She pressed the cool crystal glass of freshly squeezed orange juice to her lips and languorously stared out of her kitchen window, her eyes dark and hooded. She hadn’t slept well and even the riot of spring flowers on her window sill could not cheer her today. She had dressed sombrely, hiding herself behind her favourite black Stella suit, with only a flash of colour at her ears, rose cut pink diamonds, another present from him. Sighing heavily she dragged her eyes from the window and picked up the envelope her housekeeper had found dropped off late the previous night. Grabbing up her bag, she called for her driver and after dropping off the envelope on the hall console table she left for work trying not to look at her reflection in the mirror.

The drive to work was short, and was something she loathed as even in these troubled times, when it wouldn’t do to be seen to be still enjoying the high life, he still insisted on paying for it. But she never stopped the driver, never walked, just stared at the traffic as every morning they crossed the Dean Bridge heading to the West End.

“Have a good day miss” said the driver as they pulled up outside the black front door of an anonymous town house. She fished for her keys; carefully lifting her heals over the kerb. She would be the first in as usual, she liked to make herself fresh coffee, arrange the flowers, and open her mail before the staff bustled in with tales of parties and dinners at fabulous restaurants with the latest hot new bachelor on the scene.

As she stepped onto the thick carpet, she sighed again, but this time with pleasure. The office always delighted her, the blue and gold cupola with its leaded skylight letting in the bright sunshine to warm the dark ochre walls. Picking up the mail and stepping into the kitchen she switched on the coffee machine and flipped through the horde of invitations and thank you cards, smiling at a cheeky kiss on one from a favourite client. Naughty boy, better not let the staff see that, there would be gossip. Not that there was ever much to gossip about her. Not on the surface, well, if they knew… she shook her head and added cream to her espresso, a little treat, a little indulgence now and then. She smiled to herself.

As she turned to leave the kitchen the front door opened and Claire, her partner in crime as a student and now in business bustled in carrying a box of pastries from the adorable new deli in Stockbridge which she had spent Saturday morning studiously avoiding as she stocked up on olives and cheese for his arrival home. Claire’s face dropped as she saw her in the doorway. “Oh! You’re here already”. She looked at her watch, pursing her lips. “I wanted to leave these for you as a surprise, but you beat me in as usual”.

“Any special reason?” she smiled at her friend.

“Well, I thought you deserved a treat” Claire replied, not quite hiding her sympathetic glance as she deposited her coat and bag over the nearest chair, and walked into the kitchen to make herself a coffee. She turned to face the bay window and took a seat at the boardroom table, and closed her eyes until Claire came back in the room with two tiny cakes set out on an ivory plate.

“So, did you get the invitation?” Claire asked.

She nodded, picking up a fork and toying with the stiff swirl of Belgian chocolate on top of her cake. “Go on, eat it” her friend said, “that suit is starting to hang off you, you don’t suit being that thin and you know it” and stuck her fork into her own cake, relishing the sweet treat so early in the morning. She smiled; Claire was proud of her figure, pouring herself into wrap dresses and stack heals, which flattered her curves and she often felt jealous of the attention it got. Tucking a long strand of auburn curls behind her ear, Claire raised her eyebrows questioningly and then groaned as instead of answering she quickly forked a delicious spoonful of creamy delight into her mouth.

“Ok, don’t tell me then, I know it must be hard for you, but I’m here if you need to talk about it”. She paused, “look, why don’t I treat you to a glass of champagne at lunchtime, celebrate you finally being able to let go?” She nodded, agreed and picked up the plate to hide the evidence before her other staff arrived and quickly left the room.

-

The morning went quickly, business, she thought was better than ever; people still wanted to have a good time, even if it meant she had to work harder to make it happen. As she was put the finishing touches to an invitation to a party being held by a new womenswear designer opening his first shop in Scotland, Claire opened her office door and asked “Ready?” She looked up, “two minutes? I just want to finish this.” Claire grinned wryly, “No! Look I know you; two minutes will mean two hours. Give it back to Sofia; you know you’ll get the final say anyway. You need food honey, real food, not cake. And that glass of champagne I promised you.”

Smiling, she groaned and as Claire raised her perfectly plucked eyebrows she nodded, picked up her bag and dropped the annotated invitation off on Sofia’s desk. She followed Claire out in to the spring sunshine and linked arms as they walked towards their favourite cafe, chatting happily about the weekend Claire had spent in Perthshire at a potential client’s new boutique hotel. She lost herself in tales of hot buttered scones and wild strawberry jam, of the shiny tin bath with honey bath milk and room enough for two, of whiskies by the fire and a moonlight walk. They laughed over a cowpat incident; Claire insisted that her Chloe boots were ruined.

“See that’s better” Claire looked at her as she opened the cafe door “now let’s get you fed up a bit, you had that cake hours ago and you work far too hard for your own good.”

