‘Sorry, hi!’ he said enthusiastically, stepping forward. He had meant to give her a confident kiss on the cheek, but panicked at the last moment, thrusting his hand out for a weak handshake before stepping back and taking another moment to observe her. The grey coat was definitely designer, as were the high-heeled shoes, the sort that looked as if they never even hit the pavement. Typically, his one Savile Row suit, the one he had worn for his first couple of days at work, was at the dry cleaner’s. The high-street substitute he was wearing today felt cheap and unsuccessful compared to Jennifer’s highly groomed and polished look, although he might have been naked given how exposed he felt standing there before her.
‘Marion told me you were moving to New York. I was wondering if you were here yet. I saw your profile on NetworkMe . . .’
He wondered if she had looked him up on purpose; he doubted their circles crossed in any other way. The idea gave him a spike of confidence.
‘I got your letter. Well, your lawyer’s letter. The permission for Casa D’Or. Thank you, it meant a lot,’ he said crisply.
‘Connor thought I should send something official. Legal.’
‘Of course,’ said Jim, holding one hand up magnanimously.
Silence rang around the dark, empty office.
‘How are you, Jim?’ she asked, rubbing her fingers with the thumb of her other hand, twisting her rings, almost as if she were trying to get them off. She was definitely nervous. Jim wished the sight of it would give him some pleasure, but any victory felt hollow as they stood there awkwardly.
‘Good, fine,’ he said quickly. Recovered, he wanted to tell her, searching around for the lines he’d rehearsed all those years ago, the words he would say to her if they ever met again, the things he’d written in the letters that never got sent.
‘So, the plans,’ she said more brightly. ‘I can’t wait to see them.’
‘Actually, I’ve got a confession to make.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘My architect has just taken them. But he can’t be far. I can call him, get him to come back . . .’
‘Don’t do that. You’re just going to have to describe them to me yourself.’
‘It’s going to be awesome,’ replied Jim, running his hand through his dark hair.
‘Awesome? You’ve acclimatised already.’
They both gave a little laugh – she still had that beautiful laugh – and Jim felt some of the tension dissolve.
‘This is an impressive building,’ she said finally. ‘I bet you have the corner office too.’
‘I do, actually. I’ve only been here a week, so it’s still a novelty. I’d show you round, but there’s not much to see.’
‘Not in the dark.’
‘I know.’ He smiled awkwardly, realising that the only light on the entire floor came from his desk lamp. ‘Everyone’s gone home.’
She didn’t say anything for a few moments.
‘Well, if you’re closing up for the night, we could go for a quick drink. I saw a bar on the corner . . .’
Jim knew the place she meant. A hole in the wall, not her sort of thing at all, but he knew it was better than staying here.
‘A drink. Why not?’
Jim grabbed his coat and followed Jennifer back to the elevator before she had a chance to change her mind. The Greek chorus in his head was going mad. ‘Don’t!’ it sang theatrically, but he forced himself to ignore it.
The walk to the bar was short and brisk: New York in March was still shockingly cold, the
wind cutting through his London coat with ease. They made a little small talk. He commiserated about her father’s death. She admitted that it had been tough, even though they only saw each other a handful of times a year.
It was a typical sports bar, dark except for the glow of a TV above the pool table. The faint scent of beer made it smell sour.
‘You know, I should apologise,’ said Jim as they found a booth and gave the waitress their order.