Kate woke up to the sound of the telephone by her head ringing.
“Hi, Mum,” she mumbled.
“Hello, darling. How did you know it was me?” Her mother’s cheerful reply came down the phone line. Kate rolled over and squinted sleepily at the clock.
“Mum, no one else thinks that 6.30 in the morning is a reasonable time to call people.”
“Anyway,” her mother continued as if Kate had never said anything, “your father and I saw this girl on the news this morning who looked just like you. She was with that Tom Benson, you know, the golfer who won that tournament in Ireland over the weekend. We know that you met him but I told your father you weren’t planning to go to Ireland for the weekend so it couldn’t have been you.”
“No, it was unexpected.”
“What? You mean it really was you?” The surprise evident in her mother’s voice was almost enough to make Kate smile, even if it was only 6.35 am. She could hear her father in the background saying “I told you it was Kate.”
“Yes, Mum, it really was me.” That silenced her mother momentarily.
“But he was kissing that girl.”
“Mum!” She could not believe she was having this conversation with her mother - it was appalling. Bloody Tom Benson and his overzealous victory celebrations.
“I didn’t realise you knew him so well,” replied her mother tartly.
“Nor did I!”
It was the first of many conversations Kate had about the televised kiss. Unfortunately, it didn’t prepare her for the widespread interest in her apparent romantic involvement with Tom Benson. After all your mother is supposed to be concerned about who you lock lips with but the tea lady isn’t, not to mention the people at the dry cleaners, the off licence or the corner shop.
It only got worse once she got to the office. She discovered a huge photo of Tom adorned the back page of The Times, together with a small inset of her and Tom together.
“It’s a great picture of you,” Matthew said, leaning over her desk to take a closer look. She glared up at him.
“I would much rather that there were no pictures of me.” Her eyes fell on the caption beneath the photo. ‘Tom Benson celebrating his 2 shot victory with a good friend.’ Good friend, indeed! She passed a weary hand across her face.
“I can’t believe that he didn’t warn me about this.”
“Why would he? For him it’s perfectly normal that what he does on the weekend gets reported in Monday’s Times.”
“Oh, shit. How many people read The Times anyway?”
“You don’t want to know, half a million, maybe. Everyone in this office for a start.”
She groaned, “I don’t think I’m cut out for this celebrity girlfriend thing.”
Matthew scoffed at her, “It’s not as if he’s that famous. You aren’t being followed by paparazzi, are you? No one is camped outside the building or at your flat?” She shook her head. “It could be much worse. You’re lucky he plays such a boring sport and that he’s Australian so relatively few people will be interested. Now if he were an English football player, you’d be in big trouble.” She threw a bundle of post-it notes at him but had to laugh.
“I think the pictures will have a longer life than the relationship itself.”
“Don’t be such a pessimist.” They were interrupted by Gillian.
“Nice picture. Although it’s a pity that you weren’t wearing your ALG cap at the time and that it doesn’t identify you as working here.” Kate looked at her in absolute horror. It hadn’t occurred to her that her love life could be used to market her employers. Gillian gave a cheery wave and continued on her way.
“Did that really just happen? Did she actually infer that the next time I get my picture in the paper I should make sure that I’m wearing something with ALG on it or at least tell them where I work? She is absolutely bonkers.”
Luckily the photo of Kate and Tom Benson was very small so that when it was photocopied to A3 size and plastered all over the office (by the banking lads) she was barely recognisable. However, to overcome this, they had drawn a big red circle around her and an arrow with the words ‘Our Kate’ scrawled across the bottom. Matthew assured her that if it were anyone else she would think it was very funny. She just humphed at him and bleated, “But it isn’t anyone else.”
Thoroughly sick of the whole thing, she called Tom to complain.
“So how is the champion of the world?” she asked sharply.
“Oh, not sure about that but definitely filled with a great sense of well being and that all is right in the world. Although it would be better if you were here,” he answered in the soft sexy drawl that was guaranteed to stop her being irritated by anything.
“Where are you?”
“Still in Kinsale. Are you sure you couldn’t just bunk off work and come back?”
“Yes. Anyway, I have a bone to pick with you.”
