Last Chance Saloon - Marian Keyes [57]
‘We could. I know loads of recipes.’ Katherine’s face took on a gleam. ‘I’ve a lovely one for humous. Go to Safeway, buy a tub, tear off the cardboard and Cellophane, serve!’
‘I love it.’ He dazzled her with a smile. ‘Let me tell you my one for a fuss-free roast dinner. Instructions: go and stay with your mum for the weekend.’
‘And we could do glossy colour photos,’ Katherine said, enthusiastically, ‘of the microwave and the pizza-delivery boy and people eating things out of plastic containers.’
‘It would make a change from the usual gastro-porn.’ Joe’s face was alight with amusement. ‘Delia Smith, your days are numbered.’
Katherine had to admit Joe was nice. Or, at least, he seemed nice. Which meant he was probably a mad axe-murderer. They usually were. A silence followed, and they noticed for the first time that it had started to pour with rain outside. ‘Rain.’ Katherine sighed.
‘I like rain.’
‘You seem to like everything,’ Katherine was washed with sudden sourness. ‘Is there a male version of Pollyanna? Because you’re it!’
Joe laughed. ‘I just happen to think that most things can be turned to your advantage. Take the rain, for example. Imagine the scene,’ he invited, waving his hand with a vague grace. ‘It’s pouring down outside, and the rain is rattling at the windows, but you’re indoors, with the fire on, lying on the sofa, with your duvet, a bottle of red wine –’
‘You’re wearing thick socks and sweatpants,’ Katherine interrupted, astonished at her eagerness.
Joe nodded. ‘A Chinese is on its way…’
‘A lovely film on the telly…’
Joe’s eyes were bright with enthusiasm. ‘A black and white one…’
‘Of course…’
‘Philadelphia Story…?’
‘Casablanca…?’
‘No,’ they said simultaneously. ‘Roman Holiday!’
They stared at each other. A bolt of connection shot between them, so intimate that Katherine felt he’d frisked her soul. Positively goosed it. When the waitress chose that moment to shove her face between them and ask if they were finished, Katherine could have kissed her, while Joe could have happily bludgeoned her about the head and neck.
In an effort to stave off the time when they had to go back to work Joe energetically encouraged Katherine to have pudding. ‘How about a tri-chocolate terrine?’ he suggested, reading from the menu. ‘Or a fudge and caramel praline?’
Katherine’s lips tightened. What did he think she was? A woman? ‘Are you having something?’ she asked.
‘No, but…’
‘Well, then,’ she replied coldly. And he wondered what he’d done wrong. It had been going so well.
But Katherine had looked at her watch and seen that the hour was up. In fact she’d let it go way over the hour and she was cross with herself and cross with him.
Her mask was back on. She ordered a double espresso and began barking out the Noritaki fixed and variable costs. Just to show him that the fun and games were well and truly over she took a printout from her bag. Then – and there was no other reason except to be cruel – placed her portable calculator on the table.
‘How about a liqueur?’ Joe suggested, when she was done. ‘Just one and then we’ll go back.’
She shook her head, her face closed.
‘Go on. As a very wise man once said, “Won’t you stay, just a little bit longer?” ’
‘And in the words of one of the greatest minds of the twentieth century,’ Katherine replied coldly, dropping her calculator into her bag, ‘ “That’s all folks!” ’
She stood up.
She let him pay the bill, trampling her feelings of guilt into the ground. After all she hadn’t wanted to come. But as he got up to leave, she said, archly, ‘Don’t forget the receipt, so you can claim it back.’ The look he gave her – hurt and disgust at her gratuitous unpleasantness – almost made her wish she hadn’t said anything.
It was nearly four o’clock when they got back to the office. This shouldn’t have happened. Well, it wouldn’t happen again, she’d make damn sure of that. Anyway he was bound to be given the boot before the month was out. He was already into extra time by Breen Helmsford standards. And calculating