They found a corner in the back, by the cafe’s little private herb garden. The waitress opened the door a little and the sun brought the smell of the pink roses indoors to mingle with the smell of their dressed salads with herby baked tomatoes, creamy Italian mozzarella and smoky Iberian ham. Claire had insisted she had the special and despite just really wanting a comforting bowl of soup she had agreed, knowing she looked tired and in need of a pick me up.

The waitress came back with their glasses of champagne, a little Kir for Claire and freshly squeezed peach juice for her; she had a meeting with a new lingerie shop that afternoon and too much alcohol would see her maudlin and wishing for just one more time…

She took a large gulp of the sweet and fizzy juice, just as Claire seemed to give herself a shake and put her fork down. “Now you don’t need me to keep repeating myself, but you know, don’t you?  You can’t keep going on like this. He’s getting married…

Her phoned beeped, breaking Claire’s train of thought. Saved again by technology … looking down, she saw his name on the screen and couldn’t help surreptitiously pressing ‘open’. “It’s Pierre about this afternoons meeting” she said quietly. Claire raised her eyebrows, “I’ll get the bill then, shall I?” She started to protest, but Claire pushed her purse away and clicked away on the cafe’s chocolate wood floor. She looked down at the text message again and felt her cheeks redden. ‘After works beers as usual. See you at 8pm’, the message read. Their usual code. He’d be ‘working late with clients’ and then ‘going for beers with the lads’. She’d be waiting.

She finished her champagne and dropped the phone into her handbag. She looked at Claire but she seemed oblivious; all business now lunch was over. She smiled, Claire knew not to ask too many questions, and anyway, she really did have a meeting with Pierre.

-

“Darling!” Pierre was all smiles as she pushed open the door to the small store on Frederick Street. She shook his hand warmly, enjoying the attention. Pierre was a well built man, more suited for the protecting the nightclub next door rather than the most discerning fitter in town, but women knew differently – she had been passed his card a month ago by a friend with the promise of “he’s perfection”. They had hit it off straightaway and she had overseen his flamboyant opening party a week before.

Passing the black quarter bra he had been holding to a willowy assistant, he led her through to his office, a den of opulent black and gold, reflecting the shop front. As he sat her beside a glass cabinet strewn with French lace and silk, she reached out to touch a pale gold corset, boned in all the right places.

“In today” he said, he sniffed “the girls will like it, but it is not for you.”   She looked up surprised, as she had been thinking it beautiful. “Non” he said “I have something for you, un cadeau, to say thank you for the wonderful party, something a little special I couldn’t give you on the night”. He passed her one of his signature black bags all tied up with wisps of gold thread. “Wait until you get home” he winked. She blushed.

“So, to business”. Pierre smiled his disconcerting smile again and she forced herself to cool down, relax and be professional, her business depended on it. After all, Pierre’s gift was probably innocent; he had teased her at the party for the shocked look on her face when she had spotted some of his more unusual gifts on display behind a velvet curtain. It seemed Pierre also tended to the whims of some of the city’s more salacious ladies, something she had never explored herself.

As Pierre went through his requirements for the next month, she concentrated hard on not letting her mind wander back to Him and the last few months they had spent together. It was over now; the wedding was to be in summer, her biggest account to date. An account she could barely afford to lose. The only problem was that no one else in the office apart from Claire knew she was in love with the groom.

-

She didn’t hear her front door open, she didn’t hear him drop his keys on to the table by the front door or hang his coat up in the hall cupboard. She didn’t hear him put down his case by the kitchen door or step up behind her at the sink. She didn’t hear him until his hand was on her waist, until he breathed her name into her ear. She jumped, startled, but he steadied her and she didn’t drop the glass she had been washing over and over again. She gasped, tried to turn round, but he held her firmly, breathing heavily as he reached up to let her hair down from her clasp. Her grip on the glass tightened as he moved his hands to her waist, slipping under her silk top.

“James, you are early” she chastised, suddenly embarrassed that he was here, so soon, before she was ready for him. She felt him step back, felt him draw away and she turned. He looked tired she thought, care worn, but the glint was in his eye, not dampened by her cool words. He was toying with Pierre’s gift. She had forgotten to hide it, put it away where he wouldn’t see. “A present for me?” he grinned, untying the gold ribbon. She blushed. She still hadn’t opened the gift, ashamed at what her reaction would be. Turning back to the sink, she put the glass on the counter. The bag rustled and he chuckled loudly. Please let it just be underwear she thought. A corset maybe, or silk knickers. That would please him.