“Pick away.”
“You didn’t warn me that a picture of us would be plastered all over every newspaper in the country, not to mention footage of us being on the news all around the world.”
“Are you getting hounded by the press, Kate?” His amusement was evident.
“No, worse. My mother – she saw it on the bloody morning news in Australia. One of the advantages of living on the other side of the world from your parents is supposed to be that they don’t know anything about your love life.” He just laughed.
“So they know about us, big deal.”
“Big deal,” she repeated hotly. “The whole bloody world knows about us. Well, at least they know you have a ‘good friend’ as The Times put it.”
“Ouch.”
She remained silent sulking.
“Come on, it’s not that bad.”
“It is. And the bloody Lipstick Nazi, you know Gillian, she told me next time I should try to wear my ALG cap.” Now he was roaring with laughter.
“The whole thing is ludicrous. Today’s front page news is tomorrow’s fish and chip wrapping.”
“They don’t wrap fish and chips in newspaper anymore.”
“It’s just an expression. Look, let me be blunt. No one is really that interested in the private lives of golfers. Yes, there may have been a picture of us together in the paper or on the news but it is just there to add a bit extra to the story. A bit of ‘ahh’ factor – you know, ‘oh, isn’t it nice that he has someone to share this moment with’. That’s all. You said it yourself – they didn’t even bother to find out what your name is. Your colleagues will get used to it. Once people know about us it will cease to be interesting. And as for your parents, so what if they know there’s something between us. They won’t disapprove of me, will they?”
“I don’t think so,” she mumbled.
“Kate, it’s an occupational hazard. If you want to have a relationship with me then occasionally your picture may appear in the paper or on the news. But hopefully the other parts of the job will make up for it.”
“And what other parts of the job would they be?” she asked in mock innocence.
“Oh, you know, sex.” She started to laugh, despite her grumpiness.
“So sex with you is supposed to make up for all of this brouhaha?”
“Yep.” He paused for a fraction then asked, “It does, doesn’t it?”
“Hmm, I guess so.”
“I guess so?”
“Bye, Tom!”
About two hours later, Natalie came in with a bouquet of beautiful purple irises. She didn’t say anything but just raised an eyebrow before leaving to collect a vase from the kitchen. Kate burrowed in the flowers to find a card. Typical of Tom, it was short and to the point, “Another perk of the job.”
When she got home late that night, there was a message on her machine from her sister. “Don’t care what time you get in – call me. Call me at work, home or mobile.” There was even a bit of a giggle at the end of the message. She checked her watch and calculated the time in Sydney. Amelia would probably still be at work, so Kate dialled her home number, hoping to leave a message and get off the hook without actually speaking to her. She was thwarted as her sister answered on the second ring.
“Katie Kate, what have you been up to? Mum is all in a tizz - worrying what the neighbours are going to think of her daughter - snogging, not just on national television, but international television.” She could just see her sister, Amelia, curled up in her favourite armchair, twisting the chord around a finger and relishing Kate’s discomfort – in the nicest possible way.
“Hi, Millie. How are you?”
“No, enough about me already. I want to talk about you. Far more interesting from what Mum tells me.”
“Oh, God. What has she been saying?”
“Not much. I think she called me to find out what I know that she doesn’t, which in this case, my dear sister, is absolutely zip. So spill the beans.”
“Don’t you have an antenatal class to attend or some breathing to practice?” Amelia was pregnant with her first child, the much anticipated first grandchild in the Shaw family.
“No. Come on,” Amelia wheedled, just as she had when they were small and, just as always, it worked a treat on Kate. She gave Amelia the sisterly version of events, that is, the one that ended with a caution not to tell their mother too much.
“What counts as too much?” Amelia asked.
“Anything!”
