Monday 12 February
"Ohh! Pretty pink envelope," Teri, leaned over Vernon, with her hands squeezing both his shoulders, "that's got to be a Valentine, right? Gotta secret admirer, then, have we, Vern?"
"I guess it could be, er, Teri, isn't it?" Vernon stuttered as he turned the unopened object over in his hands as if it was a parcel bomb. "I had thought it was some kind of greetings card, but my birthday's not for over a month yet."
"It clearly says 'To Vernon Harrison' on the front, and it's underlined twice, so it is definitely for you, Vern."
He had been briefly introduced to Teri only last week, Wednesday or Thursday, he wasn't sure which, so he hardly knew her, yet she was being very familiar.
Nobody calls me "Vern",' he thought, 'I should be "The Boss",' although that sounded odd even to him. He had been a permanent fixture in that office as a worker for over twenty years and only in charge of it for a matter of 18 months, when Vernon Harrison had been promoted to Chief Planning Officer.
Teri was the most recent temp to join the Barton Valley Borough Council Planning Department. They were so short of qualified planning officers that they usually had at least three temps working various part-time hours doing most of the non-technical but still essential work to keep the wheels turning, like sending off standard letters to applicants and residents in neighbouring properties and specialist consultees, which varied according to each planning application. The HR Department, under the helm of the fierce and scary Mrs Hilda Brankstone, supplied the temp staff, of which there was a constantly changing stream.
Teri, he thought, not remembering her second name, must be a mother with a young child or children at school, because she only worked 10am to 2pm from Monday to Friday. He assumed she was in her early to mid-twenties, which would make her almost half his age. She was young enough be his daughter, although his twin girls were twenty and away at two different universities, Bristol and Newcastle, which meant a lot of driving involved picking them up and dropping them off at start and finish of term times. That task began last October and he knew it would largely fall to him for the next three years rather than his busy wife, Denise, currently the Mayor of Barton Valley Borough.
Teri was very attractive, Vernon thought, of medium height, wearing loose fitting tops which couldn't disguise the fact that she was big busted, but the tops did hide how narrow or thick her waist was. She had a perfect arse though, in those loose jogging bottoms. He had noticed several times when she had squatted down to top up the paper in the photocopier and again when she bent over at Julie's desk on some pretence at looking at something and suddenly quietened the office, male and female alike.
"It does look handwritten," Vernon mumbled, "but I don't recognise the handwriting. That's what threw me at first, Teri, because I wondered, who would send me a greetings card at this time of year? My birthday is at the end of March, Easter is six or seven weeks away, and our wedding anniversary falls in June. I hadn't even considered it might be a Valentine's card."
"I don't think it's handwritten ..." she leaned over a little further for a closer look so her perky breasts lightly touched his back and he caught a whiff of the light, spring blossom-filled perfume she wore, "no, it's clearly printed on the department's copy printer, because it's the same font as Vicky uses to 'sign' all her emails."
"Really?" Vernon pulled it nearer and took off his reading glasses, "I can't tell, I mean it's blue ink rather than black."
"Definitely sure, Vern, it's printed using our colour printers," she assured him patiently, "the 'V' is definitely the same as Vicky's email signature. I recognise it because she's the only one who uses that font, and I really liked the 'T' from Vicky's surname. I thought that if ever I had to send and sign any emails of my own, I would use that font. I think it's called 'Shelley'."
Vernon seemed to brighten at that, thinking 'Phew, the card could still be from Denise, not that I was expecting one. I could do with the minimum of complications in my life right now. I suppose I better get her a card.'
"Go on, then," Teri said, jogging him with her hands on his shoulders, her thumbs rubbing the back of his neck, "open it. I want to see what she says."
"She?"
"Mmmm," she cooed quietly in his ear, so close he could feel the heat of her breath as she whispered, "it would be such a loss to us girls if a hunk like you only got Valentines from guys."
"I'm a married man," he insisted, releasing his left hand to show her his ring, "happily married," he added for emphasis.
"Not even a closet....?"
"No, not even close to being a closet anything." He looked at her, her flawless youthful face inches from his nose, a small smile playing on her plump pink lips.
"Good. Now, open that card, mister, cos I've got to get back to work soon or my slave-driver boss'll be paddling my backside."
"We can't have that now, can we?" Vernon chuckled.
