Cathy Kelly - Just Between Us

She walked him to the lift, ignoring the looks Lori shot at them.

‘Just one question,’ Stella said, pitching her voice low so nobody could overhear. ‘Are you married?’

‘Divorced with two children,’ he replied, just as seriously. He held up his left hand. ‘Look, no ring.’

‘Did you wear one when you were married?’ Stella inquired.

Nick threw back his head and laughed. ‘No. And did you ever think of becoming a barrister? Your skills at interrogation are wasted here. About dinner, how about Figaro’s?’

Stella decided it was time to reassert her independence. Nick was calling all the shots here and she refused to be a pushover. ‘Figaro’s, I don’t think so,’ she said. She’d never been to Figaro’s but that wasn’t the point. Surely there was some modern rule of dating that said only pushovers cooed yes to the first suggestion.

‘You pick somewhere you like,’ he offered. ‘I’ve been out of the country for so long that I don’t know the good spots.’

Stella thought hard, storing away that snippet of information about his time out of the country. The only restaurants she knew were ones suitable for business lunches, girls-only get-togethers or meals with seven-year-olds. It had been a long time since she’d done the eyes-meeting-over-the-candlelight-at-a-table-for-two thing. Years, in fact.

Casting around wildly for an intelligent suggestion, a snippet of something she’d heard about a review of a new restaurant came to mind. Something about The Flying Carpet, a new restaurant on the quays. She hadn’t seen the review herself but from the bit of the conversation she remembered, the place sounded good, she was sure of it. ‘Mussels to die for’ or something.

‘The Flying Carpet,’ she said confidently. ‘At eight.’

‘May I pick you up or would you prefer to meet me there?’ Nick asked solicitously.

You’ve already picked me up, Stella thought mischievously.

‘I’ll meet you there,’ she said. ‘If there’s a problem, I’ll phone you. Your number is on the file.’ And it was a land line, she remembered. If he was married, he’d instantly give her a mobile number to phone instead. But Nick just nodded in agreement.

‘Till tomorrow,’ he said.

He turned to go.

‘Oh, Mr Cavaletto, you forgot something,’ Stella called.

‘Yes?’

Stella whispered so her voice wasn’t audible to the receptionist. ‘Divorced, one daughter. Just so you know.’

Again, the intense green eyes gleamed with amusement. ‘Goodbye, Ms Miller, it’s been a pleasure.’

A pleasure, thought Stella dreamily as she took the stairs up to the fourth floor. She certainly hoped so. After six years on her own, well, longer really, as you could hardly count the last year with Glenn as actually being with anybody, she was utterly unprepared for the prospect of going on a date.

She went back to her office.

‘Isn’t he lovely?’ said Lori dreamily. ‘Sort of Sean Connery-esque with a hint of Michael Douglas in there somewhere.’

‘You’ve got to stop reading Movieline ,’ Stella said, biting her lip to stop herself beaming idiotically.

‘He was gorgeous, though. Come on, Stella, even you can see that.’

Stella felt a quiver of electricity shoot through her at the thought of Nick’s smile. ‘I suppose you could call him attractive,’ she said.

‘Who?’ demanded Vicki, appearing at her door. ‘Have I missed something?’

‘Vicki, can I talk to you for a moment?’ Stella asked. She had to tell someone and if she told Lori, there was a fair possibility of being stabbed with Lori’s trademark silver-ink pen.

Vicki’s jaw dropped when she heard the news.

‘Lucky you,’ she sighed. ‘They say that lots of love stories begin at work, but it’s never happened to me.’ Vicki suddenly looked thoughtful. ‘Can we search through Jerry’s client list and see if there’s anyone else gorgeous coming in today?’

By half twelve, Stella had raced through her workload at twice her normal speed. She felt inspired and excited, as though she’d had ten espressos and no breakfast. She’d been asked out on a date and she’d said yes! What would she wear, what would they talk about…?

Her phone rang and she switched into work mode instantly.

‘Hello, Stella?’ said a woman’s voice. ‘It’s Jackie Hess.’

Even through the phone lines, Stella could hear her client’s anxiety.

Without giving her lawyer a chance to speak, Jackie rattled through her problems.

‘If we don’t get the contracts signed by tomorrow, I’ll lose the new house and I can’t do that. I can’t. This is a new start for me and I love that house…’ Her voice rose almost hysterically.

Stella had heard enough. Calming people was one of her many skills, a vital one in the business of legal conveyancing, although nobody had mentioned it in college. There hadn’t been any lectures on dealing with real, agitated clients who were splitting up with their husbands and hoping to buy new (smaller) houses in order to start again.

‘Jackie,’ soothed Stella, ‘we’ll sort it out, I promise. Please leave it with me.’

Jackie was quiet, as Stella knew she would be. When Stella Miller told you she’d sort everything out, you believed her.

There was something about the low, measured voice that calmed even the most highly-strung client; something about her serene, smiling face with its kind dark eyes that made anxiety seem silly. More than one person had seriously considered taking up yoga after learning that the tranquil Stella was a devotee.

‘Are you sure everything will work out…?’ Jackie asked more quietly.

‘Yes, I’m sure.’

Once Jackie was gone, Stella made a firm decision to stop thinking about Nick Cavaletto. It was ridiculous for a grown woman to get so excited about dinner with a man. This dreaming and staring out the window had to stop. She worked steadily for the next half an hour, making phone calls and trying to sort out Jackie’s problems. Jackie had split up with her husband of two years and every time Stella spoke to her, she seemed more shell-shocked than the last, muttering about joint credit union accounts and what were they to do with the oil painting of Venice. Was it Jackie’s because her rich old grand-uncle had given it to them as a wedding present or was it joint property? Privately, Stella thought that the distraught Jackie should seek counselling to help her climb out of the dark pit of sudden break-up. She’d hated that painting, she’d told Stella. Yet she was fiercely determined to have it, as if salvaging something that wasn’t communal property, could salvage her damaged soul.

Over the years, as she dealt with clients like Jackie, Stella had come to realise that she’d never loved Glenn enough to feel such emotion over their break-up. Teenage sweethearts who’d married when they were ridiculously young, they’d drifted apart. Their over-riding emotion at the break-up had been apathy for each other, and parental worry over Amelia. She wondered what it would be like to love and hate with such passion that splitting up would destroy you.

‘Lunch?’ said Vicki, peeping round the glass door with her tongue out, her normal signal that starvation was setting in.

‘Lunch. Yes, I forgot,’ Stella said absent-mindedly.

‘How can you forget lunch?’ Vicki wailed, shutting the door and perching on the edge of Stella’s desk. Then, catching sight of Stella’s serene face, she’d grinned. ‘You’re still living off love, then?’

‘It’s only a dinner date,’ protested Stella. ‘I wish I hadn’t told you. If you mention it to anyone else I’ll kill you.’

‘You mean it’s a secret?’ said Vicki, deadpan. ‘I’ve just e-mailed my 100 closest friends, all the LW & M partners and the Law Society with the news. It’s not unethical to sleep with a client, is it? I have such trouble remembering the whole ethics thing…’