Free This Charming Man by Marian Keyes

answered because could be new client. Some woman said, ‘I’m calling from Paddy de Courcy’soffice. Mr de Courcy was wondering if you are free this evening. He will pick you up at seven p.m. I need your address please.’
    I was startled into silence. Then laughed. Said, ‘No.’
    ‘No, what?’
    ‘No, not giving address. Who’s he think he is?’
    Her turn to be startled. Said, ‘Is Paddy de Courcy!’
    ‘If Mr de Courcy wants to make arrangement with me, Mr de Courcy can pick up phone and call me himself.’
    ‘… Yes… but Ms Daly, Mr de Courcy very busy man…’
    Understand busyness. Most of my clients very busy people and usually clients’ assistant, rather than clients themselves, call to set up styling appointment. But that was work . This was not work.
    ‘Must go now,’ I said. ‘Thank you. Nice talking to you. Goodbye.’ (Costs nothing to be polite. Also she might want to be styled at some time in the future.)
    I wasn’t even indignant. Simply realized had been right to think he wasn’t my type. Maybe that is how some people live their lives, getting their assistants to set up romantic assignations. Perhaps it is considered perfectly fine in certain circles.
    I didn’t expect him to ring back and I really didn’t care. When think now of the risk I ran, I go hot and cold all over. Could have blithely thrown it all away. Over before it ever started. Then realize it’s all over anyway, and maybe would have been better off being spared the pain. But couldn’t imagine not having had him in my life. Was the most intense experience. The most intense man. Most beautiful, most sexy.
    Anyway, a few minutes later, he did call. Laughing. Apologizing for being arrogant asshole.
    I said, ‘You politicians have totally lost touch with reality.’ (Light-hearted tone. Banter.)
    ‘No, haven’t.’
    ‘Oh really? If so, tell me price of litre of milk?’ (Once, by accident, saw programme where minister of something was shamed for not knowing that. Actually felt quite sorry for him. Not so sure of price myself. But could tell you to the nearest euro, exact cost of entire Chloé collection . Wholesale, discounted and full retail. We all have our gifts.)
    Paddy de Courcy said, ‘Don’t know. Don’t drink milk.’
    ‘Why so? Too busy?’
    He laughed. Banter going well.
    I said, ‘No milk on your cereal?’
    ‘Don’t eat cereal.’
    ‘What you have for breakfast?’
    Pause. Then he said, ‘Would you like to find out?’
    Cheesy. Remembered his bouffy hair. Didn’t want to banter any longer.
    ‘Sorry,’ he said. Sounded humbled, then he asked, ‘You free this evening?’
    ‘No.’ (Was, but really…)
    ‘How about tomorrow… uh, no, can’t do tomorrow. Or Wednesday. Just a minute,’ he said, then called to someone, ‘Stephanie, can you get me out of that thing with Brazilians on Thursday?’ Then he was back. ‘Thursday?’
    ‘Let me look at appointments.’ I checked, then said, ‘Yes, okay for Thursday evening.’
    ‘Thursday it is,’ he said. ‘I’ll pick you up. Seven?’
    What was this thing with seven? Why so early?
    ‘I’ll book couple of tables for dinner and you can choose.’
    Bridled at way he was calling all the shots, then… don’t know… stopped bridling, is best way to put it.
    ‘Just one thing,’ I said. ‘You married?’
    ‘Why? You offering?’
    Further cheesiness. I said, ‘Yes or no? Married or not?’
    ‘Not.’
    ‘Fine.’
    ‘Really looking forward to seeing you,’ he said.
    ‘… Yes, me too.’
    But wasn’t sure I was. And when I climbed into the back of his car and he was Mr Grown-up in his suit and briefcase, I thought, Oh no, terrible mistake. Stomach did that rolling, tilty nausea thing again. And, of course, things got worse in the shop. But then… undressing for him… everything changed. Started to really fancy him. Never looked back.
Friday, 5 September 12.19
    Woke up. Had gone back to bed around 6 a.m., when sun was rising.
    No longer felt