The Personnel Manager

'Of course. What would you like?'

'A large glass of soda and lime with ice, please. Not very exciting, I know, but I'm driving.'

When I returned with her drink, and another bottle for me, she was still alone. 'Do you mind if I join you?' I asked.

'Of course not.' In the dim lighting of the corner table she looked enchanting. 'I try to get to talk to all the graduates within a few months of starting but I seem to have missed you out, although we've got your staff appraisal in January.' She paused for a few seconds, taking a sip from her drink, a ghost of a smile on her face and I noticed that she'd painted her nails a dark red. 'Yes, it's all coming back now. You're the Ben whose grandmother passed away and that was why you only came second on the Leeds course right?'

'Right,' I agreed.

'Was it true?'

'No. My grandmothers are both still alive and kicking.'

She laughed, a rich, deep laugh. 'I thought not.'

'That Mr Leaning asked me such a shitty question, well, more like an accusation, that I thought I'd put him on the spot.'

'Clever. And is your father a chief inspector with the Met?'

'Yes.'

'And the book writing?'

'That's true too. I limit myself to one big whopper per interview. Or maybe two smaller ones.'

She laughed again. 'Have you finished it yet? The book, I mean.'

'No. I've not made much progress since starting work, to be honest. I've probably only written twenty thousand words since August.'

'What's your target?'

'A hundred and twenty thousand is a good number for a publisher. I'm about half-way there. Actually, Mrs Denholm, I've got a question for you, although I'm fine if you'd rather not answer it.'

She looked at me expectantly. 'Ask away, but please call me Judith.'

'Ok, Judith, why did I get a job offer when at least one of the panel took against me?'

She smiled again. 'The panel decision was unanimous. A certain person was just showing off. He actually thought you were the best candidate we'd seen.'

We talked for another fifteen minutes, until the main lights came on and the music stopped. I couldn't tell you what we talked about -- I was three sheets to the wind by that time, good resolutions or not -- but I do know that our conversation was easy and unforced and I for one wanted it to go on all night. The vision of my dreams had turned out to have a personality to match: funny, kind, considerate, and as sharp as a razor. The harsh overhead lighting showed up her crow's feet and the fine lines around her mouth and she suddenly looked vulnerable.

'Thank you, Ben,' she said, standing up. 'It's been lovely talking to you but I must go upstairs to the CEO's office now; there's some sort of presentation to David Rowling, he retired on Friday. Have a good Christmas!' And she was gone.

I made it to the bar in time to get a last bottle of beer and then went looking for Sally, but she'd apparently left half an hour ago. In fact I couldn't find any close acquaintances so I just stood and drank my bottle and then collected my coat and went down to the lobby and out into the street to find the taxi we'd ordered. Unfortunately the three bastards I'd arranged to share the taxi with had left fifteen minutes before, according to a couple of eyewitnesses. That left me with a problem. My mobile phone was flat so I couldn't call another taxi and it's unlikely I'd have got one anyway. I had no idea about bus services and neither did anybody I asked. The few people standing outside in the faint drizzle melted away as their taxis arrived and I was left alone, wondering what to do, although the obvious thing was to start walking. It was about five miles to my flat -- say two hours, if I didn't get mugged on the way.

I'd just decided to get on with it when a sleek, black, saloon emerged from the underground car park and swung onto the road, the headlights momentarily blinding me. To my surprise it came to a halt alongside me and the passenger window was powered down.

'Ben?' It was Mrs Denholm.

'Oh, hi Judith.' My circumstances obviously required some explanation. 'My taxi went without me.'

'Without you?'

'Well, there were some other people in it,' I added, lamely.

'Where do you live?'

'Winchmore Hill. Near Enfield,' I explained.

She appeared to consider, both hands still on the steering wheel. 'Near the A10?'

'Yes, about a mile off the A10,' I said, my hopes rising.

'Ok, hop in, I'll give you a lift. It's not far out of my way. I live in Hertford,' she added.

It was warm in the car and smelt of leather upholstery and Judith's scent -- a faint citrus odour. 'Thanks, you've really saved my life. I didn't fancy walking all the way.' I fastened my seat belt and the car pulled away from the kerb and accelerated. Mrs Denholm was a confident and competent driver and I enjoyed her decisive hand movements and the ease with which she controlled the powerful saloon. We picked up our conversation and chatted easily as she drove north through Islington and Tottenham, the streets almost deserted. As we approached Palmer's Green she asked for directions and I guided us to the street I lived on where she pulled up on the road rather than pulling into the forecourt of the big Edwardian villa whose top floor flat I occupied. I undid my seat belt but made no move to open the passenger-side door.

