He’s been thinking about me? Mike has been thinking about me? I flush with excitement. It’s worked! My “make him realize what he’s been missing” strategy has worked! He’s obviously realized that success is all very well, but it’s nothing compared with the love of a good woman.

I’m about to type back a flirtatious e-mail when I remember the note Mike left me: “Sorry gorgeous. You’re too good for me. I need some time to get myself sorted out. Please don’t hate me.” If he thinks he’s going to get back into my good books (let alone anything else) with one lunch, he’s got another think coming. Plus, I simply don’t have time for this now. I am a busy executive, and Mike will simply have to deal with that.

GEORGIE BEAUCHAMP: I mean that I am too busy to think about people who should be doing some work and not pestering me.

I turn back to my report:

Your views are of the utmost importance to Leary. Please take a few moments to fill in this questionnaire to ensure that your needs, now and in the future, are met by us.

Ping!

MIKE MARSHALL: So you would be thinking about me if you weren’t so busy?

GEORGIE BEAUCHAMP: Too busy to know. Now leave me alone.

1. How regularly do you refer to Pensions Bulletin? (please tick appropriate box—monthly; weekly; daily)

2. Does Pensions Bulletin cover the subjects on which you need to be informed (always; sometimes; rarely)

Ping!

MIKE MARSHALL: I buy you lunch and this is all the gratitude I get. Anyway, if you’re so busy, why are you e-mailing me back?

He’s got me there. I start on question three, but feel guilty about the lunch. It couldn’t have been cheap.

GEORGIE BEAUCHAMP: Thank you for the lunch. Do not read anything into the returning of e-mails. I’ve just been brought up to be polite, that’s all. Now GO AWAY!

3. Would you prefer to receive Pensions Bulletin more or less frequently?

4. Do you consider Pensions Bulletin to be good value for money?

Ping!

MIKE MARSHALL: Well that’s hardly polite, is it? I’ve got a good mind to talk to your mother about you. How is she, by the way?

Mike and my mother got along famously. He had flirted with her madly on the three occasions they had met and she had flirted right back. As I recall, I got in a bit of a huff.

GEORGIE BEAUCHAMP: She’s busy, too.

Okay, four questions done. I need another sixteen before it will be anywhere near a proper questionnaire.

5. Do you intend to renew your subscription to Pensions Bulletin? Yes/No 6. Please circle your main area of expertise: pensions; finance; HR

7.

My inspiration has gone. I reach for the phone.

“Good afternoon, David Bradley’s office.” I love that. One day I want someone to answer the phone “Georgie Beauchamp’s office.” That would be so cool.

“Hi, it’s Georgie. Is David around?”

“Hello, dear, how are you?” It’s Jane, David’s PA. “I’m afraid David is in a meeting—would you wait for one moment, please?” I hear muffled voices as she tells him I’m on the phone.

“Hi, darling. Look, I’m a bit tied up here at the moment. Is there a chance I can give you a call back a bit later?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I just need some information on pensions, that’s all.”

“Pensions?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll figure it out myself.”

“Are you okay for tonight?”

Tonight? I can’t remember making any plans for tonight, and quite honestly after all that champagne, all I can think about is slipping into a nice hot bath.

I remember the e-mail. “Oh, what, going out? Yeah, maybe. I’ve got a lot of work on, so it depends what time I get home. I’ll give you a call later.”

I can just hear people talking in hushed voices—presumably they are in David’s office.

“Okay, I’ll talk to you then,” he says. “Bye.”

I look at my watch—it’s five to three. Unless Nigel is very late out of his meeting, I’m in big trouble.

I rack my brains for a good excuse. My computer could have crashed and lost the report, except I used that excuse last week. Maybe I could pretend that something is really badly wrong with me and everyone will be so sympathetic that Nigel won’t dare shout at me. No, can’t do that. I never lie about my health ever since I told a boy I didn’t want to go out with that I had the flu and then came down with the flu the following week. I was only sixteen at the time, but it taught me a valuable lesson: don’t tempt fate. Shit. Nigel’s going to be furious.

Suddenly I have a brain wave.

“Denise,” I hiss.

“What? Why are you whispering?”

“In case Nigel comes back. You knowInvestment Analysis ?”

Denise looks at me blankly.

“That magazine they produce upstairs. We did some research on it last year.”

Denise nods. Obviously the magazine has made no lasting impression on her.

“Nigel has the research file on his computer, hasn’t he?”

