Jane told me a woman had rung asking for me while I was getting the coffees but wouldn’t leave her name. It all sounded very mysterious. Ten minutes later, just after eleven o’clock, the woman rang again and I took the call. It was Mr Kneeves’s secretary. She hadn’t wanted to leave any details in case the name or number was recognised and I didn’t want people to know about the divorce. Very considerate, I assured her. She wanted to know if I was free to call in and see Mr Kneeves after I’d finished work. He was particularly keen to see me that day and would wait until whatever time I could make it. I was intrigued as to the reason, but his secretary wasn’t forthcoming. With nothing planned for that evening, I said I’d be there about a quarter to six. His secretary said she’d still be there and the office open.
Jane and I discussed numerous scenarios as to the reason for the meeting. Obviously something serious had happened, otherwise why would he want to meet that day. Surely he wouldn’t put himself out either unless it was important. Had Jake decided not to go ahead with the divorce? Or had he made some new and wild demands? Nothing we considered made any sense. Nothing justified the urgency of the meeting. In the end, we accepted we would just have to wait and see.
It was with some trepidation that I ascended the five steps to the reception room. I was shown straight into Mr Kneeves’s office. As usual, the desk was free from any paperwork. How could anyone be so tidy, I thought? Then I realised it was probably for confidentiality reasons. He wouldn’t want anything lying around about any other cases. I knew I wouldn’t want his next visitor to know my details. Mr Kneeves informed his secretary she was free to leave for the evening as he walked towards me and shut the door behind me. He shook my hand and invited me to sit at the coffee table, as at every previous meeting.
“I have some good news and, I would like to think, some more good news,” he smiled as he sat down. “Firstly, the decree nisi has been granted. It will be another six weeks before the decree absolute can be applied for, but I expect that to be a formality. So that’s the first piece of good news. I apologise for the short notice and for the lateness of this appointment. Perhaps you’d like some nibbles?” Without waiting for an answer, he opened the draw of the table and withdrew a small dish of olives, placing them on the table with some cocktail sticks. “You do still like olives, Rusty, I hope.” How could he know my nickname? I was certain it had never been mentioned in any meetings or in any correspondence I’d seen. And what did he mean by ‘still like olives’? How did he know I liked olives in the first place? He could see I was puzzled. “Have you been back to Cyprus recently?” There was a small smile of pleasure on his face. Was he pleased he was confusing me? As if reading my mind, he recalled the quayside at Paphos, and the Tombs of the Kings.
The scales fell away from my eyes. I hadn’t been mistaken when we first met. I did recognise him. I struggled to recall his name. “Oliver?” I suggested and he nodded. His letters were always signed J.O. Kneeves. His name was Julian, but he preferred Oliver. “When did you recognise me?” I felt I had to know. And why hadn’t he made me aware we knew each other? No sooner had I asked myself this question than I smiled at myself. How could I say we knew each other when we had seen each other for less than five hours?
“I recognised you almost immediately. You didn’t seem to recognise me and I was afraid to say anything in case you decided to get someone else to represent you. Now that the decree nisi is through, there would be no reason for us to meet again. However, I would like to meet you again; not professionally, but socially. That is, if the idea isn’t anathema to you.” It was all a bit sudden. I didn’t know what I wanted. Five months ago, I was a reasonably happy single woman, with no romantic involvement. Then I had met Sean, who flirted with me outrageously. He hadn’t actually asked me out, but he was building a business and he was obviously pretty busy. I was certain, well, almost, that he would ask me out soon. I had been equally certain that when he did ask, I’d accept. And now, Oliver was asking to meet me socially. I assumed that meant he was asking me for a date. Could I date two men simultaneously? Of course not, but Sean hadn’t asked me out, yet. Slowly, I recalled that day in Paphos. I had really enjoyed his company; never pushy, always polite, always respectful, always the gentleman. I was surprised that Oliver had remembered the olives. What could that mean? He had an excellent memory, I assumed. There was no harm in meeting him socially. It didn’t have to be a real date, just two old friends going out for a drink. And a meal, perhaps?
“Yes, I’d like that,” I heard myself saying. I wasn’t aware I’d made my mind up. I was still, I thought, debating the merits or otherwise of accepting. But the words were loud and clear.
“Are you free this evening?” Oliver was asking and I was replying that I was indeed free, and agreeing that he would pick me up at eight o’clock. He had suggested a small Greek restaurant as it was the nearest to a Cypriot one locally. It seemed fine to me.