'Nice place!' said Judith, looking at the house. 'I guess it's not all yours.'

'I wish. I'm in the top floor flat. That's quite enough for me. I've got a mortgage the size of a small nation's GDP as it is.'

She laughed again. 'You are funny. I bet you've got a good view, you're right up on a hill here.'

'Yes, the view of London from the balcony's amazing. I'd invite you up to see but it's dark.'

There was an awkward pause, at least I interpreted it as such, but she just smiled. 'Another time perhaps.'

I felt a sudden surge of hopeless longing. This gorgeous women, who I'd had a wonderful half-hour talking to this evening, and who I was rapidly becoming irreversibly smitten with, was about to drive away and I wouldn't see her for two weeks and all the magic of this evening would be a distant memory by then. And I was a bit drunk, too.

'Thank you, Judith. I've had such a lovely time talking to you. I,' I hesitated, then plunged on. 'I think you're wonderful!' I leaned across the centre console and kissed her on the lips. She didn't respond, but neither did she draw away or turn her head. Her lips were warm and soft and I kept contact for as long as I dared, which was only about five seconds, then sat back in my seat. There was another pause, more awkward than the last, the stolen kiss hanging in the air between us.

'I ought to go,' I said at length. 'Thanks again for the lift and happy Christmas.' I opened the car door and felt the drizzle blow in onto my face.

'Happy Christmas to you too, Ben.'

I looked around at her before I got out and was mildly surprised to see that she was smiling that gentle, kind smile of hers. I smiled back, or tried to, went to say something, thought better of it and got out of the car and closed the door. Standing on the pavement I waved as Judith engaged drive and accelerated away down the street.

Up in my flat I contemplated myself in the bathroom mirror. 'Well, that was a smart move, Ben. Getting pissed at the office party and trying to kiss the middle-aged personnel manager. That hasn't been done before.' I wished with all my heart that I could turn the clock back. I'd never have had any chance with a lady like that anyway; now she probably thought I was a dickhead. She was probably right.

The acute embarrassment of the evening faded as the Christmas holiday progressed but it didn't disappear and I was aware that there might be some reckoning when we all went back to work. Christmas itself was ok, I spent it at my family's place in Buckinghamshire and my sister and her husband joined us. New Year I went skiing in the Dolomites -- Cortina d'Ampezzo -- which was brilliant and exhilarating and for a few days I almost didn't think about Judith Denholm.

But all too soon it was January and the wretched return to work in the semi-darkness and the slush of a recent snowfall, the icy winds penetrating deep into tube stations. I was on tenterhooks for a few days expecting a summons to the top floor, but none came. At least until the following Monday, an appointment with Mrs Denholm in her office at ten o'clock two days hence, which I thought odd. You didn't wait a week and a half to deliver a bollocking, did you? Then I remembered that she'd mentioned a staff appraisal in January and when I actually read the email it explained this and suggested what preparatory work I should undertake before the meeting. Of course, I still had to go to her office and sit across the desk from her; this thought made me squirm in my chair.

There was a good piece of news too: Bright and Alcott had succeeded in gaining a new account with a major multi-national; Mike Leaning was heading the newly formed audit team and he wanted me on it. This was praise indeed; I was still barely out of nappies in professional accountancy terms. The downside was that due to shortened timescales the first team meeting was on the forthcoming Saturday morning. Still, I generally hadn't got much to do at the weekend anyway so I may as well work on my professional skills and reputation.

On the following Wednesday at ten o'clock sharp I tapped on the glass pane of Mrs Denholm's office. She was on the phone, sitting behind her desk, but beckoned me in and pointed to a chair by the little conference table she had in her office. I could smell coffee as I entered and sat down and tried not to look at her. It was the first time I'd seen her since the debacle outside my flat before Christmas. Today she was wearing a charcoal-grey suit and a dark-green blouse. I thought she might have had her hair done since Christmas, but I didn't want to stare so I busied myself with the bits of paper I'd brought to the meeting. At length she finished the call and stood up.

