Janice Parker stared out of the car window as her husband manoeuvred the Prius through the tiny streets at the back of the offices. The day was bright in contrast to her mood. It was coming up to ten years in the same job, a job she could more or less do with her eyes closed. The trouble was that automation was making steady inroads into it. Opportunities were fewer and that meant more people chasing the same positions. Her most recent round of applications had come to nothing.
It was also fifteen years since her marriage to Dave. Solid, reliable, dependable Dave. Everything planned, nothing on impulse. All admirable qualities to be sure. Last Friday evening she had stared at the kitchen worktop knowing Friday meant fish. Tuna salad with boiled new potatoes and pickled beetroot. Once upon a time she'd tried to vary it with mackerel, salmon even, and different dressings. He'd not said anything because he did no meal prep so was not about to incur his wife's wrath on the subject, but his displeasure manifested itself in a sulk that could last the rest of the evening. Sunday was a roast, Saturday was pizza, blah, blah, blah.
Dave pulled up to the kerb and she sighed as she opened the door. However, in the distance across the market square she spied the rather dishy Gray Delacroix. Actually, strike that, pretty bloody gorgeous Grayson Alvarez Delacroix. Tall, slim, wavy brown hair, gorgeous blue-grey eyes, a quick smile ...
Behind her, Dave grunted. "Smart-arse." He didn't much care for the support office manager.
She suppressed a grin.
***
It being early February, the wind was chilly, but the lean sunshine put a spring in his step as he marched across the flags to the side entrance. Tapping his card against the security door, Gray waited for the soft click of the disengagement of the lock before pushing through to the corridor beside the lift. The lift was notoriously unreliable, but he braved it anyway.
Exiting on to the third floor he strode briskly along the corridor. The lift was halfway down one side of the building and he had to virtually circumnavigate the place to get to where his admin support team were located.
In her office on the first corner of his journey, Janice heard his distinctive rapid footfall and looked up to catch his brief smile and hand wave as he passed by. As PA to one of the section heads, she had run into him at various meetings, quickly establishing a rapport. He liked that she was sparky, careless of seniority and quick with a tart rejoinder. She liked that he was also quick and effortlessly urbane. She also enjoyed the fact that there was more than one colleague jealous of her casual familiarity with him. If he only knew how many hearts he caused to beat a little faster !
As he passed open doors on the way down the long corridor at the front of the building, he briefly glanced in to take the temperature of the various bits of the division that his team supported. Nothing seemed to have blown up yet so he would probably have time to settle in before demands were made on his attention. He had a report to write that couldn't wait.
He greeted his team as he breezed through the outer office. He had a door to his own office from the corridor but always made the effort to exchange pleasantries with the one man and five women that reported to him. They all mumbled greetings with varying degrees of attention, eyes fixed on their monitors.
There was a small white envelope on his desk. He glanced at it curiously as he hung up his jacket. Normally such things arrived in the In tray. As he took his seat, he picked it up and stared at the front with disbelief. It was marked with a capital G. The sender had converted the end of the top arc of the G into a little heart, as if sprouting a tiny flower.
"Jeez," he muttered, and swept it into the bin. For one thing, he loathed Valetine's Day for its saccharine commercialisation, and for another it reminded him that his relationship with Sylvia was going through yet another in a seemingly endless series of rocky patches.
He stared bleakly out of the window to where the late winter sun was gilding the stonework of the buildings around the marketplace.
"Can I interrupt you?"
He swivelled back to face the door. Cheryl Sanders stood poised on the threshold. Cheryl was about the same age as him, blonde hair in a bob,
very
blue eyes, and fashionable clothes. A dark skirt suit and a cream-coloured blouse. Nicely curvy too - when he allowed himself to notice.
"Already have," he smiled. "Come in and bother me."
"Goody!" she said and flopped into the chair across the desk.
He rested his elbows on the leather writing surface and adopted a doctorly mien.
"What seems to be the problem?"
"Well," she said and tucked her hair behind her ear in a characteristic gesture that he found deeply endearing.
"It's this report- ooh!" She broke off to lean over to the bin. "Have you got a Valentine's card?"
"Lot of nonsense," he huffed. "Leave it."
She ignored him, fishing it out and opening it.
He spluttered, "That's private!"
She paused and gave him the side-eye, eyebrows raised, continuing to remove the little card.
"Hand drawn!" she remarked. "That'll thin the field down a bit."
His interest piqued; he held out his hand.
"Not so cynical now, are we?" she grinned, her blue eyes sparkling.
"Hand it over, Sanders."
