Michele Gorman - Match Me If You Can

‘I got caught up at work,’ Catherine said.

‘I think what you do is fascinating,’ gushed Magda. ‘You have to tell me all about it. Richard never tells me anything.’

She pushed out her pillowy bottom lip.

‘Oh, well, there’s not a lot to tell, really. We’ve got two businesses – the website and the dating agency. I’ve been working mostly on the website lately.’ She didn’t make eye contact with Richard in case he took that as a judgement. ‘But I’ve recently signed an interesting client. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it, actually, Richard. But not tonight, obviously.’

‘No, no, please do,’ Magda said. ‘I insist! After all, I am sort of involved now that Richard and I are getting married.’

Catherine saw Richard wince and realised that he was nervous. Though she couldn’t work out who he was wincing at.

And really, she should be squirming, not him. She was the one sitting across from her replacement, like the spare laptop that he couldn’t quite bring himself to get rid of. But no, it wouldn’t even occur to Richard how this might grate on her ego. He was too busy pretending that it was normal for his ex-wife to have dinner with his fiancée.

And, she realised, it was more about her ego than her heart. After everything that had happened she couldn’t really imagine being with him now. But that wasn’t to say she wanted his upgrade to be easy.

Petty? Yes. Understandable? She thought so.

She found herself relaxing as she explained that she’d offered Paul and Georgina the remodelling service. Ah, the sweet influence of work! It was such a clever business model. Clients paid them to be both their customers and their product. The more clients they had buying, the more product they had to sell. So spending a few extra hours to improve their success rate would be worthwhile. She didn’t expect Richard to object. After all, she was spending her time, not his.

She was surprised, though, by how many questions Magda asked. That girl wasn’t kidding. She did want to know every detail.

‘Shall I choose some wine?’ Richard said after the waiter went away for the second time with an empty order pad.

He started flipping through the wine menu, running his finger down each page as if he was looking for something special.

Catherine suppressed a smile. He’d choose the fourth or fifth cheapest wine. He always did. He was just too proud to admit he didn’t know much about it.

Did Magda know this, or was she impressed by his sommelier impersonation?

‘See anything interesting?’ Catherine couldn’t help asking.

‘Hmm, there are a few good vintages,’ he said. ‘I think we’ll like this one.’ He pointed out his choice to the waiter.

She wondered what else Magda didn’t know.

Did he still claim that he made his own pesto because he’d found the perfect basil at the market? He actually bought it from the Italian deli in Farringdon and froze it. Or that when he said he’d played football with David Beckham, it had been for half an hour when he was sixteen years old, away at football summer camp with a lot of other not-very-athletic boys? The camp’s founder knew David’s dad from when he fitted his new boiler and got him in as a favour.

Everyone was a little bit false when it came down to it. Catherine only needed to look at herself, smiling at Magda as if they were new best friends.

When she thought about it, that’s what she was offering with the client remodelling service: a few tips and tricks to brighten up a sagging façade. They were only cosmetic renovations.

Mentally she filed away Richard’s wine gimmick to share with Paul. He wouldn’t need to be an expert, only to look competent on a date. Once a woman was in love with him she wouldn’t care that he didn’t know his Meursault from his Merlot.

‘What other changes are you thinking of making?’ Magda asked.

‘Changes?’

‘To the business,’ she said, frowning. ‘You must have a lot of ideas about how to grow it.’

‘It doesn’t need growing. It does pretty well as it is,’ Catherine said, knowing she sounded defensive.

‘But you cannot rest on your laurels.’

‘What makes you think that I’m resting on my laurels?’

‘Oh, I did not mean to offend you! I just thought that a businesswoman like you would be full of ideas.’

‘We can’t expand too quickly or we won’t be able to give our clients the service they’re paying for.’

She did not have to justify her business to this child.

‘Catherine is always coming up with new ideas,’ Richard said, grasping Magda’s hand. ‘RecycLove wouldn’t exist without her.’

But Magda wouldn’t be distracted. ‘So this renovation idea,’ she continued. ‘Giving clients a one-on-one self-improvement, is that not going to stretch the staff?’

‘Magda,’ Catherine said, knowing she was about to sound exactly like her mother. ‘Richard and I talk through all business-related matters and decide together what makes sense for the company.’

She may as well have said, Your dad and I don’t think you need to worry about that kind of grown-up talk. Now go upstairs and do some colouring in.

‘Magda does have a point though, Catherine. Will taking on two new clients be too much for you?’

‘No! Definitely not. I’ll keep track, shall I, and report back to you in a few weeks. Now, are you ordering starters or just mains?’

She’d known dinner would be uncomfortable, but she hadn’t expected a work critique.

‘Just a main for me,’ said Magda. ‘With the holidays coming, I need to watch my diet or I will never fit into my dress.’

She rolled her eyes like she was a contestant on The Biggest Loser .

Catherine officially hated her.

James didn’t fool her. He might be doodling in his notebook but he’d also hang on every word their boss said. He just thought that pretending disinterest made him look cool.

Rachel, on the other hand, was leaning so far forward that she was practically lying across the table. Missed a trick there. She should have had her nose in her book when Ed came in. But then nobody ever accused her of being cool.

‘So what’s up?’ James asked, as if he and Ed were old pals.

‘Thanks for coming,’ Ed said, ignoring James’s bonhomie. Rachel allowed herself the tiniest smile. Not that his snub meant she’d get promoted to the favourite instead.

‘I wanted to touch base about the Zigler pitch,’ Ed continued. ‘At the risk of repeating myself, you did an excellent job and the client loved your ideas. It’s not always easy for young architects to read a meeting correctly, to know just where to pitch your message, but you did it.’

Young architects? Ed was welcome to think of her as a fresh-faced hotshot. She smoothed down her dress – navy polka dots today. Sometimes her style did work in her favour. Though he didn’t need to make it sound like he was their grandfather, tutoring them at his wizened old knee and fishing Werther’s Originals from his cardigan pockets. She knew for a fact that he’d only just turned forty. His wife had sent an enormous cake to the office a few months ago and embarrassed the hell out of him. There was no arguing with his experience though. He’d been with the company since he graduated, working his way up to partner. The higher he climbed, the more hair he lost. These days his shiny scalp was reflecting a lot more than his success.

When Ed’s eyebrows knitted together in concern, Rachel realised she’d been beaming idiotically. Composing herself, she said, ‘Thanks, Ed. We worked really hard on it. And thanks for giving us a chance.’