looks attentive, as if I might be able to teach her something. Diana sits back carefully and clasps her hands on her tummy as she crosses her legs.
I sigh and turn my body towards Diana, crossing my legs and hooking my foot around the leg of the table. I know it's for her benefit mainly, that we're going over these figures again. Even if I look rubbish and feel rubbish and am generally rubbish, I suppose I should make the effort to help her out in her difficult job. I rub my eyes, take a deep breath and get stuck in
In previous meetings, she's cut in with difficult (but oh so very pertinent) questions. Today is no exception, but given my state of mind I for once take it very personally. At the same time as being aware that I really shouldn't. I deal with her as best I can, coldly and efficiently, but inside - when I need it least - I am seething. I leave the meeting feeling drained and beaten.
***
After the meeting, I hover at Michelle's desk, while she gets her stuff together. I'm trying to put off going back to my desk in what will be a virtually deserted department downstairs. Michelle is quite cheerful.
'If we still had your list, Fi, we could so cross off a few things today. What is this effect you have on her?'
I shrug non-committally. 'You mean, completely demolishing me in front of you all? Today of all days?'
She knows me well and knows what I can be like when it's a bad time. She hits me playfully on the arm. 'Yeah, babes. That, for sure. Go and find some chocolate.' She turns the punch into a friendly stroke. 'It's not that bad, really.' She nudges me off her desk gently and we start to walk to the stairs together. 'You know it wasn't that bad, Fi. Come on, eh?'
I am grateful for Michelle's friendship. We pause on the stairs, and she brings the subject of Diana up again. 'But, seriously, the actually listening to you because you are the only one who knows what they're talking about? That's a good thing, Fi. Yeah? She virtually never looks at people the way she looks at you. She might hide it well, granted, but when you're in full flow, it's like she's fascinated by you.'
We hug, and she skips off to go and meet Toby. I trudge downstairs to Finance and try to do some work for the last hour or so of the day.
***
I am virtually the last person left in the department by half past four, so there's no-one to notice when Diana appears above my desk. My heart skips before I can stop it, and I am not quick enough to hide the pleasure on my face. I don't like the way I'm so pathetically glad to see her. Not so long before I would've gladly hit her with the stapler. But now it's just me and her, and she seems to know she's got something to apologise for.
'Hi, Diana. This is...um.' I push my chair back, and just catch her eyes flick down me, on to my thighs below the hem of my skirt. There's a long, long moment of stillness as her eyes linger on my legs, and my eyes linger on her face, looking at her looking at me. Despite my general crapness, it feels nice.
'Right then, Fiona.' She looks back up at me carefully for a second. Her voice is unusually gentle, but her eyes are eager. 'Tea, yes? Milk, one sugar?' She watches my face for my assent, and nods in satisfaction at remembering my preferences. 'Good. Point me in the direction of your kettle?'
She wanders off to make tea and I try to check my appearance in the computer screen, taking my hair out of its ponytail and combing my hands through it roughly. I can't do anything much about anything else, so I leave my hair loose. I quickly finish the email I was writing and send it before Diana wanders back. There's some emergency chocolate in my desk drawer, and I dig it out.
Diana puts my mug down carefully and pulls a swivel chair over with her foot, while she blows on her mug of coffee. In her office, she has a caffetière, but down here she has to slum it with instant. I break the chocolate bar and push half over towards her as she sits down. I cross my legs away from her, but turn my chair so my body is towards her. She crosses her legs in mirror image to mine and positions her chair at the corner of my desk. I run the toe of my shoe over the handle of my bottom drawer, noticing how the handle is slightly loose and wobbles a bit. She watches my foot and I watch her carefully, openly.
Her gaze runs slowly and deliberately over my foot, up the curve of my calves and over my thighs. Her mouth is very slightly open and I can just see her teeth press down on her lip lightly. Her gaze moves on, over my skirt and waist and tummy, up to the shape of my breasts in my v-neck jumper. (It's pink and slightly fluffy and nice and comfortable, and wearing it always makes me feel better.) Her eyes widen slightly as she blatantly and unhurriedly admires my breasts, and I notice a slight flush of pink at her throat. Her hand moves to fiddle with the open top button on her blouse, and I wonder yet again about kissing and stroking her throat. I imagine pushing her half-open blouse, and her bra strap, to one side and kissing the mole I noticed before. I hold my breath for a second and enjoy the thought of kissing her skin.
