Strictly Love. Julia Williams

I am rather,’ said Mark. It was an odd feeling, to be this cheerful. He had spent so many months embroiled in gloom, it was a refreshing change. And one he could only put down to one thing.

       Emily.

      Mark had thought of nothing else all night long. He hadn't enjoyed being in the company of any women since Sam had left him. And now, suddenly, here was one who had made him sit up and take notice.

      It wasn't that he fancied her exactly. Although she did have, as Rob would have put it, All That. But more than that, they had had a laugh. And they had seemed to find common ground really quickly. The time he had spent with her had been all too brief. He hoped that she'd be going along next week.

      He had a quick look at his day list, where he could see three root treatments, endless amounts of drilling and filling, a bridge to repair and Granny O'Leary to boot. It would have normally sent him into the doldrums. But not today. He was in too much of a good mood. And thankfully, there was no sign of Jasmine.

      ‘Have we heard any more about Jasmine's complaint?’ Mark asked Diana at lunchtime.

      ‘Not a dicky bird,’ said Diana.

      ‘Perhaps I should ring her?’ Mark asked, not really relishing the task.

      ‘Oh, you know what Jasmine's like,’ said Diana, 'she'll be on to the next thing soon and it will all be forgotten. Particularly when she's in pain again.’

      ‘Good,’ said Mark. Diana was right. It would doubtless blow over.

      As usual, he barely had time to pause for breath, and by the end of the day three cups of cold coffee were lined up on the side. It was only as he got into his car to go home that he allowed himself to think about Emily again. She was the most attractive woman he'd met since he'd been single and he didn't even know her surname. Or where she lived. Or her phone number.

      There was no help for it: he was going to have to go dancing again.

      Emily was coming to the end of a long day and feeling absolutely exhausted. She had enjoyed the previous evening much more than she would have thought possible. And it hadn't actually mattered that much that she was crap at dancing. Mark had been equally crap. And she had enjoyed dancing crappily with him. It had been fun. Plus he had been, well, so gentlemanly and attentive. She wasn't used to that after Callum.

      She paused from filing away some case notes. Callum versus Mark. Callum was gorgeous, of course. And made her feel gorgeous. He was sexy. He made her feel sexy. He was dangerous, which gave him that edge.

      Mark, on the other hand, didn't seem the dangerous type. He seemed sweet and kind and thoughtful. Could she do sweet and kind and thoughtful, after mad, bad and dangerous to know?

      Emily laughed out loud. Listen to her. She'd spent, ooh, half an hour in the presence of a very attractive man, and already she was lining him up against Callum. She was being ridiculous. As if he was even interested.

      The phone on her desk rang.

      ‘Someone to see you down here,’ drawled the bored-sounding receptionist.

      Emily frowned. She wasn't expecting anyone.

      Oh God, no. As she approached the front desk she vaguely remembered Callum had had a big pitch on today. Please don't let him be here and be drunk.

      ‘Hey babe,’ he said. ‘Am I the dog's bollocks or what?’

      ‘What, I think,’ said Emily, squirming under the gaze of the supercilious receptionist.

      ‘I just won the shittest, hottest pitch in town. You are looking at the new account handler of Smile, Please! I am the man. ‘Callum raised his hands above his head and practically beat his chest.

      ‘Callum,’ hissed Emily. ‘I'm at work.’

      ‘I just wanted to see you, babe,’ he said, lighting up a cigarette.

      ‘This is a non-smoking office,’ said John Turnbull, one of Emily's more likeable colleagues, who'd just walked in.

      ‘Sweets for my sweet,’ said Callum, ignoring him and proffering a rather squashed box of chocolates.

      ‘Thanks very much,’ said Emily. ‘But can you just leave now. I've got stuff to do.’

      ‘Oh, babe, don't be like that,’ Callum pleaded with her. For once it had no effect. She was furious. How dare he show her up here? How dare he?

      ‘Callum, I'll be any way I like,’ she said, her manner cold and stiff. ‘Now just go, please.’

      ‘Do you want any help escorting this waste of space off the premises?’ said John.

      ‘No, it's all right,’ said Emily. ‘Callum's just leaving, aren't you?’

      Something of the coldness of her tone seemed to have pierced through Callum's skull because he shambled off with his cans of Stella. Jeez, he stank like a brewery.

      ‘Sorry about that,’ said Emily, shamefaced.

      ‘No problem,’ said John, ‘but you're hot to trot, and he's a wanker. What on earth is a babe like you doing with a twat like that?’

      What indeed, thought Emily, as she made her way back upstairs. What indeed … ?

       Chapter Six

      ‘You're going away again?’ Katie sat and faced her husband across the table, laid with her white damask cloth, their Royal Doulton blue and white wedding china, their poshest Sheffield steel cutlery, a vase full of freesias and daffodils and two scented candles.

      ‘Needs must,’ said Charlie, tucking into the steak Diane that Katie had lovingly prepared. ‘This is jolly good, by the way. I have to go. The takeover is turning out to be trickier than we thought. In fact,’ he paused, as if uncertain as to what to say next, ‘you may not like this, but there's a distinct possibility that I might have to be permanently in Amsterdam for a while.’

      ‘No!’ Katie put down the glass of Chablis she was sipping and stared at her husband in dismay.

      ‘I'm afraid so,’ said Charlie. ‘So we'd better start looking for schools and things.’

      ‘Woah!’ Katie stood up and looked at him. ‘Charlie, one thing at a time. When you say you have to be there for a while, how long is a while?’

      ‘Six months – a year tops,’ said Charlie.

      ‘Don't you think,’ Katie tried to choose her words carefully, knowing how capable Charlie was of twisting them, ‘you might be jumping the gun a bit? We can't just pull the kids out of school. It will be so disruptive for them. When are you going?’

      Besides, a little voice was hammering insistently in her brain, we tried living abroad as a family before, and it was a disaster. And you promised …

      Charlie had relocated once before, in his previous job, and Katie had had to leave the job where she had met and made friends with Emily. She probably would have done so eventually anyway as she had found it increasingly difficult to manage a career and two young children, but having the decision forced on her hadn't helped. Katie had gone on to spend a miserable year in Frankfurt with a five-year-old and a toddler. She didn't speak the language, had no social network and found the other English wives dreary beyond belief. When he'd seen how unhappy it had made her, Charlie had switched jobs and sworn he'd never put her through that again.

      ‘Oh, I didn't think of that,’ admitted Charlie.

      ‘No, you never do.’ Shock and disappointment – that her romantic evening was being tainted by the prospect of changes that could only make her home life worse – made Katie's response more acidic than she'd intended.

      ‘What's