Sushi for Beginners - Marian Keyes [79]
Leaning against the doorframe, he displayed a device in the palm of his hand, like a policeman flashing ID. ‘I have a timer for your boiler.’
It sounded vaguely suggestive.
‘Sorry it wasn’t sooner.’ Then he hesitated. ‘Is now a good time?’
‘Come in,’ Lisa invited. ‘Come in.’
She was taken aback because in London, no one ever just called around to her flat. She’d never made an arrangement to see anyone without first opening her Psion or Filofax and playing the I’m-busier-and-more-important-than-you game. It was an elaborate ritual, governed by strict rules. At least five different dates must be offered and rejected before an actual one can be agreed on.
‘Next Tuesday? Can’t, I’ll be in Milan.’
Which is the cue for the other party to respond, ‘And I can never do Wednesdays because that’s my reiki night.’
An acceptable reply to that is, ‘And Thursdays are out for me because my Alexander Technique tutor comes.’
The ante is upped by the second party coming back with, ‘The weekend after that is out of the question. Cottage in the Lake District with friends.’
To which the smart money responds, ‘The whole of the following week is gone for me. LA, on business.’
Once a date has been finally fixed, it is still acceptable – indeed expected – for you to cancel on the day, pleading jet-lag, a client dinner or having to go to Geneva to make seventy people redundant.
Like Gucci sunglasses and Prada handbags, Time Poverty was a status symbol. The less time you had the more important you were. Jack obviously didn’t know.
He looked around in admiration. ‘You’ve been here – how many? – three, four days and already the place looks nicer. Look at that –’ He pointed to a glass bowl overloaded with white tulips. ‘And that.’ A vase of dried flowers had caught his attention.
Good job he couldn’t see the cups under her bed that were in the early stages of growing mould, Lisa thought. Her homes were always a triumph of style over hygiene. She must try and sort out a cleaner…
‘Can I get you a drink?’ she offered.
‘Any beer?’
‘Um, no, but I’ve some white wine.’
She experienced ridiculous pleasure when he accepted a glass.
‘I’ll just get my stuff from the car,’ he said, ducking out and returning shortly afterwards carrying a blue metallic container.
Oh God, he had a toolbox! She had to sit on her hands to keep herself from touching him, from ripping off the last few buttons on his shirt, exposing his broad chest, which was just the correct degree of hairiness, sweeping her hands up the smooth skin of his back…
‘D’you mind if I open the back door?’ He interrupted the clinch that was taking place in her head.
‘Um, no, go ahead.’ She watched him cross the room and shoot the bolt that hadn’t been touched since the last time he’d been here. A fragrant breeze crept into the kitchen, bringing the dense, evening-time scent of foliage and the whistles and cheeps of birds winding down after the day. Nice. If you liked that kind of thing.
‘Have you sat in your garden yet?’ Jack asked.
No. ‘Yes.’
‘It’s so peaceful out there, you’d hardly know you were in a city,’ he nodded through the doorway.
‘I know.’ Tell me about it!
‘Here goes.’ He eyed the boiler. ‘This looks like a straightforward enough job, but you never know.’
Then he rolled up his sleeves, revealing the sinews of his lovely wrists, and set to work. Lisa sat in the kitchen, hugging one knee, enjoying, too much, the presence of an attractive man in her home. No matter what, she decided, they were not going to talk about the advertising situation. There would be no downers, this was a tailor-made opportunity to flirt.
‘So tell me all about you,’ she ordered with confident coquetry, to his back.
‘What do you want to know?’ He was none too civil as