"Can't we?" she asked softly, her smile faded, eyebrows lifted, then she smiled again, her eyes crinkled as her deep smiles always seem to involve the whole of her face, he noticed "No, it's not playtime yet, is it, Vern?"
Then she laughed, a deep throaty laugh that made Vernon think that playtime for her boyfriend or husband must be a constant source of joy, while he couldn't remember the last playtime joy he'd had at home for ... oh, yes he could, it was just around midnight on Christmas Eve. But then, life for both Vernon and Denise had been hectic then and since; the detail on the Local Plan for him, the Council Budget and setting the annual Council Tax was an intense time for Denise as Mayor of the Borough.
He turned the envelope over and tore the sealed flap open by running his index finger along the folded edge, revealing a card covered in red ink in the shape of a big heart surrounded by tiny roses threaded on scrolls of ribbons. He pulled it free from the envelope.
"'Happy Valentine's Day'," Teri read for him over his shoulder, her chin almost resting on the back of her hand, her long frizzy red hair tickling his right ear. "Ooh, that big red heart fills the whole of the card, with all those red ribbons and roses around. That's a beautiful card, isn't it, Vern?"
"Yes," Vernon agreed, "A bit girly, though."
"Nonsense, Vern, you hunky men are so insensitive when it comes to this sort of thing. I think it looks hot and romantic, like it's been recognised that you've got a big heart and some greedy girl wants a big piece of it, or any piece she can get, I would imagine."
Vernon looked at her, her face up almost too close for comfort for a married man. She was right into his personal space. When she spoke that last sentence she had sounded like he imagined a vamp on the prowl would, but by the time he turned and looked at the girl, her face was open, with an innocent little girl smile and soft eyes.
'I bet she can turn from sexy vamp to sweet next door girl and back again in an instant,' he thought.
While they exchanged glances, she asked, "Ooh, Vern, have you just had your hair cut?"
"Yes, on Saturday."
"Mmmm. Thought so, the hair on the back of your neck has that irresistible short bristle texture that just turns a girl on."
He swallowed. He hadn't noticed that her thumbs, that had been constantly stroking the back of his neck through his shirt, had migrated onto the skin at the back of his neck and then inched up further up into his hair line. Her face still had the look of a sweet and innocent girl.
"Open the card, Vern, I wanna read what she wrote," she urged.
He returned his gaze to the card, opened it and up popped a row of four red hearts, cut-out and chained together, with the word 'I' on the card above and 'YOU' below the hearts, and the letters L-O-V-E divided across the four hearts.
"It's not signed," she noted, "but then you can't feed a card with a cut-out pop-up through the printers. Check out the back, Vern."
Vernon turned the page. On the back were three large Xs, clearly using a ball point pen, the indentations in the thick card immediately noticeable when held up to the light at an angle.
"No way I can recognise who sent it, though, from those Xs," Vernon said.
"It'll probably be your wife," Teri suggested, "almost certainly. What did you get her for Valentine's Day?"
"Er, I haven't got her a card or a gift, er, yet..." he trailed off, "we don't really do Valentine any more." No, he thought, they hadn't done Valentine's for years.
"Better get a move on, Vern, if you don't want to rock the boat at home, it's Monday and Valentine's Day's this Wednesday, you know."
"Well, now I do. Anyway, off to work, slave, before I paddle your backside!"
"Ooh, sir," Teri giggled as she released her grip on his shoulder and skipped away, "when I came for the interview, HR told me nothing about your department's particular staff incentive scheme!"
She sat at the desk two rows away from Vernon's, where they both faced each other, smiling.
At a desk across from the open plan office, Mrs Vicky Talbot and Ms Julie Cavanagh had been watching the scene with interest.
"Vernon and the new girl, that's a turn-up for the book," Julie commented.
"She's a bright cookie that girl Teri, only been here two days and she's already realised that Vernon's bitch wife is blatantly banging that sleazeball Harry Cox. I mean Denise wants to keep her little fling quiet while it lasts but my Darren says Cox is shooting his mouth off in 'The Carpenters' about the Mayor's his bitch every chance he gets. It looks like Teri knows what's going on and is making a play for him to pick up the pieces when he finally finds out."
"For an old chap he's in good shape."
"Belongs to the rowing club, out racing on the River Bar most Sundays."
