Page 23 of Pyg

Fran retook her perch on Alice’s desk and steadied Alice’s jittering hands with her own.

“And what did she see, Alice?”

Alice looked at her blankly.

“Exactly. She saw nothing.” Fran smiled.

She’s actually enjoying this.

“Just tell the sour old cow I was getting an eyelash for you.” She scoffed. “It’s not like she’d know affection even if it bit her on the ice-cold arse.”

Alice raked her fingers over her cheeks and sank into her chair.

Fran glanced at her watch and hopped off the desk. “Right then, I better be off.”

“What? Where are you going?”

“I can’t hang around here all day. I have things to do.”

“What about Jeremy?”

“Do tell him I said hello. There’s a sandwich for him in the basket; the rest of it is for you. Enjoy!”

“But—”

“All good things, Alice, all good things. Besides, I shall see you this weekend! Don’t forget your tennis gear.” Fran blew her a kiss and disappeared through the door.

“I don’t have any tennis gear,” muttered Alice.

* * *

After a soft knock,Alice pushed through the heavy oak door with a tray balanced in her left hand. Truscote didn’t look up; her fountain pen scratched rapid notes across the lined paper of her notebook. Alice placed the cup of coffee on the coaster — she’d made it with hot milk, just how Truscote liked it. She’d also added a fancy biscuit from Fran’s basket, hopeful that Truscote might notice the gesture and not mention anything about before.

This whole thing with Fran —should she sayaffair?

Yes, but it sounds so seedy and cliché: the PA fucking the boss, or in this case, the boss’s wife. She didn’t know how to make it stop, or even if she could. More to the point, if she actually wanted it to stop. And now that Fran was thinking of leaving Jeremy, perhaps they even had a future together?

Alice swung wildly from being smitten with the woman, to sort-of-despising her for being so… so whatever it was that fuelled Alice’s raging desire. Fran was like crack, and Alice the crack-whore — constantly craving the next hit that inevitably left her feeling lower and more desperate than before.Ugh.She was disgusted with herself and cursed her weak will and libido because she knew she’d always bend over and take whatever Fran served up.

Alice’s insides twisted and the metallic taste in her mouth made her realise she’d bitten the inside of her cheek too hard again.

It didn’t help that Jeremy was one of the nicest people she’d ever met, earnest and kind — the opposite of his wife.

Truscote cleared her throat, wrenching Alice from her thoughts. She gave the silver-haired woman a small smile and moved towards the door.

“Alice, wait.”

Shit.Alice turned.

“Thank you.” Truscote combed a hand through her cropped hair and removed her reading glasses.

“For what?”

“The coffee. I was concentrating on my notes. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“Oh, it’s okay. You’re welcome.”

“And for the biscuit. I like these. Fortnum’s, right?”

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