Laurie had never thought of Michael as young before, but now, seeing him dressed in something other than a suit, she realised he couldn’t be much older than she was. Not that casual clothes did much more for him than that. The short sleeves of the polo shirt, in particular, emphasised the scrawniness of his arms. The contrast with Paul was all too striking.
He was happy to see her. That much was clear from his greeting. ‘Laurie, hi. Thanks for coming so quickly. Henry called me this morning wanting to make a few changes to the model. I’ve done them but now I can’t get your macros to run. He’s coming in later this afternoon.’
So it began. They worked together for four hours until Henry arrived, dressed in chinos and a polo shirt remarkably similar to Michael’s. Was it some sort of uniform? Laurie was briefly glad that she’d worn a dress for her bike ride with Paul, not her usual Lycra. Unlike Michael, however, Henry had a tan. It extended up his arms and stopped on a line with the shirtsleeve, under which pale luminescent skin became visible when he reached over for the sheaf of papers that Michael was offering him. The two of them went into Henry’s office. Laurie could see them through the glass screen, bent over the papers on the desk, Henry talking, and Michael replying. Once they both looked across to her. Laurie immediately bent back to her computer, embarrassed at being caught out in relative idleness. It had reverted to her usual screensaver: the picture she had taken of Dad and Roxanne before coming up to London. On impulse, she replaced it with the one she’d just taken of Paul. That was making some sort of statement, she realised. Well, why not?
Henry’s office door opened. He was speaking. ‘OK. Why don’t you model it for weekly trades as well as daily. I just get the feeling you won’t lose too much, and it will be so much simpler to run. Good stuff. I’ll be back in a couple of hours, once the children are in bed.’
Laurie risked a glance up from her computer and immediately caught Henry’s eye. He was looking at her quizzically: ‘Michael tells me you’ve been very helpful. Good stuff.’ Then he was gone.
When Henry returned, it was with a couple more orders expressed as questions, but also with a suggestion that it was time they ate. It was Laurie’s job of course, first to phone in the order to the Gates of Peking, and then to pop round the corner to pick it up.
The food wasn’t ready yet. Laurie accepted the offer of a Diet Coke while she waited at the bar. There were two other women there, perched on high stools but both looking impossibly elegant. One got off her stool as Laurie approached and sashayed off to the other side of the room, hips wiggling beneath the silk of her dress, feet perfectly poised on heels that would have left marks in a softer floor. Laurie watched her, fascinated, and then looked away to realise that the other woman was watching her in turn, a look of amusement – or was it scorn? – playing about her face. Laurie was glad to take receipt of two heavy carrier bags shortly afterwards and escape.
There was an awful lot of food for three people. They ate together in one of the conference rooms, Henry and Michael shovelling from their plates to their mouths, wielding chopsticks like they were born to it, while Laurie, struggling with the unfamiliar implements, was significantly slower. That was probably just as well, even though it had been twelve hours since that croissant. How did Michael manage to stay so thin?
Henry eventually broke the silence. ‘Right. I’m going to start writing the executive summary. We can fill in the blanks tomorrow. It’s good you’re here, Laurie. I should be able to give you some dictation in an hour or so.
‘An hour or so’, turned out to be two and a half, largely spent in discussion with Michael, who emerged to start working furiously at his computer while Henry spoke into a Dictaphone. He soon handed Laurie a tape with two commands, apparently meant for Michael: ‘Use that as a rough outline. Let’s meet again at ten tomorrow.’ Then he addressed himself to Laurie directly. ‘Do you think you could call me a cab, and book one for tomorrow morning as well?’ Five minutes later, he left the office.
Michael looked at Laurie: ‘I’m afraid that if Henry’s here at ten, we’ll have to be here by eight. Not much sleep tonight.’
It was nearly three when Laurie got home. She’d had a good chat with her cab driver about Arsenal’s prospects in the coming season, and he gave her a cheery good night before waiting to make sure she got in safely. Within five minutes she was in bed.