The way Diana is looking at me is careful and slow and openly sexual, and I love it despite myself. I feel the arousal begin to throb gently deep inside me, cutting through the achy tension. I reach up and run a hand over the back of my neck, partly to fluff my hair out a bit more. My earring slides over my wrist, and I watch Diana's eyes follow the movement as if she is fascinated by it, before her gaze moves back onto my throat and down to my breasts again. I hear her breathe in sharply and I hold my own breath again. We haven't said a word since she returned with the drinks.
She breaks the spell of the moment by looking away. She takes her piece of chocolate and I watch her thin fingers and her lips as she eats it. When her eyes run back down my body and legs, I imagine her fingers and lips tracing the same path. And when I look at her face, I know that she's thinking much the same sort of thing. She swallows some coffee and makes herself look at my face. 'So, Fiona. I came to apologise.'
I look at her in some surprise, because now she's really caught me off-guard. 'Umm. Thanks.' I hope my blush of pleasure doesn't show, and I hold her gaze. 'Why?'
She blinks, but holds my eyes. 'Well, I...er. I was a bit blunt earlier. A bit forceful.' Her eyes are a deep brown, and I notice how large and round her pupils are. At the corners of her eyes, there are little crow's feet, and I begin to suspect that in the privacy of her own life, away from the office, she feels tired a lot. I wonder if anyone has ever worried about looking after her. I wonder if I am the girl to fill that need in her life. I wonder if I am any stronger or better than all the others who have gone before.
Mainly, though, I just get caught up in the deepness of her eyes, which is why I don't immediately realise that she has dropped her hand onto my leg. Her hand cups my knee and her fingers are warm through my thin tights, but I only really notice when she turns her hand and slides her fingertips over the inside of my knee. It feels very very good.
'Uh, Diana...' I swallow and close my eyes for a moment. I really want to gather my thoughts, but I think she interprets my reaction as positive. (Partly, it is, of course. But I'm not sure it's the right time.) I move my knee, hoping to discourage her, but her hand just cups my knee more firmly. It feels so very very good.
I hear her very carefully not breathe, and just can't stop myself enjoying the warmth of her hand through my tights. I sip tea and put my mug down a little shakily. 'You were quite forceful. But I know that's just you.' I feel her thumb begin to make a little circle on the top of my knee. I close my eyes again, trying to concentrate on not liking it too much. My throat is so dry, even though I've just drunk some tea. My heart is thumping in my ears. 'Um. I normally like you all forceful.'
What am I saying? I do, of course, I love it. And it's partly why I like her so much. But why actually tell her? And why now? As her thumb continues to circle on my knee, her fingers slide fully onto the inside of my thigh.
She breathes out quickly, loudly. 'Fiona.' Her voice is very soft, very gentle. I can hear the excitement taut in her throat. I open my eyes and catch her gaze. She looks beautiful. 'Ohh, Fiona.' Her hand slides off my knee, inching up my thigh, and her fingertips press down between my crossed legs. 'I'm sorry. It's just, you looked...I...you, you look...you are...' She sighs, and her voice fades to a whisper. She moves forward and I feel her leg knock up against mine. 'Oh god, I'm so sorry, Fiona...'
The pressure of her fingers is too much and I slowly uncross my legs. I hear her swear with surprised pleasure under her breath and feel the tension in her body, even as her hand slides fully onto the inside of my thigh. I close my eyes yet again and let the waves of pleasure wash through me for a few moments. Instinctively, I reach forward and feel her hair, her ear, her cheek under my fingers. Her head is closer than I expect. I slide a hand over the back of her neck and pull her lips onto mine.
The kiss is lovely. We both sigh into it. I want to pull her tongue into my mouth and give myself up to the kiss completely, but I fight back against the temptation.
She kind of tries to lean her elbow on the desk, but slips. Her hand slides under my skirt, I feel her wrist crumple the hem. It's just a little too much, and I clamp her fingers between my thighs. She feels the change in my kiss, and draws back. 'Sorry, Fiona...'
'Not now, Diana. Just...sorry, but not now.' I already miss the touch of her on my leg.
She moves back, and I can see the frustration in her face. Her jaw is tense. I swallow the regret and cross my legs again, pointing them under my desk. Hiding my face with my hair, not really wanting to look at her, I say, 'No doubt I deserved every word of the roasting you gave me earlier. If that's what you came to apologise for.'
She pauses, and I can almost feel the tension in the air between us. Then she just gets up and puts her chair back and walks out.