Read Online The Mistake I Made by Paula Daly - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Paula Daly
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to—’
‘Won’t take a minute,’ and he met my eyes, giving me a sympathetic kind of smile.
‘There’s an issue with the takings,’ he began.
Wayne Geddes was a colourless man. His skin, his hair, his eyelashes and even his gums were a peculiar shade of nothing. He was what I would describe as instantly forgettable.
Apart from, that is, his propensity to sweat.
If you’ve ever left a lump of Parmesan cheese out of the fridge for a time you’ll notice a series of fatty droplets develop along the rind. That is Wayne’s forehead. Doesn’t matter what the weather’s doing. You had to feel sorry for the guy.
‘An issue?’ I said.
He frowned at the computer screen as though trying to make sense of something. Then he looked at me. ‘The takings don’t always match the appointment schedule,’ he said. ‘There are a few inconsistencies.’
‘And what has that got to do with me?’
He hesitated.
‘Spit it out, Wayne.’
I glanced towards the open door. We have so few sunny days throughout the year the pull was irresistible. I stood regarding Wayne, twitching like a greyhound in the traps, primed and ready for release.
‘Nothing you want to tell me?’ he asked carefully.
‘No.’
‘You’re quite sure? Because I could help you, Roz. You only need to confide in me and I promise I’ll help you.’
I held his gaze intently. ‘I really don’t know what you’re talking about. Now, I need to—’
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Okay.’ And he regarded me sadly, as though I was letting him down. ‘There is something else. You’ll have to cut your lunch break short today,’ Wayne said. ‘I’ve booked Henry Peachey to come in at 1 p.m.’
‘Who?’ I asked.
‘The insurance agent? The one you were supposed to call, and didn’t?’
Oh. That guy.
‘I couldn’t let it run on any longer, Roz,’ he said. ‘You need this assessment. We’re not fully insured without it.’
‘So you keep saying. But did you have to organize it for today?’ I asked, glancing at my watch. That only gave me fifteen minutes.
‘Henry only works Tuesdays and Wednesdays.’
‘That’s nice for him.’
Wayne sighed heavily. ‘Just do it, okay? Help me to help you. Besides, it won’t take that long.’
8
‘ IF I COULD begin by taking your date of birth,’ the insurance agent said.
‘Twenty-fifth of December, Nineteen seventy-one.’
He raised his head. ‘Christmas Day.’
I nodded.
Now people would generally say one of two things: ‘Do you get twice the presents?’ or ‘I’ve always felt sorry for those whose birthday falls on that day.’
He actually said neither. ‘I’m not really a big Christmas person,’ he said, and smiled.
His smile was warm and sexy at the same time. And I was completely thrown off centre.
We were in the nutritionist’s room. There wasn’t enough work for a full-time nutritionist at the clinic, so Helen Miller split her time between four or five other set-ups around the North-west. This meant that her desk was always clear of the general detritus which accumulated on mine, as she moved her files and whatnot around with her. I had closed the blinds as the heat was fierce now on the west-facing windows, the sun having arced its way overhead, and the fan was on full blast.
My cheeks were hot and red.
Henry Peachey wore a polo shirt that was faded around the collar, along with olive-coloured canvas trousers that would be classed as jeans in certain establishments, therefore denying entry. I could smell his aftershave.
‘Full name?’ he asked.
‘Rosalind Veronica Toovey.’
He typed fast. His face was relaxed, he was totally at ease, and I watched him unashamedly. The only men we ever got at the clinic (other than patients) were medical reps, and they were like androids. They would move amongst us, tricking us with their good skin, erect postures, spotless shirts and their keen, interested eyes. In the first moments of meeting them, you would rarely feel more engaged,
‘Won’t take a minute,’ and he met my eyes, giving me a sympathetic kind of smile.
‘There’s an issue with the takings,’ he began.
Wayne Geddes was a colourless man. His skin, his hair, his eyelashes and even his gums were a peculiar shade of nothing. He was what I would describe as instantly forgettable.
Apart from, that is, his propensity to sweat.
If you’ve ever left a lump of Parmesan cheese out of the fridge for a time you’ll notice a series of fatty droplets develop along the rind. That is Wayne’s forehead. Doesn’t matter what the weather’s doing. You had to feel sorry for the guy.
‘An issue?’ I said.
He frowned at the computer screen as though trying to make sense of something. Then he looked at me. ‘The takings don’t always match the appointment schedule,’ he said. ‘There are a few inconsistencies.’
‘And what has that got to do with me?’
He hesitated.
‘Spit it out, Wayne.’
I glanced towards the open door. We have so few sunny days throughout the year the pull was irresistible. I stood regarding Wayne, twitching like a greyhound in the traps, primed and ready for release.
‘Nothing you want to tell me?’ he asked carefully.
‘No.’
‘You’re quite sure? Because I could help you, Roz. You only need to confide in me and I promise I’ll help you.’
I held his gaze intently. ‘I really don’t know what you’re talking about. Now, I need to—’
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Okay.’ And he regarded me sadly, as though I was letting him down. ‘There is something else. You’ll have to cut your lunch break short today,’ Wayne said. ‘I’ve booked Henry Peachey to come in at 1 p.m.’
‘Who?’ I asked.
‘The insurance agent? The one you were supposed to call, and didn’t?’
Oh. That guy.
‘I couldn’t let it run on any longer, Roz,’ he said. ‘You need this assessment. We’re not fully insured without it.’
‘So you keep saying. But did you have to organize it for today?’ I asked, glancing at my watch. That only gave me fifteen minutes.
‘Henry only works Tuesdays and Wednesdays.’
‘That’s nice for him.’
Wayne sighed heavily. ‘Just do it, okay? Help me to help you. Besides, it won’t take that long.’
8
‘ IF I COULD begin by taking your date of birth,’ the insurance agent said.
‘Twenty-fifth of December, Nineteen seventy-one.’
He raised his head. ‘Christmas Day.’
I nodded.
Now people would generally say one of two things: ‘Do you get twice the presents?’ or ‘I’ve always felt sorry for those whose birthday falls on that day.’
He actually said neither. ‘I’m not really a big Christmas person,’ he said, and smiled.
His smile was warm and sexy at the same time. And I was completely thrown off centre.
We were in the nutritionist’s room. There wasn’t enough work for a full-time nutritionist at the clinic, so Helen Miller split her time between four or five other set-ups around the North-west. This meant that her desk was always clear of the general detritus which accumulated on mine, as she moved her files and whatnot around with her. I had closed the blinds as the heat was fierce now on the west-facing windows, the sun having arced its way overhead, and the fan was on full blast.
My cheeks were hot and red.
Henry Peachey wore a polo shirt that was faded around the collar, along with olive-coloured canvas trousers that would be classed as jeans in certain establishments, therefore denying entry. I could smell his aftershave.
‘Full name?’ he asked.
‘Rosalind Veronica Toovey.’
He typed fast. His face was relaxed, he was totally at ease, and I watched him unashamedly. The only men we ever got at the clinic (other than patients) were medical reps, and they were like androids. They would move amongst us, tricking us with their good skin, erect postures, spotless shirts and their keen, interested eyes. In the first moments of meeting them, you would rarely feel more engaged,
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