"Will that be all then, Mr Willows?"
Would that be all? What was she thinking? Work here was never done. Gordon glanced at the time display on his computer. Oh yes, he would have to let her go. It was already half past five and she was supposed to finish at five. Didn't young people have any stamina these days? When he was her age he used to stay in the office until the work was finished. He would often be there until ten o'clock at night back then.
"So where are you up to with the Johnson files?"
"About three quarters of the way through. I'll finish it first thing tomorrow." Steffi bit her lip. "Only it's my mother's birthday today and I wanted to buy a cake on the way home. That patisserie on Chaplin Street is open until six tonight."
Gordon sighed. “Very well then. But we must have that report by midday tomorrow."
"Thank you Mr Willows." She turned to go out of the office and then turned back. "You'd be very welcome to join us. My mother doesn't get out too often and she always likes some company."
"I hardly think so." What was she thinking? That wouldn't do at all.
Steffi pursed her lips and made her way out of his office.
Gordon started to pack up. He would take his laptop home and work there. There was no point in heating the office and keeping the lights on for nothing. It was cheaper to heat his home.
He decided to walk. Why spend money on a taxi? And no way did he want to travel on germ-laden public transport.
His route took him along Chaplin Street and there was the patisserie that Steffi had mentioned. There were a few cakes left. Oh dear. That would mean that Steffi and her mother would be over-indulging. Would she be too sluggish to work in the morning?
He noticed the sign on the door. The little minx. It was Thursday and Thursday was late-night opening. The shop was open until seven o'clock. Not six. She could have stayed a bit longer and finished that report.
Then he saw the blueberry cheese cake. It would be blueberry. And it would be cheesecake. They should be banned.
He was jogged and jostled as he made his way along the streets. It was nearly as bad as Christmas. People were indulging too much. There were so many of them carrying big packages and taking up even more time than normal. Had they got more money than sense? All these things they were buying- they'd be gone in no time. They ought to be investing their money and watching it grow. All of these other things were nonsense. What was the matter with them? They'd worked hard for their money, hadn't they, and now they were just frittering it away.
All these pubs and cafés as well. You had to pay so much more for food this way. What was the point when you could eat in the comfort of your own home? They should do as he did. Online shopping, his food and anything else he needed delivered from Morrisons once a week to his flat, and always only what was on offer. He'd even been known to wrangle with the manager, pointing out that certain items were cheaper at Tesco or Asda and even occasionally at Waitrose. He ate well on very little.
He should give these people a course in managing money. How much might he charge for that?
Someone bumped into him.
"Watch what you’re doing.” He frowned as maliciously as he could at the young man with a clipboard. A student no doubt. He was dressed in faded denim. Why didn't these people work for a living? Why didn't they dress properly?
"I'm sorry sir. I couldn't have been looking where I was going. But while I've got your attention, I wondered whether I might talk to you about our work. We're a charity that supports the homeless."
"Certainly not. I pay my taxes for that sort of thing, thank you very much. You should too. Now if you'll excuse me, I must get on."
The young man shrugged and nodded.
Gordon survived the streets and arrived home in one piece. He sighed with relief as he punched the numbers into lift's keypad. Once inside he pressed the button for the penthouse.
"Going up," said the lift's automatic voice.
Gordon shuddered. It reminded him of Annie. He'd never noticed before but it had exactly her voice. It must have been seeing that cheesecake that did it.
That day when he'd proposed she'd been prettier than ever. She insisted on gathering the blueberries while they were out. "I'm going to make something delicious with these when we get back," she'd said.
And she had. She'd made the best blueberry cheesecake he'd ever tasted, so soft and sweet and tasty. In fact the best cake he'd ever eaten. It made the moment even more right.
"Annie, will you marry me?" He'd pulled the little case out of his pocket and showed her the ring.
"Yes, oh, yes, if course I will." She'd beamed at him as he'd placed the ring on her finger.
It was a perfect ring, of course. Nothing but the best for her. And he was going to offer her a beautiful home.
Then, though, the months had slipped by and turned into years. He worked harder and harder, trying to make more money. She should have the most luxurious home ever. Only there was still never quite enough for the exact house he wanted.
"I really wouldn't mind something smaller, darling," she said. "I just want to be with you."
"But it's got to be right."
He worked longer and longer hours. He had to cancel more and more outings with her.
"I just don't see enough of you, sweetheart. Surely you have plenty of money. Surely you don't need more."
"Oh but I do."
Then there was the awful day. "It's no good, Gordon. I can't go on like this. I may as well be a spinster or a widow. You have a mistress and you've forgotten me."
"But there's nobody else."
"Oh yes there is. There's your fortune. I just can't compete." And so she'd left him. He never heard from her again. He'd heard of her though. That she was happily married and had two children.
It had only made him work even harder. Money was his mistress, was it? So be it.
The microwave pinged. He took out the ready meal. Chili con carne. One of his favourites. But he had no appetite this evening.
He booted up his laptop. Which project should he work on? Maybe the Johnson file. But he couldn't concentrate. He couldn't stop thinking about Annie.
He poured himself a large tumbler of whisky. Perhaps that would make him feel better. He sat down in his comfortable armchair and switched on his television. The news was boring. Nothing new. It should be called the olds. His eyes closed and he fell asleep.
He was in some sort of meeting room. No, wait a minute. It was a church or a chapel. It was a funeral. But there weren't many mourners. Just three women by the looks of it. There was a young man standing at the front, facing them. He recognised him but he couldn't think where from.