'Happy New Year, Ben. How was your break? Did you get some skiing in?'

This wasn't the disapproving undertone I'd feared, not by any means. 'Yes,' I replied. 'The skiing at Cortina was fantastic. How was your break?'

'Oh, you know, ok. Quiet. Would you like some coffee? It's fresh.' She poured two mugs and brought them to the table, a folder under her arm. And for the next ninety minutes we went through the company staff appraisal process and it was all good news: all my reports were positive, and the feedback she'd had from the associates and partners that I'd come into contact with was highly laudable. 'A very good start, Ben, keep it up,' she said in summary. 'And you're happy with the forward action plan that we've agreed?' I nodded. 'Good. Is there anything you'd like to ask me?'

'Well,' I began, 'about the Christmas party thing...' Mrs Denholm turned to look out of the window, but not before I'd seen the ghost of a grin on her face. When she turned back to face me her expression was neutral.

'Ben, it's not exactly the first time that's happened after an office party. And you did me a big favour that evening.'

'Really?' I said, surprised.

'Yes, I was feeling a bit down in the dumps -- Christmas always seems to do that to me -- and you came over and got me a drink and cheered me up. So a little kiss was fine. You were quite gentlemanly, I didn't have to fend you off or anything, which I've had to do on occasion.'

'I'm afraid I was a little drunk.'

'Well that's office parties for you. Now, I've got about fifteen minutes until my next meeting so why don't we have another cup of coffee and you can tell me all about Cortina. Weren't the nineteen-fifty-six winter Olympics held there?'

I came out of the personnel manager's office on cloud nine and took Sally out to lunch at a pub around the corner from the Bank of England. The euphoria continued for the next couple of days so I was by no means unhappy to go into the office on the following Saturday morning. In fact I was the first of the team to arrive and was vaguely surprised to find the main office doors open. I'd assumed that the most senior person would have to open up on a Saturday, when the security staff were down to a skeleton crew. The answer came when I arrived on Bright and Alcott's top floor and walked past Mrs Denholm's office. To my intense surprise she was at her desk, the office door closed, typing away at her keyboard. I didn't knock or anything but she must have been aware of me passing the window because she looked up and waved briefly before going on with her typing.

The team meeting for the new account dragged on until lunchtime; an hour's effort shoehorned into three, mostly for the greater glorification of Mr Mike Leaning -- he just wouldn't shut up. Eventually the proceedings trailed to a close and the team members stood up, as though awakened from a drugged sleep, and made for the door. I was the last out and the corridor was empty as I walked past Mrs Denholm's office, wondering what to do with the rest of my Saturday. Behind me a door opened.

'Ben.' I turned around to see the personnel manager at her office door, in the informal weekend dress of jeans and a jumper. The jeans were tailored and tight and the hand that rested on the door frame had bright red painted nails. 'Are you all finished?'

'Yes, thank goodness.'

'Long meeting eh?' she said, sympathetically. 'I'm done here too. I wondered if you'd like a lift home. Maybe we could stop for lunch on the way, what do you think?'

It was like the plot of a corny romance when you'd just about given up on the leading couple and they get together in the last five minutes and walk off into the sunset hand in hand. I was almost lost for words. 'Yes,' I said, with a lump in my throat, 'yes, that would be wonderful.'

We ate lunch in a traditional Victorian London pub, and we ate traditional pub fare: cheese ploughman's for Judith and steak and ale pie for me. And we talked and laughed and life was good. Afterwards, Judith drove me home and swung into the gravelled forecourt of the house. On the journey home I'd been rehearsing reasons for inviting her up to my flat, or asking her out, or anything that would either prolong the afternoon or give promise of some future time together. In the event, the best I could do was offer her some coffee.

'Would you like to come up for a coffee? I grind my own beans and I've got some Kenyan stuff that's nirvana in a cup. And you could see the view,' I added.

Judith smiled her calm, kind smile: 'I can't stop long but yes, a coffee would be nice.' I led the way up to the top floor of the house and unlocked my front door, glad that I'd done some housework before coming out this morning.

It was a good flat: a decent sized lounge with double doors leading to a pint-sized balcony built on the two-storey bay window beneath. The kitchen was ok too and there were two bedrooms, one a double, and a very modern bathroom, all stainless steel and ceramic tiles. The flat had cost a fortune but most of that fortune had been supplied by my maternal grandmother. It still left me with a hefty mortgage but I couldn't have afforded it otherwise.

