Short and Even Sweeter

When I reminded her of that particular conversation she laughed. 'I got an irresistible approach at the start of Year Two, at a house party. Okay, so I was drunk, but so was everyone else.'

'Can't have been very memorable, drunk,' I observed.

'It wasn't. But we were sober next morning when we went again and again; and again and again and again. I remember every last daylight touch. Indeed we went on until it got dark again. And then for a goodly while after.'

'Not a one-off, then?' I asked her, glad to have switched roles to interrogator.

'Far from it, but you're not hearing any more until we're out on that date. So when's it going to be?'

'How does Saturday sound?' I said that instinctively, accepting something was bound to happen.

And obviously soon!

'It's not nearly as good as tonight,' she snapped.

'Tonight I need to finish off my Micklethwaite round. Well, assuming that my fliers are all still dry. They spent the night in a rainy barnyard.'

'How many left to deliver?'

'I dunno; maybe a hundred. I only did the stretched out bits, I never got to do the easy housing estate. You know; the door to door, letterbox to letterbox bit. Where you assured me it'd be a piece of cake.'

'I'll have a word my mum's campaign agent,' Dani offered. 'She'll get a fresh hundred to Reception at WYB long before you finish.' Then, coughing mock-apologetically, 'I suppose you delivered to Hunters Farm before the goose attack.'

'Actually I did, but my satchel is still there in the barnyard. That'll recover, even if its contents won't.'

'You're going to bonk with her again, aren't you?'

'That highly unlikely,' I fibbed. 'Neither of us got a wink of sleep last night. Early nights are the order of the day.'

Casting doubts on my intentions . . . as per usual . . . Dani rang off. I did some actual work until lunch-time and then, fortified by cheese sandwiches and more Colombian coffee, I found somewhere quiet and rang Hev.

She answered on the very first ring.

'Hiya sweetie,' she cried in greeting, 'I thought you'd never call. Have you applied yet?'

'I'm still pondering,' I said clumsily. 'But I need to revisit your farm to recover my satchel. And no way will I go there alone, up against those Nazi guards of yours.'

'Your satchel is safe in my laundry room,' she told me. 'I grabbed it while we were on our way in. You were a bit distracted so won't have noticed. But that's where it is; your mobile is right next to it. I took it out of your jeans pockets before shoving them in the washer.'

'Will they both survive?'

'The phone was all right but the satchel needed drying out. It's warm in there, though; it might be okay by now. I can't say about its contents. They've probably had it.'

'Thank God for small mercies.'

'And thank God you called. Two missing items mean you need to go home with me for more reasons than one. That's no problem, whatever. I'm finishing early today. Meet me in the car park at half past five. Then we'll go to the farm and worry about what to do next.'

'What if people see us?'

'Stuff them. Who cares about blinkered opinions?'

Surprised by her vehemence I said . . . or maybe stuttered . . . 'I need to deliver more leaflets . . . to that big estate just above your place.'

'What used to me our farmland, you mean?'

'Yes, if you say so.'

'Drenched leaflets?'

'Replacements are on their way, even as we speak, just in case.'

'In that case here's the plan. You go do your deliveries and I'll make us a curry. Then we can decide what happens next. And, going back to the PA subject, did I mention the salary?'

'No.'

She quoted a number and I almost passed out. Much more than three times what I was earning with a company car to boot. With that sort of income I didn't have to worry about dodging repaying a student loan or two, I would be able to pay everything off in no time at all.

'I can't drive,' I said weakly, not wanting to sound over-eager.

'We'll give a cash equivalent while you take lessons.'

'But it's only maternity leave; how long does that last?'

'Thirty-nine weeks in theory, but worry ye not. We have a shortage of decent PAs. I'll shunt Nina off onto Vic if I have too; she won't mind.' Hev laughed. 'I know I just said thirty-nine weeks but Vic had three years. I think she only has to look at an excited prick to get up the stick.'

'I don't believe you said that.'

'I don't either, but are we on?'

'Half five in the car park and I'll be there.'

'Not tonight's close encounter, silly! Are we on for the PA job?'

Golden opportunities are rarer than hen's teeth. And maybe I'm more mercenary than I'd believed.

'My CV will be in your in-mail first thing tomorrow,' I said. 'You can help me write it tonight, if you like.'

Hev's laugh was even richer than usual. 'Writing CVs is not on the agenda tonight,' she assured me. 'Send an old one; whatever it's like, it'll do. I have other plans for what happens tonight . . .'