Amongst his list of rules about falling in love, that Frank kept neatly inscribed in his black office notebook, he had never had the need of one that commanded ‘no touching’. Now it looked like this might need to be added.
The list of rules in Frank’s notebook was, after all this time, quite lengthy.
At the instant when he touched Louise’s hand he was not thinking, but Frank did not know this. Frank had no idea that there were instances in his life when he was not thinking.
Louise had come to Frank’s office on a quiet Wednesday afternoon, and Frank was quite determined from the first moment that he would fall in love with her. As in all matters, in the matter of falling in love Frank was a decisive and resolute man. Once he had set his mind on a particular woman, he rarely failed to fall in love with her. Frank regarded this ability as one amongst many of his talents.
Louise was dressed in a navy business suit and Frank guessed that she was in her mid-thirties. She had come to Frank seeking financial advice about obtaining a mortgage. A great many of the women with whom Frank fell in love came to him about a mortgage. Frank liked mortgages, for this type of advice required many personal questions, and personal questions gave Frank, from the other side of his black woodchip desk, a sense of clandestine intimacy.
Married or single?
Repayment or interest only?
And your monthly disposable income?
The financial means of a woman he intended to fall in love with was in truth quite unimportant to Frank. But an Independent Financial Advisor is trained to forecast the future in the service he or she provides to their clients, and in the same way that Frank’s financial advice was clear-eyed and realistic, his fantasies about his conquests necessarily had an air of realism about them. Any fantasy was, for Frank, inextricably dependent upon their combined mutual income.
Louise sat perched forward on Frank’s easy chair, a leather sofa that had come as part of the rented office furniture. Frank considered the sofa tacky.
Whilst responding to another question Louise shook back her hair and scooped a stray wave behind her ear. Suddenly Frank was slightly on guard. This typically flirtatious act from a woman he knew to be single indicated to Frank that this might be what he classed a Type 2 romance: one where his passion was reciprocated. A Type 2, or rather the potential of a Type 2, was inexpressibly more exciting than Type 1, hence why Frank removed his wedding ring each morning on the way into his office. Although many potential Type 2’s had been recorded in his notebook, Frank had never experienced one in actuality. But Frank knew that everyday an unfamiliar woman came to his office the possibility was there.
If he was honest with himself, Frank was much more at ease with a Type 1: a romance where his infatuation was one-sided and, more importantly, kept secret from the woman in question.
And your current address? he asked
Louise answered quietly, without offering any extra conversation. Cool and reserved, thought Frank. Lovely.
So you must know Ricardo’s, said Frank. I meet clients there quite a lot.
Louise knew the restaurant. Frank felt the sweat inside the sleeves of his suit jacket. He told himself he could not be bothered with a Type 2 right now. He had too much work on. He wanted to love this women without her ever knowing.
Frank managed to conclude the meeting without his voice shaking, and quickly scheduled another meeting for presenting his analysis of her most favourable mortgage. He suggested meeting at Ricardo’s.
Frank met Louise the following Tuesday lunchtime. He was most excited, for the moment had taken place some time on Saturday morning, as he sat in a garden recliner on his patio reading the newspaper. Frank suddenly noted that he was in love with Louise, and he found it difficult to take in the salient points of the Telegraph’s business news.. On Sunday and Monday he had thought of her more and more frequently, and now this passion was upon him in a weighty manner. He was in love with Louise.
It always intrigued Frank that the length of his obsessions was of such a random nature. Once he had fallen in love for almost eight months, and on another occasion for just an afternoon. He had been in love with his wife for just over six months. There seemed to be no logic to his passions, no way of predicting at the outset how long they would last – it certainly did not appear to depend upon how attractive he found the woman in question.
In his office on Monday and Tuesday morning he spent whole minutes at a time with his fingers rested on his laptop keyboard, scenes of himself and Louise playing through his head. He drank cocktails with her at an Italian beach resort where he once holidayed with his wife, and spent an evening watching opera on television with Louise’s head rested in his lap. Occasionally he imagined her naked, but only fleetingly. Frank liked to take things slowly.
