To Catch a Creeper by Ellie Campbell

time?’
    ‘Twelve?’
    ‘Twelve midday. Um…’ I flicked through a
Baby Bits
catalogue (the nearest thing to hand) in what I hope sounded like a leafing-through-diary kind of way. ‘Yes, er, I think I could fit that in.’ I made my voice as efficient and brisk as possible. ‘Just need to reschedule a couple of things.’
    ‘Good. I’ve a client-based meeting this morning, so my phone will be off. As long as you’re sure?’
    ‘Sure I’m sure. Twelve it is. Bye.’ I click off.
    ‘Nudge nudge, wink wink, say no more,’ someone whispered in my ear. I whipped my head around so fast I cricked my neck. Thank God, it was only Alice.
    ‘What are you talking about?’ My colour deepened.
    ‘You and Turks. Lunch.’
    ‘It’s not lunch…like that. It’s well, it is lunch…as in lunch
meeting
.’
    ‘A meeting,
yeah, right
.’ She nodded twice in a meaningful way.
    ‘Oh my God! He didn’t say where! Christ!’ My neck hairs rose one by one in mortification. ‘I’ll have to call his mobile…but he’s going out. Client-based meeting. Didn’t say what clients. I can’t ring him. What should I do? What should I do?’
    ‘Relax, Cathy. He always takes his girlfr…I mean, staff, to the same place. Lorenzo’s, Piccadilly.’
    ‘Gee, thanks, Alice.’ I threw her a relieved smile. ‘Saved my life.’
    ‘Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,’ she’d trilled as she sauntered out.
    ‘Well I won’t show him my bare bum, if that’s what you mean,’ I’d trilled back.
    ***
    ‘Tch, tch, tch, tch.’ I’m drumming my fingers on the daffodil-yellow menu, still pondering my choice while the waiter and Turks await my decision. Chenin Blanc, Pinot Grigio, Merlot, Rioja, a multitude of cocktails…or boring fruit juice. If I don’t go for the alcohol, he might think I’m a fuddy-duddy, if I do choose it, he might think I’m an old soak who’s always going off for long boozy lunches, wasting his valuable budget.
    ‘Nah, not for me. I’ll just stick to mineral water. I’ve heaps to do this afternoon and I’ve a rave to drive to tonight – after work.’
    ‘A rave? Really?’ A small smile quivers on his lips as he inspects my face for signs that I’m having him on. I make an extreme effort to remain impassive while pretending not to notice. ‘Well that’s probably not until, what, one a.m.?’
    ‘Sometimes two. It’s all…er…pretty last minute. They’re going to text my iPod Touch. That’s the signal.’
    ‘Although, as you say, it’ll probably be so late any alcohol in you would be long gone. Bottle of Chateau Loudenne, s’il-vous-plait.’ He hands the menu back to the waiter and turns to me. ‘What’s wrong, Cathy? You look as nervous as a duck. Are you OK?’
    ‘Yes, of course,’ I quack. ‘I’m fine.’
    ‘What are you thinking?’
    ‘What am I thinking?’ I say surprised. ‘I’m not thinking anything. Or rather I’m just trying to work out what this lunch meeting’s about.’
    ‘Does it have to be about anything?’ His smouldering eyes stare into mine, as if searching behind them for some sign of life. Only thing that’s going on is a great need to yell out, ‘
Don’t panic, Mr Mainwaring! Don’t panic!
’
    What is it about Turks that makes me so ill-at-ease? His intensity, his attempts at psyching people out? The fact that he’s my employer? Sexy rubbery lips and cool attitude or…?
    ‘Can’t a boss take a member of staff out to lunch,’ he adds, pulling a stray hair off Alice’s borrowed black jacket, ‘without there being an ulterior motive?’
    ‘I wasn’t meaning… I didn’t…’
    ‘Hey, relax, honey.’ He rocks back in his chair and puts both palms in the air in an ‘I never touched you gesture’. ‘Don’t think I’m unaware of the reputation I have around Younger’s.’
    ‘I know nothing. I mean, I know loads of things, er, obviously, but I haven’t heard about any
reputation
as such.’
    ‘Well,’ he says slowly as the