But he was holding something else in his hand, something pale, contoured. It fit his hand perfectly. “Missing me are you?” he asked. She blushed and started to stutter a reply but he took her hand and pulled her towards him for a kiss. “You must be lonely…if you need this”. The glint was stronger now, he loved games, loved to try and bring her out of herself, strip away all of the severity of her dress sense, mess up the perfectly made up face, the perfectly constructed life. He loved to see her undone by him, loved to see her grab and scratch and then finally let go. He loved the control.

Her resolve deserted her. The invite forgotten. The suds still on her hands. The blinds still open. The kitchen lights bright. She couldn’t help herself and he knew it. The regrets would come later. After she did.

-

Later, much later, he slipped out of bed and naked, crossed her bedroom to shower. It was nearly 9 o’clock, drinks with the boys nearly over, time for him to head home to her. She buried her head into the pillow and groaned. It was always one more time, just one last time.

As he dressed he reached into his case and passed her a small, pale green box. Another consolation gift, she thought. Mimicking surprise she snapped open the box, she must seem grateful she thought, his presents were always heartfelt, even if the motive in the end wasn’t. He reached over and fastened the clasp on the bracelet, a beautiful silver string, delicate and whispy, set with rose pink diamonds to match the earrings she still wore. “Don’t get up” he murmured “I can see myself out. And anyway, I like to see you like this; I like to leave you like this”.

A few seconds later she heard the front door close. She reached for her gown and headed for the shower, throwing the sheets over the toy which had started it all. Pierre, she grinned, you have a lot to answer to.

-

She awoke early, before her alarm. She sat up in bed, hearing the front door quietly open and the housekeeper call hello. Replying, she slipped out of bed and headed to the shower. It was another day, another busy day, she though firmly. It wouldn’t do to dwell on last night.

She smelled the flowers before she entered the kitchen. Alice, her housekeeper had already found the vase and was tweaking the display. Alice winked. She tried to scowl at her, but Alice knew too much and she knew she couldn’t stop the grin from spreading. “Where would you like them?” Alice asked “the conservatory?” She nodded. There was still a chill in the spring air and regular use of the conservatory was still a few weeks off, she could leave them there un-noticed by friends popping round. She poured herself a cup of coffee, breathing in the deep, strong smell. He was nothing if not predicable, the gifts, the flowers. It was like this every time he went away, on his return, the same. She wondered if he did the same for his fiancé, wondered if he was missed as much at home.

The car came as usual, the journey to work the same, a few more flowers by the road side, and lighter jackets on the commuters. She was first in the office. No sign of Claire this morning, no cakes, no kisses on today’s invitations. She looked up at the cupola; this office, this business, at least was hers. Even if he, wasn’t.

-

She had given the account to Claire. Weddings were her speciality. She didn’t have the patience for favours and something old and something new. Claire, despite showing no signs of ever wanting to get married, loved dealing with the imaginations of brides over stimulated by sugar icing and dresses that looked like they should be eaten. She preferred the excitement of fashion shows and shop openings, preferring to be a social butterfly in front of the curtain than behind the scenes.

But as a new client she had to meet the bride. She had been impressed; Anna was a society blond who had managed to move away from her Edinburgh University education to something more. Anna had met James at a conference; it was to be an equal marriage, a partnership. She got the impression Anna knew what she wanted and had gone out to get it, she wondered if he ever had a chance.

She had met James a week later. Sat at the bar in a discreet hotel they had gone through the financials over a bottle of wine. The budget set he had begun to question her intently, teased her on her own lack of ring, of success with finding her own groom. She had blushed and stuttered and insisted she didn’t need a man on her arm to be a success, looking back, she knew she had used all the clichés.

The bar was noisy with businessmen and he had leaned in close, close enough for her taste. She didn’t want to admit it to herself but he had turned her on, fast, quick and hard. He had ordered a whisky for her, had taught her to taste a little first, to feel the heat on her lips, feel the strength before adding a little water . The whisky was sweet and spicy and made her head swam. She had breathed in, deeply, he had caught it and had run his finger along her wrist, stroked the cuff of her sensible blouse. He had loosened his tie, revealing a hint of tanned skin. The barman had winked as he had reached for his wallet to pay the bill.

In the ladies she had looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were dilated, her cheeks a little flushed. It was the whisky she had insisted. She ran her wrists under the cold tap to cool herself, prepared herself to walk away, to say no, to protect her professional reputation. He was waiting for her at the door with her coat, smiling a disarming grin. He had her; she could see it all over his face. He knew she wouldn’t say no. But she had. As the taxi pulled away, she watched him flick his collar up against the rain and pull out his mobile phone. He didn’t look back at her. She couldn’t help feel disappointed.

She had woken at 3am, slick with sweat, his face still stark in her mind.

Two days later he had sent his business card with a mobile number on the back. She had called of course. As he told her the place, the time and the day they should meet she had wondered if it was really him, or Anna that hadn’t had a chance.

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