definitely attractive in a rather boyish, half sad, half mischievous way. He plays killer squash and goes running most days on Streatham Common near his home, so what you can see of his muscles look more suited to the sports field than a publishing house. Perhaps to plug his artistic image, he shaves infrequently and never wears a tie.
He was also the office lech. In those days, anyway. He seduced all the prettiest temps and would then start on the plain ones, with little subtlety and a cheerful lack of discrimination. As a rule he avoided any entanglement with the permanent staff but was seen out from time to time with leggy models, pouting PAs, dashing advertising executives. None of his affairs ever lasted more than a few days, or at the most a few weeks, and male friends said that despite the philandering he was still in love with his wife, a former biochemist called Christine. His marriage was long-standing but reputedly sex-free since the birth of his second son, who was severely mentally and physically handicapped. His wife had given up her career and everything else to devote herself to her child, becoming immersed in related charity work and eventually rising to a directorship in the Williamson Trust, which specialises in the care of handicapped children. Cal, so he claimed, was forced to seek solace elsewhere.
I saw a distinct gleam in his eye as he studied Georgieâs cleavage, but it didnât bother me unduly since such gleams were automatic with him, she was permanent staff, and his taste normally ran to girls of twenty-odd. I drifted away to talk to someone else and it was only when I glanced over, an hour or so later, and saw Georgie and Cal still nose to nose that I began to feel slightly anxious. Of course, Georgie was an older woman with aeons of experience under her belt: she could look after herself . . .
âGeorgie and Cal seem to be getting on awfully well,â Lin said in my ear. âOh dear. You donât think they . . . ?â
âNot getting on,â I said. âGetting off. What is she doing? She knows his reputation. Everyone does.â
âHeâs been dropping into our office quite a lot lately,â Lin volunteered. âHe said it was about the posters for Doomspinner â but that isnât anything to do with us really. Thatâs Promotions. I thought he was just being friendly. He tries to flirt with me sometimes.â Lin isnât the flirty type.
That, I knew, meant nothing. Cal would try to flirt with a lampstand if it looked vaguely female. It wasnât the possibility of flirtation that worried me.
If Iâd known what I knew later, Iâd have worried even more.
âIâve fancied you for ages,â Cal was saying with a flash of his cheeky-schoolboy grin. âI keep telling myself itâs a bad idea, but I wonât listen to me. Iâve always tried to avoid getting mixed up with anyone at work . . .â
âIt is a bad idea,â Georgie agreed. âWhat about Trudi Horn from Contracts? Was that another bad idea â or just a lapse of judgement?â
Cal made a face. âBoth. I was hoping you wouldnât have heard about that. Gossip travels at lightspeed in this place.â
âIt didnât have far to travel,â Georgie pointed out. âBesides, I gather Trudi mentioned it â discreetly, of course â to about half the world. She was pretty upset.â
âShe wanted commitment. I told her, right from the start, I donât do commitment. I donât do the L-word. Iâm a married man. I just want sex â and youâre the sexiest woman Iâve seen in ages. You donât look the neurotic type â youâre young enough to be gorgeous and old enough to be sensible â and Iâm drunk enough to try it on. The question is, are you sober enough to slap my face?â
âOh, I could do that drunk, too,â Georgie said sweetly.
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