Tom was right and the whole thing did blow over, largely forgotten by everyone save for the odd dig by one of the banking lads. Kate wished they were could take a leaf out of the tax lawyers’ book – more work and less talk. She was very glad that it did die down as the Greengoods deal was turning into a mammoth headache and she had very little time to devote to anything else. The drafting of the prospectus was proving difficult as Crazy Clive did not answer the prospectus questionnaire like any normal person would. After the first few times that Clive’s answers had been shown to be significantly different from reality, Kate got exceedingly nervous and made Ravi double check everything. Needless to say, Ravi was less than impressed. She insisted they had proper documentation for every claim in the prospectus, beyond even the usual rigorous requirements, as she just did not trust her client. This task was made even more difficult by the fact that Greengoods was a family company where decisions were made on the basis of what seemed fair and were rarely formalised. The company’s shareholders meetings were a joke and the few resolutions that existed rarely complied with all the formalities required. It was not so much that Crazy Clive was dishonest but that he saw the world in a different way to most people. It was just a pity that the Securities Commission was unlikely to share his alternative view of reality!
The whole thing made Kate edgy. But that was nothing compared to how she felt when Clive called her on Thursday afternoon to tell her that he was unhappy with the bankers they had chosen (whom he described as ‘heavy’) and thought that they should try to find others more attune to his own personal philosophy. She had spent at least an hour on the phone explaining to him why this was not the best course of action. At the conclusion of the conversation he promised to meditate upon it and call her back in the morning with his answer.
He finally decided that they should stick with the bankers they had but requested that Kate should act as a go between as he didn’t want to deal with them directly. She was so relieved that they didn’t have to start hunting for new bankers at this stage that she didn’t tell him all the reasons that this wasn’t a great idea but consoled herself with the fact that things would probably proceed more smoothly this way.
She called the bank’s representative, Jeremy Davies, a colleague of Imogen’s, to tell him the good news. He was, of course, delighted that he could just deal with normal, sensible, rational Kate.
“I just want to know what you did to piss him off so much so that if he gets really out of hand I can pull the same stunt and then he won’t want to deal with me directly either and some other sucker can be his Girl Friday.” Jeremy just laughed.
As she put down the phone it started to ring again. It was Natalie.
“I have Mr Greenwood on the line for you.” Kate groaned inwardly.
“Hello, Mr Greenwood. I’ve just been speaking to the bankers and they’ve agreed to channel all correspondence through me.”
“Excellent. I have just been thinking.” She wanted to scream, “Don’t, what ever you do, start thinking – that is what causes all the problems” but she refrained. She spent another half an hour on the phone listening to Crazy Clive’s various demands and bright ideas to ensure the smooth running of the float of his company.
She was so relieved when 6 o’clock finally crawled around, that she turned off her computer and headed straight to the boardroom for Friday afternoon drinks. She met Matthew on the way in.
“Gin and tonic, Kate?”
“No, I think I need a beer.”
“Rough day, then?”
“Hmm, Crazy Clive is living up to his nickname. He’s changed his mind about the launch date for the IPO on advice – from his clairvoyant!”
Matthew handed her a bottle of Heineken. She ignored the proffered glass and drank straight from the bottle.
“Oooh, how uncouth. You’ll get Henry all in a tizz if he sees you drinking beer without a glass.”
“You know it’s one of my favourite hobbies – stressing Henry out with my antipodean ways. By the way, is couth a word? Do you know of any other un- words that are not words in their own right? Most of them seem to be in pairs, you know, unusual – usual.” Matthew paused to think then shoved a glass into her hand as Henry entered the room so that by the time he saw her she was innocently pouring beer into a glass.
“Unconscionable, darling. No such word as conscionable. But perhaps there should be!”
Their inane banter was interrupted by Kate’s mobile phone.
“I wish I knew how to change the bloody ring tone,” she muttered under her breath as she tried to find it quickly to avoid any more of the song blaring out. Matthew had changed her ring tone to Sex Bomb after the photo in the paper.
“Kate, it’s me. I’ve missed the cut so can I come and spend the weekend with you in London? Please?”
“Why did you miss the cut?” She wandered over to perch on the window sill and look out into the gathering night.
“Well, you see, if you score ten shots more than the leader they don’t let you play on the weekend and it is called missing the cut.”
“That is not what I meant.”
“Okay, I’m sick as a dog. I’ve picked up some awful cold and I feel miserable.”
“So you want to come and spread your germs to me?”
“Yes, that is exactly what I have in mind.” He managed to make it sound positively desirable.