“ ’Spect so,” says Denise, uncertainly.

“And you’ve got his passwords . . .”

Nigel’s paranoia that no one can be trusted extends to us. He is convinced that everyone at Leary would like nothing better than to break into his computer and read all his stupid strategy alignment reports or whatever he has on there, and he is constantly securing his computer with streams of passwords and booby traps. Like anyone would want to break into it and read his stupid files! Apart from now, that is. Luckily our IT department got mad at him one time when they needed to access his database and couldn’t get in. So now he has to tell Denise all his passwords. But he still changes them every week.

“Oh no. Nuh-uh.” Denise turns away. “I am not nosing around Nigel’s computer when he’s due back any minute. You’re going to have to think of something else, I’m afraid.”

“Please . . .”

It’s three minutes to three. “Come on, Denise, you know I’d do the same for you.”

“Like I’d ever need you to.”

“You’d be saving my life . . .” I plead.

It works. Looking as if she would rather be fed to piranhas, Denise makes her way over to Nigel’s desk.

She takes out her notepad and starts typing in all his passwords. “You know I’m not allowed to do this.”

“I know, I know, but this is a real emergency.”

“And what is it I’m looking for exactly?”

“Look under research. Do a search for ‘Investment Analysis.’ ” Denise carefully types the words as I spell outanalysis .

“Nope, can’t find it.”

“It must be there,” I beg. “Look again. Look under . . . I dunno, try ‘magazines’ or something.”

Still nothing.

Suddenly I have a brainwave. “Try ‘strategy,’ ” I suggest.

“Okay, what about ‘Management Strategy Review Documents’?”

“Yes!” I squeal. “I bet it’s there.” And indeed it is.

“You want me to e-mail the report to you?”

“I do love you, you know,” I grin. “Any time you want me to take you away from all this, just say the word.”

Suddenly out of the corner of my eye I see Nigel and Guy coming down the corridor.

“Quick, he’s coming.”

Unflustered, Denise hits a button and picks up Nigel’s phone. As he turns into the office, Denise’s dulcet Essex tones can be heard on the phone to an imaginary customer.

“No, absolutely, Mr. Bingham, I’ll arrange that for you.”

By the time Denise has carefully put the phone down and written an imaginary name and number on a bright yellow Post-it note, Nigel is hovering over his desk looking at her.

“Hi Nigel,” Denise says calmly. “Your phone was ringing and I was on my way back from the Ladies, so I picked it up for you.”

“Very kind of you. Anything important?”

“Oh, no, just someone wanting a sample copy ofAccounting Facts, Part Two .” Denise winks at me and takes the Post-it note back to her desk.

I race back to my desk and open the e-mail Denise has sent. The report is attached, one hundred questions ready to go. I quickly go into Edit and replace “Investment Analysis” with “Pensions Bulletin,” then print it out.

“So, Georgie,” Nigel turns to me. “I assume you have the Pensions Bulletin research ready for Guy?”

“Absolutely, just printing it out.”

I move over to the printer, which is churning out page after page. Feeling utterly pleased with myself, I hand the report over to Guy.

He looks at it briefly. “Looks very impressive. You must have worked very hard,” he says, handing it back to me. “Would you mind e-mailing it to me?”

Nigel is staring at me. “Yes, well, Georgie has had the project for a while,” he says.

“Really?” replies Guy. “But we only commissioned the research last week. I think it’s a great effort from your team.”

Nigel smiles thinly as Guy strides back down the corridor. “Well done, Georgie,” he finally manages as he sits down.

“Oh, it was definitely a team effort,” I say, raising my eyebrow at Denise, who splutters into her coffee.

I leave work on time and get home in time to have a hot bath before “Buffy the Vampire Slayer”

starts on BBC2. I know I’m probably not the target age group for this program, but I like it, and anyway, no one has to know. Not that I’m a Buffy nut, or anything. I mean, I haven’t even watched its spin-off, “Angel.” It’s just something I do if I have the time. And I generally make sure that I do. Have the time, that is. Anyway, Buffy has just managed to pin down a particularly nasty-looking demon when the phone rings.

“Georgie Beauchamp.” I am so engrossed in the fight action that I answer the phone as if I was at work. “Sorry, I mean, hello?”

“Hello Georgie Beauchamp. It’s Mr. Bradley here,” says David, mocking me.

“Oh sod off, I’m just have a bad day. How are you?”

“Busy. But missing you. Do you want to do dinner later?”