In a corner booth of Ricardo’s Frank explained the details of the mortgage. Louise wore a casual skirt and t-shirt in place of her business suit, and Frank was more careful to continually check himself, to act professionally without revealing anything of his emotions. But in trying to act normally he made a self-depreciating remark about his stuffy shirt and tie, which to his alarm caused Louise to giggle. Frank was enchanted by her giggle, and became even more stern in his manner.
He made a remark about the state of the housing market and Louise laughed again. Frank was almost certain he had not imagined her moving her head in closer to him. He was losing control of the situation, and felt it was coming to the point he had always dreaded – where it transpired that this was the woman for whom he must leave his wife and with whom he would spend the rest of his life. The thought brought about a panic in him. He did not want to leave his wife. He loved his wife.
Louise inscribed her signature in the relevant boxes on the mortgage document, and Frank informed her that that pretty much wrapped things up. The night before he had considered inventing a small complication in the checking of her credit rating which would necessitate a further meeting, but he now knew this to be a bad idea. One of his earliest notebook rules (which he had broken on a number of occasions): no more meetings than necessary.
On the other hand if he could just manage to leave Ricardo’s without any accidental revelation of his feelings, this particular liaison would have been most pleasurable, and have lasted an ideal length of time. He had already noted Louise’s passion for tennis and other sports, and being adverse to sport himself had forecast that this infatuation would not be a protracted one.
Outside the restaurant Frank leant in to kiss her goodbye. This was the prize he always awarded himself for the conclusion of a Type 1 romance. Louise pulled her head slightly to the side and he kissed her on the ear. Frank turned to go.
I was wondering, said Louise. If we could meet up again. I have some other financial things I need sorting out. Maybe here again next week?
I think we’re all done, said Frank. He wanted nothing more now than to get clean away.
All you need now is to wait for the final documents from your solicitor in the post.
No, no, that’s fine, she said. If you’re busy. Louise stepped closer, hesitated, then kissed him more accurately on the cheek. Thanks for all your help. I’ll look out for the post.
She turned to go. Frank grabbed her hand.
Louise.
Her eyes widened. She said nothing.
He dropped her hand as though it had scalded him.
I have to go, said Frank.
Three days later Louise called Frank’s mobile whilst he was at work. He had resigned himself to this eventuality and when he saw her name on the screen immediately cancelled the call.
Frank locked the office door and pulled the blind down over the glass. From the bottom drawer of his desk he pulled out a plastic folder, on the inset card of which was typed, in a large font, ‘Emergency Procedures’. For the rest of the morning he made phone calls cancelling his afternoon appointments, inventing a family crisis that would, he told his clients, mean he would not be available for the following week. He had already begun the mental process of concocting the details of this family crisis, and would write it up in more detail over the next few days. He then recorded answerphone messages to his landline and mobile phones to the same effect and set up an automatic reply to his emails.
At one o’clock Frank locked his office door for the last time, taking with him the desk lamp and plant, and went home to his wife. He informed her he had decided to work at home for the afternoon. They shared a light salad lunch in the garden, and Frank listened attentively as his wife related her irritations with the patients with whom she dealt as a doctor’s receptionist. It was hard to leave his warm seat in the garden, but eventually Frank retired to his upstairs office, where he spent the rest of the day renting new business premises on the other side of the city. He organised the printing of business cards detailing his new address and phone numbers, and emailed the particulars to his mailing list of clients.
Frank had only found it necessary on one previous occasion to change his business contact details in order to deflect a woman’s advances. The woman in question had been only his second client as an independent financial advisor, but when she sent him a bunch of roses after their second meeting Frank knew he had gone too far, and that he was heading for a full-blown affair. There had been then, as there would be now, a concurrent loss of earnings due to the change of business identity, but Frank knew it was worth it to avoid the dire possibility of his wife suspecting him of infidelity.
The next day Frank took his desk lamp and plant to his new office and returned to his usual routine.