The young man started speaking. Ah yes, of course. The student who'd wanted to talk to him about the charity for the homeless. He looked a bit different in a celebrant's suit. His voice was a muffled at first but then he began to speak clearly. "He was a clever man. He knew how to make the most of his money."
A man just like him, then. Clever chap indeed. "But he led a sad and lonely life. We know he had a difficult childhood and he never quite recovered from that."
Oh yes, the poor old sod. Only four people at his funeral. But Gordon knew about difficult childhoods all right. His own mother had died having him and then his father had rejected him. You just didn't have to let that sort of thing get to you.
"As he has no living next of kin all of his money is to be reused into the further development of his firm. Fortunately the trustees have also agreed that one tenth of all profits should be given to support the lonely and those who are homeless."
Oh dear. Perhaps he wasn't such a sharp operator after all. But there must have been something wrong with the man. He didn't have many friends, did he?
He found himself standing behind one of the women. He tapped her lightly on the shoulder. "Whose funeral is this?"
She turned to him and oh, what a shock. It was Annie. "Gordon Willows. Such a sad, lonely man." She didn't seem to recognise him.
The other two women were now looking at him. The younger one was Steffi and he presumed the older one must be her mother. They certainly looked alike.
"Yes, he was a bit of a recluse," said the older woman. "The number of times we invited him to our home and he just refused."
"It's a shame," said Steffi. "He was a really talented man and he could have done so much good in the world. People would have liked him as well if he'd given them a chance to get to know him."
The young man had stopped talking now. The coffin was sliding through the opening at the back of the room.
Was that it? Was that how his life was going to end?
Gordon woke with a start. He was sweating. Thank goodness that had just been a nightmare. He looked at the clock. It was only twenty past six. He'd only been a sleep a couple of minutes and he'd dreamt that much?
But there was no time to dwell on that. He looked up for the number of the patisserie on Chaplin Street. He found it and punched the number into his phone.
Someone answered straight away.
"Do you still have that large blueberry cheesecake?"
"Yes we do."
"Well, hold on to it. I'll be round in a few minutes and I'll be buying a few more items as well. You have some other cakes left?"
"Yes, we're selling everything at half price now. We can't keep it until tomorrow."
"Never mind about that."
He managed to get an uber within a few minutes and at just before quarter to seven he was in the shop buying up most of what was left.
"It’ll be half price," said the assistant.
"That’s a shame. But I have an idea. I'll be back by the time you've packed that all up."
It didn't take him long to find the student he'd spoken to earlier. "Right young man. I would like to make a donation of seventy-eight pounds thirty pence. I take it I can make a card payment?"
The young man's eyes grew round. "Yes of course. Funny amount though."
"It the other half of what the cakes should cost."
"Pardon?"
"Never mind. Anyway, I have two more jobs for you. You are to take some packages of cakes over to this address." He showed the student Steffi's address on his phone. Yes, it was about time Steffi met a nice young man. She was always looking after that old mother of hers. It wouldn't do if she were to turn out just like him. "If Miss Adams and her mother can't use all of them you can distribute the rest to your homeless friends. Then tomorrow morning you are to come to my apartment for breakfast and we can discuss how I might be able to make a more regular contribution to your excellent cause. And not a word about who sent them, you understand?"
A few minutes later he had bundled the young man and the cake into another uber.
Gordon was up early the next morning. He smiled smugly to himself and patted his laptop as he prepared himself for the next part of his plan. He had to get the timing right. He must catch her after she got up but before she set off to work.
As he waited for the time to go by he busied himself getting ready for his breakfast visitor. What was his name? How rude of him. He had forgotten to find out. How silly. It would have been easy enough to read his name badge.
At last it was time to make the phone call. The phone rang out twice and then she answered.
"Good morning Steffi. Gordon Willows here. How was the blueberry cheese cake?"
"It was lovely but how did you know....?"
"Never mind about that now. There's something else I want to discuss with you."
"Oh Mr Willow you're not to worry. I'll get straight to the Johnson report as soon as I get to the office."
"You don't need to worry about that. I've already finished it."
"You've finished it?"
"Yes, so you don't need to come in at all today. You take the day off and take your mother out somewhere nice. In fact, if the offer still stands, maybe I could join you for lunch."
"Well, yes of course."
"And that young man.... The one who brought the cakes?"
"Andy. Andy Browne. But how did....?"
"You got on with him did you?"
"Well, yes, he was very nice. But ...."
"Look, I'll meet you and your mother at that little bistro on Silver Street. One o'clock sharp. And I'll be bringing along a visitor you may want to impress, so put on your glad rags."
"Well, Mr Willows,... thank you ...."
"And Steffi. From now on you must call me Gordon. Then tomorrow when we're both back in the office we'll discuss your pay rise and some extra training for you."
"Mr Willows... Gordon, I don't know what to say."
"You don't need to say anything, my dear."
The doorbell rang. Good, that must be Andy Browne.
He ended the call and rubbed his hands together gleefully. It was rather fun after all being nice to people.
About he author
Gill James is published by The Red Telephone, Butterfly and Chapeltown. She edits CafeLit and writes for the online community news magazine: Talking About My Generation. She teaches Creative Writing and has an MA in Writing for Children and PhD in Creative and Critical Writing.
http://www.gilljameswriter.com
https://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B001KMQRKE
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