Michele Gorman - Match Me If You Can

But Sissy was beating the odds (screw you, Fate! thought Sarah).

Each birthday that they celebrated put more distance between her and the disease. She could still get it, but every time she blew out her birthday candles, the odds swung further in her favour.

‘But, Georgina,’ Catherine tried again, glancing at the time, ‘I’m just suggesting that you might have better luck if you were a little less …’

Picky?

Petty?

Unrealistic, spoilt or exasperating?

‘… less restrictive in your requirements,’ she finally said. They’d been on the phone for nearly ten minutes, going round and round. She’d never refunded a client’s fee before but she was nearly ready to cut a cheque for this woman.

It was only supposed to be a routine checking-in call. They had them weekly with their Love Match clients, but this had turned into Georgina’s bitch session about the quality of the men she’d been set up with.

It was setting Catherine’s teeth on edge.

No, hang on, that wasn’t really fair, she reminded herself. Yes, Georgina was a pain in the arse, but what was really making her cross was knowing that Richard and Magda were lying in wait to ruin her night straight after the call.

‘Are you saying there’s something wrong with my approach?’ Georgina demanded. ‘Because I’ve never had any complaints before.’

No, thought Catherine. And you’ve not had that many dates either.

‘But everyone can benefit from an outside perspective,’ she said instead of what she was thinking. ‘That’s my job, after all. In fact …’

She knew she’d regret her next words but she also knew that Georgina would never get anywhere in her current state. ‘In fact, we do offer another service here that may interest you. It’s an advisory relationship.’

‘But you already advise me.’

Catherine heard the snarky ditto marks around the word advise. She took a deep breath. Calm professionalism, that’s what she needed to get through this call.

‘Well, I do guide you towards suitable men, yes. But this is more about working together to overcome any barriers that may be stopping you from finding what you’re looking for.’

‘What kind of barriers?’ Georgina sounded suspicious. ‘How much does this cost? I’m not keen to pay more money when, to be honest, I’m not a hundred per cent convinced about the service as it is.’

Catherine bit her tongue. ‘It’s completely free.’

‘I see. And what kind of advice would you give me, for example, if I said yes?’

Catherine glanced again at her mobile as it flashed incoming emails at her.

She was going to be late for dinner. She’d managed to put it off for nearly a month already. Now it would look even more like she didn’t want to meet Magda.

But no, this was work. Let Richard wait. Magda would just have to stay up past her bedtime.

‘Well, you could streamline your criteria. Home in on the five or six things that are really critical to you.’ She scanned down the long, long list of requirements Georgina had insisted on since she joined. ‘For example, are you sure you wouldn’t consider someone who golfs? Even the occasional round?’

‘But Catherine, it takes four hours to play golf! Four hours, plus getting to the club and back, changing and showering and probably having a drink afterwards. That’s my entire weekend day spent alone. If he’s a regular golfer, that’s every weekend day spent alone.’

She had a point. Personally, Catherine wasn’t a golfing fan either. ‘What about other sports? You said no to any sporting interests. How about football? That only takes an hour and a half and he can do it in the local park.’

Georgina sighed in a way that made Catherine’s heart leap. Was she actually going to relax one of her demands? She dared not hope.

‘It’s a mindset as much as the activity itself,’ she said. ‘But I suppose, as long as he’s not obsessive about it, then it’s okay.’

Victory! Catherine wanted to pull the front of her top over her head and run around the office making V-signs.

Of course, she wouldn’t do that.

‘Rugby?’

‘Okay.’

‘Billiards?’

‘That’s not a sport,’ Georgina said.

‘No, it’s more of a pub pastime, I suppose.’

‘The pub? Now we’re getting into a whole different world of problems.’

Catherine knew when to drop the subject. ‘What about beards? Is that a definite no-go? Even if they’re handsome and aren’t wedded to facial hair? For lots of men it’s just a phase, and they can often be persuaded to lose it.’

Georgina made a non-committal noise.

‘Is that a yes?’

‘S’pose. But I’m not going to go out with anyone who looks like a lumberjack. I don’t care if he’s got Bradley Cooper’s face underneath all that hair.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Catherine, running her finger down Georgina’s list. ‘Now, let’s talk about language fluency. I know you speak French, so maybe it isn’t necessary for him to as well?’

‘No, that’s non-negotiable. I don’t want to be the only one planning our French holidays.’

Catherine thought for a moment. ‘What if he’s a member of a concierge service like Quintessentially? The consultants there can book the entire thing for you. All you have to do is turn up at the airport with your bag and your passport. In fact, they could plan all your holidays. It really would be a big advantage.’

‘Hmm, I like the sound of that,’ Georgina said. ‘Fine then, please only find me dates who’re Quintessentially members.’

Bollocks, that backfired. There were probably even fewer of those than there were fluent French speakers. She let out a sigh. Win some, lose some. She had one more battle to fight, and then she really did have to go.

‘Shoes without socks. Georgina, that really is getting too particular. Is it a hygiene issue? Because Boots does decent foot spray and—’

‘It’s not hygiene,’ she said. ‘It’s Sloaney. I can’t stand those South Ken types. You just know he’s going to fnar fnar fnar at his own jokes and have fond memories of all the times he was bummed at school. No, he must wear socks.’

Catherine had to hand it to Georgina. She may be about as flexible as Woody Allen but she did have a reason for every demand she made.

* * *

‘So so SO sorry I’m late!’ Catherine hurried into the restaurant twenty minutes later full of smiles and excuses.

The blonde young woman bounced up from her chair when Richard stood to kiss Catherine hello. ‘I am so happy to finally meet you!’ Magda said, nearly pushing Richard out of the way so she could clasp Catherine to her. ‘You have no idea how much Richard talks about you.’

‘Congratulations on your engagement,’ Catherine said, noting the huge round diamond sparkling on her finger.

So this was Magda. Her wide, ice-blue eyes were framed by darkly mascaraed lashes, set in a flawlessly smooth square face that was much more Cameron Diaz than SpongeBob SquarePants.

In the nanosecond that they stood together, Catherine committed Magda’s figure to memory. As tall and as slim as she’d been at twenty-three, there was nothing to fault there. Catherine adjusted her beige jumper, wishing she’d worn a dress. But she hadn’t wanted to seem as if she was making an effort.

Mission accomplished, she thought crossly.

When she took a seat across from Magda at the small square table, the girl scrunched up her shoulders, gurned and giggled like they were sharing the most exciting secret imaginable.

Maybe that was the attraction for Richard. Magda seemed to be the inverse of Catherine – a bubbly-looking blonde instead of a sensible brunette. Catherine was Hobbs and M&S. Magda was Gucci and, Catherine was betting, Agent Provocateur. And instead of her straight, smooth dark locks, Magda’s hair looped in huge curls. If those curls could talk they’d say, Take me to the bedroom .