'There's the view,' I indicated the double doors and disappeared into the kitchen to grind the beans and brew the coffee. When I emerged a few minutes later with two mugs of coffee Judith was looking at the titles in my bookcase.

'You read a lot?'

'All the time. I think that's part of the desire to write. Do you read much?'

'Yes, I do, though I've never felt the urge to write myself. What will you do with your book when it's finished?'

'I don't know. Maybe try to get it published. I'll probably let a few friends and family see it first. It's hard to be objective when you've sweated blood over the thing. It might be a load of rubbish.'

'I'm sure it won't be, but if you need an objective opinion... I'd be honoured to be asked.'

'Really?'

'Really.'

'Judith,' I hesitated, 'would you like to do something together one day? I mean go for a walk or go to a museum or art gallery and maybe have lunch.' I realised I was holding my breath and let it out with a faint whoosh.

Judith looked at me with her grey eyes. 'You mean do something together like friends?'

Was she teasing me? 'Yes, I suppose like friends. I mean I think you're a really special person and I'd love to have a relationship with you,' I hadn't planned this but now it was all coming out. 'But I know you're married and older than me and, well, I wondered if we could be friends.'

She looked at me and sipped her coffee. 'What is it about me that fascinates you, Ben? I'm not fishing for compliments; I'd really like to know. I mean you are a very good-looking and articulate young man and I can't imagine you have any difficulty attracting girlfriends. In fact I know you don't; my assistant Sally is always talking about you, although she pretends indifference.'

I thought for a long time. 'Ok, well it's complicated. First of all, I'm not generally attracted to older women. I never fancied any of my teachers or university lecturers. I don't want you to think it's that. And it's not just physical attraction. Yes, you are very attractive, and you've got a lovely figure but that's just a bit of the picture. You're also elegant and sophisticated and kind and thoughtful and you've got a great sense of humour and you know lots of things and it's really interesting to talk with you. It's not the same with girls like Sally. There's an emptiness there which takes years to fill I suppose. Maybe it never gets filled.'

Judith blushed, making her look even more desirable. 'That's really sweet of you to say those things and I think you mean them too. But I'm just me. I don't see me as anything special.' She paused. 'But it would be disingenuous to say that I don't find you attractive too.' My heart gave a great lurch. 'And yes, I'm married and yes there's a large age difference, but perhaps that shouldn't stop us becoming friends. So ok, let's go for a walk one day, maybe next Saturday. Can you get to Epping Forest? There's a wonderful walk that I know and it'll be deserted at this time of year.'

'I've got a car,' I said. 'Epping Forest sounds good.' A few minutes later she was at the front door.

'Well, I'll no doubt see you in the course of next week, but next Saturday is a date then. I think we've got a lot to talk about.'

'Do friends get to kiss each other goodbye,' I asked, aware that I was pushing my luck but also feeling that I was on a roll.

'Maybe on this occasion, as you've flattered me and cheered me up again.' She moved towards me and placed her hands on my shoulders. I put my hands on her hips and gently drew her into my arms. She was only an inch shorter than me in her heels and I was able to look into her grey eyes as our heads came together.

'Just a kiss,' she said, and then our lips met and I closed my eyes and felt her mouth open slightly against mine and I traced my lips over hers and smelled her scent and felt her warmth and the feel of her hands on me. It wasn't really a friends' kiss; it certainly wasn't chaste. But neither was it a lovers' kiss, though it gave promise of what such passion would be like together. We kissed for maybe a full minute, it's hard to say. The expression "time slowed down" had never seemed so true. I didn't try to put my tongue in her mouth and we maintained a slight gap between us which was disappointing because I wanted to feel her breasts against my chest, but also convenient because lower down my erection was straining at the zipper of my denims. Then she gently disengaged herself, said 'goodbye' and disappeared down the stairs.

I walked back into the flat in a daze, my mind whirling. I stared out of the window for a few moments, unseeing, sat down on the settee, got up, wandered into the kitchen, then the bathroom. Eventually I stripped off and put my running gear on and went around the local park half a dozen times. By the time I'd done that and showered I was in a calmer frame of mind and could start to think about what had happened.