My mind was buzzing as I caught the bus home. I had never been interested in two men at the same time before. Should I let either of them know about the other? It would only be fair, I reasoned, and if either wasn’t serious, well, it would make my life easier. What if both still wanted to see me? That would be interesting, perhaps even amusing. Pistols at dawn to win the fair lady might not be the outcome, but how would I choose? Such were my thoughts that I missed my stop and had to walk back another quarter of a mile. I had to get a grip on my imagination. Oliver might not want to see me again after tonight and Sean hadn’t even asked me out. I might end up with no one interested in me.
My spirits were still high though as I looked forward to the evening more than I had anticipated. What should I wear? I’d never been to the restaurant before. Was it chic? Possibly. I couldn’t see Oliver eating somewhere that didn’t have some class. But it would be embarrassing to go overdressed. Why hadn’t I asked for his phone number? It would have been easy enough to ask. The truth was I wasn’t expecting to be asked out and I’d been stunned when I was. I wasn’t thinking straight. In fact, I wasn’t thinking at all. I just responded. I’d almost decided on the turquoise skirt with the salmon pink top by the time I reached the front door.
The welcome Oliver received when he called a few minutes before eight wasn’t what he was expecting, nor what I had hoped for. My eyes were red from crying and I burst into tears as soon as I saw him. I babbled through my tears that I was sorry, but I couldn’t go out that evening. It was obvious that something had happened since I’d left his office, but from the front door he could have had no idea what it was. He asked what was wrong and if he could come in. I stood aside and let him enter. Immediately his feet sunk into sodden carpet. The washing machine was leaking, I tried to explain between my sobs. I’d turned it off but there still seemed to be water still filling the kitchen. I hadn’t turned the water off at the stopcock, I confessed when he asked. I felt a fool. Why hadn’t I thought of it when I came home? Why had I left water escaping from the machine for well over an hour? I felt small and stupid, but not because of anything Oliver said or did. He was just matter of fact, got down under the sink and turned the water off. When he stood up, his trousers were wringing wet around the knees.
And then he asked for a bucket and towels and began to mop the water from the floor. Because he was so calm, I was able now to think a bit clearer. I found another towel and helped mop the water up. I was absorbed in what I was doing and it took a few minutes to realise that he had stopped working and was on the phone. I caught a few words. He was telling Costas that he would have to cancel the booking for that night, ‘a minor domestic emergency’ was how he put it. And then he rejoined me in mopping up the floor. Half an hour later, the doorbell rang and Oliver answered it. He seemed to have taken charge. The man at the door was a friend of his. Together they removed the hall carpet and the living room carpet and took them outside. Craig also had a couple of dehumidifiers to help dry the house out. He took the carpets away to dry them out in his warehouse.
As Craig was leaving, Mike arrived. Mike was a plumber and quickly identified the problem, a hose had perished. He replaced the hose and left. I realised I hadn’t thanked either of them. Oliver said he would thank them on my behalf. “But I have to pay for their time,” I insisted. Oliver said he’d find out what they would charge. As I turned to Oliver, the full impact of his actions struck home. He’d removed his jacket, but his beige linen trousers were both dirty and soaked, and his russet shirt was only slightly better, although he had rolled his sleeves up. I looked at him and was deeply embarrassed. How could I apologise enough? What if his clothes were ruined? I was certain what he was wearing wasn’t from any cheap high-street chain. How could I afford to replace his clothes? But as he registered the shocked expression on my face he smiled. “Not quite what I’d planned for a first date,’ he quipped lightly. “Next time I’ll take you to a proper swimming pool.” The lightness of his comment brought tears again. Tears of relief and tears of embarrassment. His arms were wrapped around me and I hung close to him.
I felt safe in his arms. Somehow I knew he wouldn’t try to take advantage of my situation. This wasn’t the same as Crispin. There would be no rush to go to bed with Oliver. One day, perhaps, but not now. It was after ten in the evening when we had got the last of the water mopped up. Would I prefer pizza, Chinese or an Indian, he asked? He searched through Yellow pages for the nearest pizza delivery. In half an hour we were sharing a pizza and a bottle of cola. Half an hour later, he had left, having first arranged that we would try and make the Greek restaurant on the Friday evening.
This time he did leave me his mobile number in case there was another 'minor domestic emergency'.