She looked at him from under her lashes. The words
'make me',
along with the image of an enjoyably physical tussle rose unbidden into her mind. However, Gray exuded a subtle melancholy aloofness that said,
'don't ask, don't try.'
Cheryl ignored his demand and inspected the card. The drawing was of two blackbirds perched on a twig, male and female, the latter a chocolate brown, and the former jet black with little highlights that suggested the sheen of his feathers. His bright eye and yellow beak were beautifully rendered. The two birds angled towards one another in a way that implied their union but was devoid of sentiment.
Inside there were half a dozen lines of doggerel written in an unfamiliar hand. It wasn't signed or even dedicated. She put her head on one side. The sender had gone to some considerable trouble to craft it, yet had left no clue as to their identity, which was, of course, part and parcel of the tease of the thing.
She tossed it across the desk to him and he inspected it, frowning. Then to her surprise he placed it on display on his desk.
"It's a nice drawing," he said in response to her raised eyebrows. "Now, what did you want to talk to me about?"
***
Afterwards, as she her way back to her own office on the next floor up, her mind whirled with questions.
The rumour mill said he was unhappy in his marriage. This was entirely based on the hearsay of one of the staff who had been seated in an adjacent booth to a group of women out on the lash one evening. When the distinctive name
'Gray'
was mentioned, said colleague had sat up and listened intently for the juicy details. Of which there were quite a few. It seemed that Gray had an almost incomprehensibly ethical standard. Bizarrely, his wife seemed almost resentful that he
wasn't
playing away. Not that she could tell anyway.
However, it seemed that someone was, however indirectly, making a play for Mr Delacroix!
***
The card niggled at him. Of his staff, two were ten to fifteen years older than him and stolid in their habits. Of the remainder, Amy was ridiculously excited to be engaged, Kirsten was fresh out of school and frightened of her own shadow, which left Hannah. And Michael, he thought uneasily. Both quite similar, quiet, and studious, not inclined to share their thoughts. He had little idea about their lives outside work.
The latter two were also about the same age as Gray. He could log in to the HR system and find out for sure of course; but recoiled from the idea. That was the trouble with these sorts of things. They generated a sort of paranoia.
Hannah was reserved to the point of invisibility. There were days when they didn't speak at all. He did his damndest to draw her out at their scheduled fortnightly reviews, but it was an uphill struggle. Michael was similarly opaque, answering most questions with a laconic 'yes' or 'no'.
He tested the idea that it might be Michael and realised that he had no idea how to handle it if that turned out to be the case. It would make their interactions even more awkward. Gray prided himself on being non-judgemental and open minded, but the very idea of a man being infatuated with him left him at sixes and sevens. So much for being non-judgemental and open minded. His thoughts turned to the other people in the division, but none of them seemed likely candidates to be his admirer.
Every so often his gaze would rest on the little drawing of the blackbirds and his lips quirked. It was a very subtle valentine, speaking less of passion and desire and more of contentment and order. It called to a deep-seated desire within himself, on the rare occasions he allowed himself to think it.
***
At lunchtime Sylvia arrived early, almost unannounced. She'd taken to doing this lately, as though trying trap him in wrongdoing. As a strategy it had not yielded any results, which simply served to make her more cross. She let herself into the room without knocking.
Exasperated, he said, "Can you not do that? I have meetings in here."
"I rang ahead to check," she said shortly.
Then her gaze fell upon the card and Gray groaned inwardly.
"What the fek is that?"
His eyes flicked to the open doorway to the outer office where the chatter had abruptly fallen silent.
"What does it look like?"
She waved it at him, and her Irish accent thickened. "Who sent it to you?"
"It's anonymous. Isn't that the convention?"
He stared at her, waiting for the drama to play out and her lips thinned in helpless fury. He was stoical in the face of her moods, unmoved by any tactic save to protect the children.
She snatched it up and ripped it into pieces.
He rose from his chair and went to get his jacket from the coatrack, not acknowledging the shredded card. Opening the door, he looked at her expectantly.
"Shall we go?"
Her face twisted and she made a small incoherent noise, before storming past him into the corridor.
***
"Who is this person you want me to meet?" he asked as they presented themselves to front of house at the restaurant. Her earlier temper had evaporated and now she seemed oddly evasive. His skin prickled with unease. Sylvia was hopeless at subterfuge.
A waiter came through to conduct them to their booth. As he rounded the corner to see who was sitting waiting for them, he stopped dead.
His father-in-law Fergal rose to greet them. He extended his hand. Gray stared at it and then up into the unsmiling face.
"Won't you sit down?"
Sylvia glanced nervously between the two men. The silence stretched and then her father sat down.
"Sit," he ordered.
"Or what? You'll break my legs?"
