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I took another sip of coffee, now cold and acrid, and swallowed it down, hoping she’d drop the subject.
But Becca, whose features had returned to normal, was warming up to the subject. ‘I mean, I can see the appeal. He’s good-looking, smart, and charming. But he’s a chronic serial dater. You must’ve noticed that. No one is ever good enough. If they get a second date with him, they’re lucky. A third date is a miracle. But he never takes it any further.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with being picky,’ I said resolutely. ‘He’s just trying to find the right person—’
The landline on my desk rang, interrupting me, and my cheeks tingled with the start of a blush. I’d privately labelled my phone the ‘Jeremy hotline’ since he was the only one who ever rang me on it.
Becca mouthed ‘serial dater’, but I ignored her, picking up the receiver.
‘Hi, Jeremy,’ I answered sweetly. ‘Oh, a meeting in your office? Sure. See you in five.’
Becca shook her head as I hurried out of the room, heading to the ladies’ to freshen up before my meeting. Perhaps it was best if she did leave. I couldn’t stomach the thought of her counselling me ‘for my own good’ on why I shouldn’t be in love with Jeremy Trelawny when I didn’t even understand it myself.
***
I paused outside Jeremy’s door, forcing my heartbeat to a slow clip instead of a fast clop. It was always like this when he called me into his office. I’d get myself into a right tizzy. But somehow, I managed to keep my cool when I was in there and talk intelligently with him. At times, I wondered why I put myself through it, but I lived in hope that one day I’d mean more to him than just his senior research assistant.
The problem with the situation, though, was that we worked together. Jeremy’s career and reputation at Oxford were too important to him to be involved in an affair with someone he worked closely with, especially if it went pear-shaped. I was hoping that, miracle of miracles, he’d fall in love with me too; and then he wouldn’t care about workplace ethics. Until then, I waited in the wings, an understudy, hoping that one day it would be my turn on the main stage.
Today’s meeting seemed like it was going to be a short one, and I assumed it was about Becca’s resignation. But Jeremy often called me into his office for longer discussions or to have a working lunch so we could converse about my research findings and the statistical data I was gathering for his book. The admiration he bestowed on me when I’d managed to unearth some rare nugget of information to support one of his theories could make me float on air for days. To him, it was probably a throwaway comment. But I relished it, savoured it. Some might call it ‘obsessing’. I called it ‘cherishing’. Was there even a difference?
Checking for the third time that there weren’t any blobs of food on my green silk shirt and smoothing down my black skirt, I rapped on his door.
‘Come in, Anna,’ intoned Jeremy’s deep voice from within, and it sent a light shiver down my spine. I stepped in and shut the door, effectively sealing off the rest of the world, for time always stood still in here. The first impression of entering his office, when he’d interviewed me two years ago, still stuck with me. I’d summarised it into five words so I’d always remember the day we met: wood, paper, glass, warmth, and beauty. Wood-panelled walls, a mess of paper, a lattice picture window looking out onto the quadrangle green, the afternoon sun streaming in, and the man sitting behind the desk.
On this particular Monday morning, the mess of paper had been tidied into neat stacks, the sky was grey through the lattice window, and it could have seemed a little chilly without the sun. But the masculine energy of the man sitting behind the desk warmed the entire room.
Jeremy looked up as I approached. ‘Morning. Monday-itis?’ he asked.
I sat down in the chair opposite and attempted a more pleasant expression. Dammit, I didn’t want him thinking I was a moody cow.
‘Morning. Ah, no. I just drank cold coffee. It didn’t sit well,’ I said.
Jeremy tsked. ‘That crap from the kitchen? Can’t have my number one researcher drinking bad coffee.’
As I knew he would, he leaned across and flicked on the espresso machine in the alcove next to his desk. Jeremy was a coffee connoisseur and enjoyed trying out different varieties—the stronger the better. I wasn’t much of a coffee drinker before I worked with him; now I had a mild coffee addiction. His latest favourite was from El Salvador—a light roast, but potent. It looked like I was going to be wired before lunch.
While the coffee machine cranked and whirred and did its thing, Jeremy smiled at me, and my insides cranked and whirred too. In his late thirties, he was past the bloom of youth, but I thought the faint crinkles at the corners of his piercing blue eyes showed maturity and only added to his attractiveness. To be honest, there wasn’t much I didn’t like about the way he looked. From his thick chocolate-brown hair to his polished leather loafers and the tight physique in between, it was all good to me.
Jeremy handed me a small white cup of steaming black liquid emitting a rich aroma. He took a tentative sip of his own and licked his lips in appreciation.
‘So how’s it going with the church records?’ he asked, settling back in his chair.
I roused myself, trying not to stare at his luscious mouth like a halfwit.
‘Um, good, just a lot of them to get through. Becca’s been doing a first scan and handing over anything that needs a deeper look, though I guess I won’t be able to rely on her for much longer.’
‘She told you about Africa, I take it?’
‘She did.’
Jeremy’s eyes flicked over my face. ‘You’re not happy about it.’
I sighed inwardly. There was never much I could get past him. He had a knack of reading my moods. This was why I was worried he’d picked up on my crush. The thought of him finding out how I felt was terrifying.
I took a sip of coffee and blinked as the ensuing blast of caffeine hit my brain like napalm.
‘Not really,’ I admitted. ‘Becca’s great. But I can’t protest if she’s already handed in her resignation and it’s what she wants to do.’