“You don’t expect me to play Florence Nightingale, delivering you bowls of chicken noodle soup and making you tea with lemon and honey, do you?” Before he had a chance to suggest that perhaps she could just don the nurses uniform and not worry about the chicken soup, she continued, “I’m a crap nurse and sick people get boring after a while. Just warning you.”
“Okay, I am officially warned.”
“So when will you be here?”
“I’m flying out this evening but probably won’t be in London until late.”
“I’m at work drinks and then I’ll go home so just give me a call when you get in so I know when to expect you.”
“So I can stay at your place?”
“Yes.”
“It’s not going to spoil any of your plans for the weekend?”
“Oh shit. I have a party to go to tomorrow night but I’m sure I can wangle an invitation for you.” She didn’t bother to mention that it was a fancy dress party – she figured the less he knew the better. Or worry about the fact that he was supposed to be sick and might not want to go out.
When she clicked off her phone, she realised that Richard was standing beside her.
“So how are things with Tom Benson?” She looked at him, trying to gauge his feelings about her and Tom.
“He missed the cut.” She decided to opt for the least amount of information possible. He waved her response away.
“So are you two an item then?”
“I don’t know about being an item.” She wasn’t even sure what being an item entailed. Trust Richard to come up with some arcane terminology that she didn’t really understand.
“Are you seeing each other?”
“Yes, we are, over the weekend.”
“I’m not convinced that he’s actually good enough for you, Kate.” He shook his head emphatically. “But if you think he’s what you need, then fine. But just let me say this,” he said, waggling a finger at her, “if he hurts you, if he makes you cry, just you let me know and I’ll deal with him.” He planted a kiss on her cheek and then walked out of the boardroom.
She looked up to see Matthew, arching a brow at her. “What was that all about?”
“No idea. He offered to defend my honour, if necessary, with Mr Benson.” She started to giggle. It really was ludicrous.
“He’s been at lunch today to celebrate the close of the Barrington deal, so he’s probably drunk as a skunk.”
“He was swaying slightly.” They looked at each other with raised eyebrows and then nodded slowly. That must explain it all. She shook her head slightly and happily accepted another beer from Matthew.
She slipped out of the boardroom as the music was getting louder and louder and the junior staff looked like they were settling in for the long haul, aided and abetted by John Cruickshank, a recently divorced partner looking to recapture his youth.
She popped into her local Thai takeaway, Bow Thai. The name was corny but the food was great and it was round the corner from her flat. Unfortunately, Kate was a regular regular.
“Your usually order? Tom Yum Goong, red beef curry, plain rice?” asked Lek, the tiny Thai woman that owned the place.
“That’ll be fine but could I also have a green chicken curry, Tom Kha Gai and an extra rice.”
“Ooh, you have a visitor – maybe, you have a boyfriend.” Kate just smiled and sat down to read the paper while she waited.
She happily munched through her dinner, watching Shooting Stars repeats on BBC2. Once she finished eating, she cast a critical eye over her flat. One of the advantages of always working late was that she was never at home to make a mess. She pottered around plumping cushions, straightening the magazines in the basket under the coffee table. She put fresh sheets on her bed, getting quite giddy at the thought of sharing her bed with Tom. She really needed to get a grip!
She cast a critical eye over herself and decided that she needed to have a bubble bath. She tried to close her eyes and relax but all she could see in her mind’s eye was Tom stretched out on her bed naked. It was no good. She climbed out of the bath and was wrapping a towel around her dripping hair when the doorbell rang. She slipped into her fluffy white Country Road bathrobe and padded out to the door. It was Tom. He gave her a lazy smile.
“Come in, you poor sick baby. I have some Tom Kha Gai for you.”
“What?”
“Tom Kha Gai - Thai chicken soup. I figured if chicken noodle soup can fix a cold then spicy Thai chicken soup would fix it twice as fast.” She flashed him a winning smile as she pulled him inside.
“I think we’ve been here before. Except last time I was wearing the terry towelling. Are you wearing boxer shorts?” he asked as he pulled her towards him by the tie of her robe. Kate chuckled, “No.”
“Oh, I feel better already.”
Copyright (c) Sandra Pruim 2008
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