Both Uncle Bob, and Belinda, had already gone to lunch by the time Stevie returned to the office. Had they gone together, she wondered, and not for the first time speculated about how close their relationship was. Stevie’s mum had joshed Bob about making a honest woman of Miss Hanford for as long as she could remember. There was, however, a more pressing subject to be addressed. Stevie had hoped the older woman would bring back a sandwich, or something, for her, and although people were still making their way along the corridor, she did not know any of them well enough to ask. Kicking herself for not bringing a packed lunch, Stevie sat at her strange new desk, and came closer to crying than she had all day.

Ordinarily Steve would run out to a sandwich bar down the block, easy enough if you aren’t afraid of laughter, or worse. She had fooled everyone on the way in because they were too tired to stare, but Stevie doubted she would escape attention in the full light of day. Would the company of those who knew her for what she was, be any kinder, and had the news of her new protected status percolated through the company? Feeling light-headed, but with her groaning insides pointing the way to its sticking place, Stevie gathered up her courage, and made for the staff restaurant.
Long before Stevie had been employed, in the days when it had still been known as a canteen, the first floor restaurant had been the building’s social hub, a meeting place for people from all departments, and all levels. Over the years it had fallen from favour, as most employees chose to eat in town, or at their desks. Stevie had only visited on a handful of rainy days, and found it largely deserted; with a modicum of luck, the fine weather would have drawn out even more. For the first time that day, fortune was on her side, and its only habitués were a handful of older workers, and a cluster of noisily arguing lads from IT.

There was a level of obvious curiosity from the serving staff, who were not part of the company as such, but otherwise no one appeared to take much notice of her. As she set about her baked potato she gave less concern for ladylike behaviour, than a quit exit. Hoping that she would continue to be less interesting than Star Wars, Star Trek or knitting patterns, Stevie devoted her full attention to her lunch, and her new tablemate’s, “I hate to see a pretty girl sitting alone,” almost sent her last forkful shooting across the room. Pushing his tray alongside her own before she had a chance to object, the newcomer held out a hand, not so much tanned, as bronzed, “I’m Daniel, by the way.”

Had he really mistaken her for a girl? She had never seen him before, and assumed he was a client, in which case, continuing the deception could land her in all sorts of trouble. “I’m Stevie,” she held up her keycard, as verification, “and I’m not really a girl.”

“You’re not alone either,” he grinned impishly, “but you’re still pretty.”

Sometimes there is nothing for a girl to do, but blush and say something stupid, “I like your moustache.”

“Gruesome isn’t it?” Daniel stroked his top lip, “but I’ve been in the Delhi office for the last six months, and they’re de rigueur over there.” As an ice breaker it was far from ideal, but it had the virtue of working. Daniel was not much older than Stevie, in his late-twenties perhaps, the moustache made it difficult to tell. Against her better instincts, Stevie began to relax, as he told her about the trip over from India, which he would retrace the following day. “Terribly boring,” he insisted, “and when I get here, all anyone can talk about, is very brave young woman who started work today.”

“If she’d been at all brave she’d have gone out for lunch,” Stevie could not put her finger on, what it was about Daniel that put her at ease, she knew only that whatever it was, worked.

“And I’d have had to traipse half way around the world again to meet her,” Daniel laughed, “shall I take our trays back?”

“Yes please,” a glance at the clock told her she had only a few minutes, “I have to get back to my desk.”

“Wait one minute and I’ll ride up in the lift with you.”

Much as Stevie would have enjoyed his company, she pointed out that she worked on the eighth floor, to which Daniel replied he was going up to the twelfth.

“I thought that whole floor was Mr Barrack’s, the one we’re all supposed to call ‘Sir’” Around the company, the chairman was an almost mythical figure, seldom seen by anyone other than senior management, and then only rarely. She felt sure Daniel was only trying to impress her, but a big ‘what if’ was rearing its head.

“That’s him,” Daniel helped Stevie move her chair out, “but I get away with calling him ‘Dad’ most of the time.”

“Lunch with the chairman’s son doesn’t excuse tardiness, Stevie,” Miss Hanford tapped her wristwatch, “don’t look so surprised, you should know IT are the worst gossips.” Indeed they were, and Stevie strongly suspected them of outing her.

“Is Mr Thornwell in his office?” Stevie gave nonchalance her best shot, but the quiver in her voice was unmistakeable.

“He’s not back for another hour dear, so you’ll stay out of the corner for now.” Stevie had waited all day for a warm smile from her uncle’s PA, and it cheered her no end.

“Does he do that often, to everyone I mean?” Had she pushed her luck too far? Miss Hanford’s expression would have foxed the most hardened gambler, and several tense seconds passed before she answered.

“It’s been a couple of years since I had to.” Open mouthed was not a look that Stevie wore well, but there was nothing else she could do to express her disbelief. Miss Hanford seemed at pains to defend her superior, “it’s not that he’s a tartar, he simply likes thing ‘just so’, and it’s a lot easier on his nerves to make you stand facing the wall, than it is to shout at you.”

Stevie could no more imagine the elegant, assured lady consigned to a corner, than she could imagine her making a mistake that might warrant it. Yet, she spoke almost affectionately of the man who did this to her. Bewildered, Stevie sat at her desk, and returned to the pile of forms she had to sort.

Ten minutes ahead of the appointed hour, Miss Hanford lead Stevie to the floor’s kitchen area, to learn how to make Mr Thornwell’s coffee ‘just so’. Along the way she introduced the new girl to the other clerical staff along the corridor, and everyone asked if Stevie had been in the corner yet. Apparently it was a standing joke Had it not been for Ms Hawker’s slap, Stevie might have put it out of her mind entirely, and a bounce entered her step as she carried the tray back.

Feeling quite proud of herself, she was disappointed when Miss Hanford insisted on taking the tray into Mr Thornwell. Shortly after his PA had entered, Bob appeared at the door and drew it closed, leaving Stevie with a sinking feeling that her late return from lunch was being discussed. When he reappeared at the door, asking her to come in her suspicions appeared confirmed, but instead she was asked to take the coffee things back. Relieved, she had picked up the tray and with an unconscious flick of her eyes, she saw the immaculate figure occupying the corner of shame. It would be another thirty minutes before she emerged, thanking Mr Thornwell, while tipping the junior a mischievous wink.

The day Stevie thought would never end, closed without any further incident. Her pile of forms had dwindled considerably by five o’clock, when Miss Banford said ‘goodnight’. Half an hour later, Mr Thornwell locked the door to his office, and asked if she intended going home.

“In a little while, when the buses are a bit quieter.”

“Not interested in a lift then?” Bob jangled his car keys.

“That would be wonderful, Mr Thornwell, thank you,” Stevie reached for bag, while he slipped into his overcoat.

“One thing Stevie, out of hours I’m still Uncle Bob. OK?” Just about the best reward for being an uncle, was a beaming smile.