For most of his life, Spencer had relied on glasses to compensate for his unique form of astigmatism—different weaknesses in each of his eyes. Bev’s referral to an optometrist instead of the usual NHS optician had led to him getting specially made contact lenses, allowing him to leave his glasses at home for the first time in his life. Except not only did he find a certain comfort in the routine of wearing glasses each day, he hadn’t had the balls to test his contacts out for more than five minutes.
“Running late.” He shrugged and prodded a forefinger at the bridge of his glasses. “Didn’t have time.”
From her raised eyebrow, he knew she didn’t believe him, but she let the remark go. As she went to take a sip of her drink, she froze and sniffed the lid suspiciously.
“Is this coffee latte?” she mouthed to him, as Muriel droned on while clicking through one PowerPoint slide after another.
“What did you order?”
At the end of each day the staff returned their containers to the small kitchen for him to wash up. Everyone also wrote down their orders on the paper template supplied by the shop for the following morning’s order and pinned to the kitchen noticeboard.
“Green tea.”
“Latte?”
“Yes.”
“Thank goodness. The shop mixed up our drinks again. I have yours,” he said, swapping metal holders. “It’s okay, I didn’t drink any. I thought Muriel had mine for a moment. That would have been another blot on my copybook.”
Both of them took a sip of their drinks, both melting back into their seats. Still Muriel rattled on, showing mocked-up covers for the Christmas edition of each of their publications on the projector slide. In total, they published four magazines.Swishmajored in the latest evening wear, celebrity dress features and fashion shows.Viragopandered to the bondage generation.Hash Hagfocused on modern business alpha females and covered business wear for women of power, contained corporate gimmicks and gadgets and sports cars. Finally, their flagship magazine,Collective, remained a lifestyle journal aimed at upper-middle-class women with ample disposable income and featured mainstream articles and people of influence interviews, with features on eco-sensitive holiday destinations and the latest trends in housing and furniture.
“Thanks for covering,” Beverley whispered from behind her canister. “Good catch, too. And just so you know, I’m doing green tea right now because I’ve read that it’s detoxifying, low in calories, and has natural enzymes that promote weight losseven when you’re sleeping. I’m trying for a seriously healthier lifestyle. I’m even considering intermittent fasting.”
Spencer had read the same article in last month’s edition ofCollective. Green tea with milk had not been mentioned.
“No alcohol or French fries for lunch, then?”
“Sod that. I’m cutting down, not joining a maximum-security slimming club. Besides, Muriel’s paying.”
“Just you and me, though?” asked Spencer.
“Of course. But we’ll have to order, eat and drink for four. And we’re starting with their signature dish called Sea Spray Appetiser, a dozen oysters on an ice platter served with a glass of Moët. That way there will be no mention of alcohol on the invoice.”
“Good call.”
Spencer realised Muriel had stopped speaking and the darkened room had fallen quiet.
“Anything the two of you would like to share?” she asked.
“Apologies, Muriel,” said Beverley. “We were just talking client strategy.”
“You can do that once the meeting has finished.” As soon as Spencer and Beverley nodded, Muriel continued. “Now I want to get onto some of our opportunities and challenges. Let’s go around the table and hear from my talented creative team. I’ll start with celebrity interview catastrophe we’re facing for the December and January issues ofCollective. As you all know, we had to pull the plug on the Sir Richard Briggs interview last week due to ongoing lawsuits, and the Hollywood bimbo—you all know who I mean—cried off at the last minute. Which has left us with a couple of gaping holes. I did my level best at Friday night’s charity function, but neither Dame Penelope Lawrence nor Marshall Highlander are game to be interviewed. So, we need suggestions, with December as a matter of urgency. Let’s start with Persephone. Any ideas?”
Spencer’s breathing stopped on hearing the name of the cultured news reporter, Highlander, he had met on Friday night, the man who had kissed him in Muriel’s rooftop garden. Another reason to be grateful for working for the Blackmore Magazine Group. Even though keeping the incident to himself had pretty much given him stomach cramps all weekend, he’d stayed true to his word and said nothing, not to Beverley or anyone else. Because he had promised as much and, on that cold-as-hell magical night, he had been kissed by the most gorgeous man in the world. And you never jinxed an experience like that. The memory alone would keep him warm all through winter. Had he listened to his mother and applied for the position of junior copy editor at theBournemouth Echowould the same opportunity have presented itself? Not on your life.
Muriel’s event had eventually ended at around two, by which time nobody had wanted to carry on drinking elsewhere. Feeling exhausted and ready to crash, Spencer had headed straight home, but to pass the time on the train journey—knowing he had no Wi-Fi connection at home—he had Googled his new crush on his smartphone.
Of course Marshall Jacobsen Highlander had a Wikipedia page dedicated to him, even if it was somewhat concise. Spencer had clicked straight into the ‘personal life’ link. The section had given very little away. Apart from being an ambassador for three charities, including one for refugee support, no indication of his romantic life was given. In which case, who was Joey, and why was Marshall Highlander still buried deep in the closet? Then again, Wikipedia rarely told the whole story. The only mention of any relationship had been the professional one with his long-time manager, Darcy Chong.
Saturday morning, waking alone in his tiny flat and wondering for a few seconds if he had dreamt the whole thing up, he had experienced a newfound pleasure performing hisweekend chores, routines he usually resented. He had changed bedclothes, washed and dried his laundry in the landlord’s ancient washer-dryer, ready to be ironed on Sunday, blitzed the toilet and kitchen, vacuuming and cleaning surfaces, all the while humming and occasionally dancing along to the music playlist he had downloaded onto his phone. Even the fact he had no satellite signal and no Wi-Fi connection in the flat hadn’t needled him that day. Afterwards he had gone for a late lunch downstairs at the local coffee shop where he had read his messages and checked his social media pages. He had even turned down an offer to go for drinks with old college friends on that night after searching and downloading three of Marshall’sSay What You Meanshows from a cable news channel.
Over a margherita pizza and a couple of bottles of chilled Italian beer, he had watched the man in action from the comfort of his old two-seater black leather couch. Doing so had felt something akin to voyeurism, knowing he had tasted the man’s lips and even remembering how his mother had once commented on “what a fine-looking man is that Marshall Highlander”. Most embarrassing of all, being as she called herself a child of the sixties, a generation who always said exactly what popped into their heads, she’d gone on to explain how she would “let him have his way with me without a second thought”. Fortunately, his father had not been in the room, although Spencer doubted his presence would have made the slightest difference.
The thing was, sitting there on his own, seeing the man’s well-proportioned frame, observing his careful mannerisms and lithe body movement, together with that smile—and those eyes—Spencer had found his own body reacting in ways that generally only happened when he clicked onto one of his NSFW bookmark folders.
As the murmured updates from around the table came to an end, Muriel’s commanding voice brought him out of his reverie.
“A noble suggestion, Melanie, but I think approaching the Duchess of Cambridge might be aiming a tad too high. So if that’s all you have for me, it’s back to the drawing board, I’m afraid,” continued Muriel. “If anyone does have any ideas, let Judith know. If all else fails we have the game show host Nobby Nobson waiting in the wings for December, but quite frankly he’s not reallyCollectivecalibre. If anyone can land a top-notch interview for the Christmas and January editions, that person will get an additional twenty per cent incentive on top of their usual Christmas bonus. Now, where’s Evelyn?”
