Page 45 of Duplicity

‘He definitely has his moments,’ she agrees, picking up her coffee. ‘But then he can also be a gigantic twat. My little boy was off sick loads last term, so I had to work from home. My job’s a lot more flexible than my husband’s. Anyway, Brendan made me feel really shitty for it. I was totally capable of getting the job done, but he behaved like such a baby because he had to go out and get his own lunch for a few days. He can be so self-absorbed sometimes. And don’t get me started on the way he treats women.’

I stiffen. Brendan’s multiple personalities are giving me whiplash. The lifesaver who forks out on medical treatment for awoman he doesn’t know, and the guy who has zero tolerance for accommodating working mothers. It’s a good wake up call, and a vindication of my decision to keep Tabby’s entire existence a secret, as well as abdicating her emergencies to my parents, no matter how wrong that feels on every single level.

And now another alarm bell is ringing.

‘How do you mean?’ I ask faintly.

‘Well, I probably shouldn’t say, given it’s not in your job scope to bother with this stuff, but his personal schedule needs... creative management. Last month, he somehow double-booked himself with two different women on the same night at the same restaurant.

‘I had to call one pretending to be from the restaurant, saying they had a gas leak. Then I sent flowers from him with a handwritten note I forged apologising for the cancellation and offering to reschedule at an even fancier place. She actually thanked him for being so thoughtful. I have no idea how he gets himself into these pickles, except that the sheer volume of women he goes through makes it hard for him to keep up with the details, I suppose.’

‘I heard him asking you to send flowers to someone today,’ I venture.

‘Yes. That’s very standard. He likes to follow up, keep them on the back burner. But he gets bored so easily, bless him. Variety is the spice of life where that man is concerned.’

Jesus. How long will I last? How long before he runs out of ways to fuck me in his office, before being with the same woman day in, day out has him running for the hills? I sigh. I may need to hit Athena and the other seraphim up for some tips on how to keep things novel, at least for as long as it takes me to pull together the vast funds for Tabby’s US trip and beyond.

The familiar spiral takes hold, the blind panic that her fate lies in my hands. That it’s down to me to pull this off when I’mmore out of my depth than I’ve ever been. I feel like Anne Boleyn and every other wife Henry VIII ever had, desperate to keep her mercurial king happy and focused on her and her interests for as long as possible.

The anxiety is so forceful it almost drowns out Elaine’s next piece of advice.

‘And for God’s sake, don’t let him anywhere near that coffee machine.’

One of the rules Seraph is very big on is keeping strictly enforced business hours. Obviously, these EA positions are critical roles with a tonne of responsibility and, as with any other important role, work-life balance can be tricky to manage. It’s assumed that there will be evenings where we’re on our laptops late at night or can’t unplug from our email or have to juggle key deadlines. But here’s the crux of it:

We can’t do it from the office.

Camille drummed this into me on the phone call where she formally passed on Brendan’s post-coital job offer.

‘Being a seraph is intense,’ she told me in her calm, modulated tones. ‘Intellectually, physically, and emotionally. And the men who hire seraphim are usually powerful and often entitled. They’re used to getting whatever they want and they’re not used to hearingno.If you don’t leave that office by six each night, before you know it, you’ll be their arm candy at every function. You’ll be their fully fledged escort. If they want you at your best every day, they have to understand that you need to protect your downtime fiercely.’

As a working single mother, this was music to my ears. The time when Tabby was at school was fair game for me to work on earning a living, but even at the RA, I always hated when three-thirty rolled around and I knew she’d be walking out of those school gates to her grandparents and not to me. Every minute I wasn’t with her felt like a lost opportunity. Less rationally, it felt like I was letting her down. Ridiculous, obviously, and probably more than a little co-dependent. But when you have a chronically unwell child, you learn to value every moment with them.

So it’s with relief that I go to get changed in Brendan’s bathroom on the dot of six. Apparently, Yan will drop by with my scores of Selfridges bags later this evening to deposit my new wardrobe. I’ll need to Marie Kondo the heck out of my current one to get my new designer threads into my closet, but that’s what I call a high-quality problem. I mentioned to Brendan that I’d probably cycle to and from home from work each day, and he instantly offered me the use of his swanky ensuite. This evening I’ll rent a bike, but from tomorrow I’ll be on my ancient, barely roadworthy one.

Into my big rucksack go my new dress and shoes as well as the outfit I arrived in. I’ve created space by leaving my so-called “hooker kit” in the spacious bottom drawer of my desk: all the stuff Athena told me I’d need to do my job without looking just-fucked all the time. You know, toothpaste and intimate wipes and alotof spare underwear.

Brendan is still at his desk when I emerge in a tank top and cycling shorts, my hair tied up in a big bun, because it’s warm out there. It seems rude to be leaving before the boss, but I remind myself that upholding healthy boundaries is critical in this job, and I need to implement that from day one. But more urgently, I’m not sure what constitutes an appropriate farewell.

Thanks for the orgasms?

Can’t wait to see what you have in store for me tomorrow?

Not sure how I’ll ride home with my pussy this bashed up?

In the end, I settle for none of those.

‘Bye. See you tomorrow.’

He looks up from his laptop and stills. ‘Fucking hell. Feel free to just wear that tomorrow.’

I give him a shy little smile. It’s so surreal to think this big, beautiful man railed me right here where I’m standing earlier. ‘Not sure it’s dress-code compliant.’

‘You’re probably right. More’s the pity.’ He pauses, assessing me, and then pushes his chair back. Before I know it, he’s strolling towards me. ‘You doing okay? Today was a lot.’

I nod quickly. ‘Yeah. I’m good. It was… good. Thanks again for all the clothes.’And, you know, the ridiculous orgasm.

‘My pleasure.’ He hesitates before sliding a warm hand around the back of my neck. ‘This is all new for me too, you know. This kind of arrangement. So when you’re not happy, I need to know you’ll speak up.’

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