use his name and he would have no influence upon her career. It was easy to agree; he sensed that the ambition to succeed was burning in her, and he was confident in his only child’s abilities, especially with no distractions to halt her progress.
Chapter Twenty
“Ah, JB. Sorry, I haven’t collected the car yet. I have been talking to this gentleman. Oh, let me do the introductions.” Gemma turns to face me. “This is my boss, JB.” She then turns away to say to her smiling boss, “And this is Mr. Pearson—Daniel Pearson.”
JB reaches across and shakes my hand. “Nice to meet you, Danny.”
Gemma seems confused. Had she said Daniel or Danny? Me, well I have lost the plot. Not only do I have no words, I have lost all use of most of my body parts. JB remembers my name from a ten-minute meeting six months ago. And I have actually touched her; I have physically made contact with her. She exists. After ten seconds or so, I can tell she is waiting for me to release her hand. It’s a wrench, but I manage it. I need to show my dexterity with the English language.
“JB?”
Shouldn’t a question have a verb in there somewhere? She is obviously enjoying my discomfort but that is okay.
***
Gemma Barrow is by no means a stupid girl. There is something happening here—she is observing something, isn’t she? A few minutes ago Daniel/Danny came across as an attractive, decent young man, but now it looks like she has introduced her boss to an imbecile. But there again, her boss, under whom she has worked for more than three years, is acting strangely. JB hardly ever smiles during the working day; if something does not directly involve the workings of the company, her eyes tend to glaze over within minutes. She is most definitely not interested in men, that is for certain. When she gets a chance to belittle someone of the opposite sex, she never shows mercy. But Gemma cannot fail to notice that her boss is still smiling. She has had ample opportunity to embarrass him further but she just stands there looking…looking radiant.
***
JB eventually speaks. “Gemma and I were just nipping into town for an ice cream. We have had a hard day. Do you like ice cream, Danny?”
“I once served six years inside for knifing a man over a dispute involving a caramel fudge sundae. I am quite the connoisseur if left to my own devices.”
JB instantly gets the joke, and so does Gemma after a couple of seconds.
JB asks, “Shall we go in your car or take Gemma’s?”
My old sign-painted van? Not in a million years. Any excuse will do.
“Mine would be awkward. I’ve left it parked on the other side of town. I needed the exercise.”
“Come on, then. Gemma’s car it is.”
We walk across the car park three abreast. Some sort of small talk is going on, but all I can focus on is the sight of my van, which is parked two spaces away from Gemma’s Peugeot. I avoid making eye contact with the van. If it had feelings, it would be heartbroken at my dismissive nature. I feel bad—I know what it is like to be spurned. I am ushered into the back seat, where I feel I might get a chance to gather my thoughts and work out a plan of campaign, but JB has other thoughts. She turns around in the passenger seat and faces me.
“So what are you doing in our neck of the woods, Danny?” Her eyes are twinkling with mischief. I get the feeling this is a seminal moment. She is trying to establish whether I am man or a mouse.
My eyes lock into hers. “I’m trying to find a girl. Ella Chamberlain is her name. I thought there might be a chance she worked for your company.”
She turns around and looks out of the windscreen. She was not expecting that; fifteen—love to me, I think.
There is a parking space only a few metres away from the ice cream parlour, which has a seating area with three tables neatly arranged outside. One of the tables is empty.
“What will you have,
Chapter Twenty
“Ah, JB. Sorry, I haven’t collected the car yet. I have been talking to this gentleman. Oh, let me do the introductions.” Gemma turns to face me. “This is my boss, JB.” She then turns away to say to her smiling boss, “And this is Mr. Pearson—Daniel Pearson.”
JB reaches across and shakes my hand. “Nice to meet you, Danny.”
Gemma seems confused. Had she said Daniel or Danny? Me, well I have lost the plot. Not only do I have no words, I have lost all use of most of my body parts. JB remembers my name from a ten-minute meeting six months ago. And I have actually touched her; I have physically made contact with her. She exists. After ten seconds or so, I can tell she is waiting for me to release her hand. It’s a wrench, but I manage it. I need to show my dexterity with the English language.
“JB?”
Shouldn’t a question have a verb in there somewhere? She is obviously enjoying my discomfort but that is okay.
***
Gemma Barrow is by no means a stupid girl. There is something happening here—she is observing something, isn’t she? A few minutes ago Daniel/Danny came across as an attractive, decent young man, but now it looks like she has introduced her boss to an imbecile. But there again, her boss, under whom she has worked for more than three years, is acting strangely. JB hardly ever smiles during the working day; if something does not directly involve the workings of the company, her eyes tend to glaze over within minutes. She is most definitely not interested in men, that is for certain. When she gets a chance to belittle someone of the opposite sex, she never shows mercy. But Gemma cannot fail to notice that her boss is still smiling. She has had ample opportunity to embarrass him further but she just stands there looking…looking radiant.
***
JB eventually speaks. “Gemma and I were just nipping into town for an ice cream. We have had a hard day. Do you like ice cream, Danny?”
“I once served six years inside for knifing a man over a dispute involving a caramel fudge sundae. I am quite the connoisseur if left to my own devices.”
JB instantly gets the joke, and so does Gemma after a couple of seconds.
JB asks, “Shall we go in your car or take Gemma’s?”
My old sign-painted van? Not in a million years. Any excuse will do.
“Mine would be awkward. I’ve left it parked on the other side of town. I needed the exercise.”
“Come on, then. Gemma’s car it is.”
We walk across the car park three abreast. Some sort of small talk is going on, but all I can focus on is the sight of my van, which is parked two spaces away from Gemma’s Peugeot. I avoid making eye contact with the van. If it had feelings, it would be heartbroken at my dismissive nature. I feel bad—I know what it is like to be spurned. I am ushered into the back seat, where I feel I might get a chance to gather my thoughts and work out a plan of campaign, but JB has other thoughts. She turns around in the passenger seat and faces me.
“So what are you doing in our neck of the woods, Danny?” Her eyes are twinkling with mischief. I get the feeling this is a seminal moment. She is trying to establish whether I am man or a mouse.
My eyes lock into hers. “I’m trying to find a girl. Ella Chamberlain is her name. I thought there might be a chance she worked for your company.”
She turns around and looks out of the windscreen. She was not expecting that; fifteen—love to me, I think.
There is a parking space only a few metres away from the ice cream parlour, which has a seating area with three tables neatly arranged outside. One of the tables is empty.
“What will you have,
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