Four days later he felt a fleeting passion for a dentist who came to him for advice about a pension, but the feeling only lasted for a day and a half. He did not even feel the urge to invite the dentist to Café Bella, his new restaurant of choice. His wedding ring remained on his finger at the office.
Three weeks later Louise knocked, and without waiting for an answer, entered the door of his new office.
Is there something wrong with your mortgage? asked Frank, without saying hello. He held a mug of tea in mid air.
What is it? asked Louise. What’s wrong with me?
There’s nothing at all wrong with you, said Frank. He indicated for Louise to take a seat. A splash of tea slopped onto his desk. Louise stared at his outstretched hand uncomprehendingly.
You moved offices because of me.
The move was already arranged, said Frank. I’m not sure what it is you think I’ve done wrong. If there’s some problem with your mortgage –
You had no wedding ring before.
They both looked at his hand.
Am I not attractive to you? cried Louise.
No. Not at all. You are very attractive.
What was wrong – I wasn’t pushy. Was I pushy? I tried not to be pushy! And you took my hand. What did you mean by doing that?
I have a wife.
I know you have a wife! Tell me what’s wrong with me.
Nothing is wrong with you. I love my wife.
I thought perhaps you might love me.
I was –
What? Please tell me.
Nothing.
Please tell me.
How do you know I have a wife?
Frank stayed late at his office. Frank’s wife called at six-thirty to ask when he’d be home. She sounded tired.
Frank and his wife sat in silence as they ate dinner. There was usually silence between them at dinner time, since their habit was to listen to a comedy show on the radio whilst they ate. Tonight they were too late for the comedy show, and there was just silence.
Who is Louise Hammond? asked Frank’s wife.
A client of mine, said Frank. Did she phone here earlier?
She wanted to speak to you. She sounded upset.
She got hold of me. She came to my office this afternoon.
She didn’t know who I was. She seemed surprised that I was your wife.
Frank wound an extra twirl of spaghetti onto his fork.
Why have you changed your office phone numbers? said Frank’s wife. What was wrong with the old ones?
Whatever you’re thinking is going on here, said Frank, it’s not. Not at all.
What am I thinking? You tell me what I’m thinking.
I love you. You know that I love you. I would never be with another woman. I never have and you know I never will.
What about Louise?
What about her?
Why was she so desperate to find you? She was crying on the phone.
Frank pretended to have a large mouthful of pasta he needed to finish chewing.
She’s rather an odd woman, he said. She seems to be a bit – obsessed with me.
Obsessed? Well what – what would have made her obsessed with you!
I don’t know.
So what happened? When she came to your office?
I told her I was married and that nothing could come of it. Then she left.
Nothing could come of what?
Of it.
I know you look at other women, Frank. I’ve seen you. When we’re out.
I’ve never cheated on you. And never will. I love you.
Why do you say that?
Because I mean it.
Do you look at other women?
Frank had no food left on which to concentrate his gaze.
No. All men look at other women. Don’t women look at other men?
Not like that! Oh, I don’t know.
What don’t you know, love? said Frank.
Why I put up with it.
There’s nothing happening. There never has been. I love you.
But you still – what? Want other women. Is that it? Are you in love with Louise?
No, said Frank, truthfully.
Are you in love with me?
I love you.
That’s not what I asked! moaned Frank’s wife, a tear running down her cheek. Why can’t you fall in love with me?
I already did, said Frank forlornly. But it’s kind of a once only thing with each person, don’t you think?
I hate you, said Frank’s wife.
It’ll pass, said Frank. These things always do.
For the next few days Frank worked at home when he was not required to go out for appointments. Frank loved his wife. There was no one else with whom he’d rather spend his time.
After a week neither Frank nor his wife were able to quite remember all the details of their argument. They had lunch in the garden at the weekends, and listened to comedy on the radio during dinner each evening. Frank began to work more at his office again. A red-headed marketing manager who wanted to invest in ethical funds held no appeal for him.
The day before Christmas Eve, at the Christmas drinks of one of his clients, Frank fell passionately in love with the company’s receptionist. By New Year’s Eve he had forgotten all about her.
