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my heart, like I did with Dominic, they’ve broken it—so I don’t want to go there again. And especially not with someone I work with. Fran’s right. I do come across as much stronger than I am. I’mnot as strong so I’m wary now, very wary of any sort of attraction—and especially one that starts in the office. Plus, I don’t want this sort of complication here. This is my territory, where I am strong and confident and focused. I don’t want a man messing up both my professional and personal life all in one go. But I’ve had the lightning bolt. I’ve never had a lightning-bolt moment. Fran is right about that, too, they do come when you least expect them. My heart jumps every time Joe Ryan utters a word. It’s very disconcerting. It’s as though I’m concentrating on the way he speaks rather than what he’s saying. He has a dark honeyed voice. He speaks neither too fast nor too slow, with considered pauses and the right inflection at the right time. For fuck’s sake, Hazel, you’re analysing his speech. Hope he doesn’t ask me anything. I’ve got to concentrate, but at least that gives me an opportunity to survey him further and take him in properly. He looks young. He looks older than twenty-nine but I’m sure he said twenty-nine. He looks midthirties, possibly early thirties. He looks younger than me. But not by much. He’s got blue, no green, no (mustn’t stare too much into his eyes now), brown eyes. Yes, brown eyes and long eyelashes. Why do men always have long eyelashes? I have to buy YSL extra-long eyelash mascara to get a decent length. Strong chin, olive skin. Or perhaps he’s been on holiday recently, probably with the girlfriend. Or perhaps it could have been with the lads. To South America or China perhaps—or if he’s square, Australia or the South of France. He’s wearing a dark blue suit so nothing new there. It’swell tailored and well fitting, but all men look good in suits. Brian always dresses well, but he’s gay so that’s to be expected. Perhaps Joe Ryan is, too. Probably for the best anyway if he is. I survey his hands. They are large and there’s no wedding ring. Which is a good thing—although this may mean he is gay, or German (German men don’t wear wedding rings), or perhaps he’s just fussy and hasn’t found the right girl yet—or has, but she won’t marry him, silly girl. Or perhaps can’t because she’s married already. There’s one signet ring perhaps given to him by his mother or lover or girlfriend. Or someone else’s girlfriend. What does he smell like? I breathe in, trying to make sense of the scent. Is he wearing aftershave or is it his natural pheromones? Can’t tell so will have to find that one out later. Over a drink at lunch perhaps. Is he slim? Can’t tell as he’s sitting down. Tall? Probably. He sits up quite straight, but perhaps he’s got a long body and short, stodgy legs, his feet dangling off the floor like some five-year-old school boy. Perhaps I should drop a pen and find out if he’s a munchkin. I drop a pen and look under the table. No, no, his feet are on the floor. Black shiny shoes. Churches. Euck. Churches, as worn by City Boys. Perhaps he’s square. But Brian wouldn’t have hired a square, nor someone gay, as he knows both wouldn’t fit into the chemistry of the office. I pick up the pen and return to the table, Brian staring at me smiling as though he knows what I’ve been doing. He probably thinks I’m trying to check out the size of Joe’s manhood. As if I could see. Not that it didn’t pass my mind.
    Back with the meeting, now happily convinced Joe Ryan is a decent height, well groomed, smells tolerable and could very well be straight and unmarried, I smile again, this time more businesslike (showing the teeth).
    ‘I look forward to working with you, Joe. And welcome to the firm.’
    ‘I look forward to working with you, too, Hazel. I’m sure we’ll work well together.’
    ‘Right, I think that’s all for