Last Chance Saloon - Marian Keyes [24]
He was very tall – about six one – and lean with it. But the consensus was that it suited him. Clothes kind of hung on his lanky frame, looking languid and stylish. Today he wore black combats and a long-sleeved T-shirt. To see him properly Katherine had to lean back so much that her face was almost parallel with the ceiling.
‘Morning, Katie,’ he said, a huge smile on his thin face. ‘What’s got you in on a Saturday?’
Katherine was stunned at the ‘Katie’ bit of ‘Morning, Katie.’ At work she cultivated a definite, deliberate distance. No one called her Kathy or Kate or Katie or Kath or Kit or Kitty. She was always Katherine. In fact, she’d have liked it to be Ms Casey, but she knew she was pushing her luck. Breen Helmsford was too contrivedly informal to stand for surnames. Even the managing director Mr Denning insisted on being called Johnny. (Although his name was actually Norman.)
Only the cleaner was addressed by her surname. A hard-faced chain-smoker, afflicted with a hacking cough, who complained bitterly about the mess. Everyone was terrified of her, and wouldn’t dare get over-familiar. She had probably been born Mrs Twyford.
Katherine gave Joe her Scary Look, grade four. This was a terrifying glare that flooded men with unexpected, shocking fear. It was only a couple of grades below the Medusa Look, and she’d sometimes nearly frightened herself as she honed and perfected it in front of her bedroom mirror. But before she could tell him in icy tones that no one was allowed to abbreviate her name, Joe asked, a twinkle in his friendly brown eyes, ‘Ooh, toothache? Nasty! Or have you got something in your eye?’
‘Um, neither,’ Katherine muttered, liberating her face muscles from their narrow-eyed, teeth-baring rictus.
‘And why are you here today?’ Joe asked.
‘I don’t normally work weekends,’ she said politely, looking up at him, ‘but it’s the end of the accounting year so I’m very busy.’
‘I love that accent of yours,’ Joe said, with a sunbeam smile. ‘I could listen to it all day.’
‘I’m afraid you’ll never get that opportunity.’ Katherine gave a chilly smirk.
Joe looked mildly shocked, then soldiered on. ‘Is there any point asking you to have lunch with me, then?’
‘None,’ she said, shortly. ‘Why don’t you leave me alone?’
‘Why don’t I leave you alone?’ Joe mused. ‘I’ll tell you. As a very wise man once said, let me see, what was the exact phrase…?’ Joe stared thoughtfully into the middle distance. ‘Oh, yes!’ he said. ‘ “I’ve got you under my skin.” ’
‘Is that right? Well, in the words of one of my heroes, the great humanist Rhett Butler…’ Katherine retorted crisply ‘…“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.” ’
‘Ach, she’s cruel, so cruel,’ Joe gasped, staggering around in front of her desk, as though he’d been stabbed.
She looked at him with steady contempt. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do,’ she said, turning to her screen.
‘How about a drink after work, then?’ he suggested, brightly.
‘Which part of the word “no” is it that you don’t understand? The N or the O?’
‘You’re breaking my heart.’
‘Good.’
He stared, in admiration. ‘You’re the most intriguing woman I’ve ever met.’
‘You’d want to get out more.’
Joe, an intelligent man, knew when he was wasting his time. ‘No further questions,’ he said crisply, like a young, keen, cross-examining attorney. He’d hoped Katherine would laugh. She didn’t. Joe took his leave. ‘I ought to go and see a man about some tampons. But as the great savant and philosopher Arnold Schwarzenegger once said…’ he paused for emphasis, leant close to Katherine, then whispered hoarsely ‘… I’ll be back…’
With a twinkly smile, he walked away. Yes, she was definitely loosening up. Much more chatty, no doubt about it. At this rate of progress, in another ten years she might smile at him.
Katherine watched him go. She knew she’d been gratuitously cruel. But she had to admit she’d enjoyed it. Guiltily, she thought about having a quick drink with him. But, no, she decided. Look at what happened the last time she’d gone out with someone.