Going out with Diana becomes a regular thing. I think of it as 'going out' right from the start, because that's what we do on our dates: we go to bars and restaurants and the cinema; she comes along to gigs with the rest of us; at weekends we go on day trips, or meet up in town to go shopping or see a play or go for a walk. We go out several times a week – always on Fridays after work, but also during the week at least once. We always see each other on Saturdays, and sometimes Sundays too. We kiss hello and goodbye, on the lips, and one night after a gig we kiss on my sofa for quite a long time. That kissing session is wonderful: a long, hot series of fantastic kisses that are fun and sexy and get more and more intense as our bodies move against each other, but don't lead to sex. When Diana realises that I've slid quite a way under her on the sofa and things could start going further, she draws back and we stop. I'm not upset, because I think that whatever happens between us will happen when it feels right for both of us. I decide that I think we'll know instinctively when the time is right, and until then we've had a kissing session that makes me throb pleasurably just remembering it.

In the meantime, we have some lovely dates. I also like the way that we talk, and we talk a lot. It feels perfectly normal to tell her things about myself that just don't seem important when I'm with anyone else – because I know she'll just take them as part of me and find them interesting as a result. Similarly, she tells me things that even though other people probably know them too, she expands on them and tells me why she still thinks about them and I realise that suddenly I'm the only person in the world who has that small but important insight into her.

As time goes on, we build up quite a deep and close knowledge of each other. We get to the stage of being able to plan things to do together, without having to check first that the other one will enjoy it. I like the way I can come across something to do then email her at work to say, 'Such-and-such on Saturday', and find her reply a bit later: 'Sounds fun. Let's do it.'

I join a keep-fit class at the gym down the road from work, where Diana is also a member. One of our regular weeknights out involves leaving there together and going for a coffee and a late tea. I find it a lot more fun than I expected (the keep-fit), and am delighted when I can get back into that pair of jeans comfortably again.

Michelle decides which cake she wants for Toby's birthday. (Guiness and buttercream, obviously.)

When Diana comes to find me on the Friday of that week, she mentions a walk she fancies trying on Sunday, along a stretch of the canal out of town. I shake my head as I continue manipulating the spreadsheet I'm working on. 'Sorry, I can't this weekend. I need to make Michelle's cake. Well, you know, Toby's cake.'

'Oh.' Diana is very good at not allowing her real feelings through into her voice, but she does sound a bit flat now. 'Oh well. It can wait.'

'The cake, or the walk?'

'The walk, Fiona. Of course.' She sits there carefully waiting for me to give her my full attention.

I notice eventually, and sit up. 'Sorry, Diana.' I reach a hand across the desk and touch hers. (We haven't kissed like that time on the sofa again, but we do touch a lot: we'll often brush or touch hands, and usually link arms if we're strolling through town. Under tables, we'll quite often let our legs rest up against each other. We're never open about touching each other blatantly, but we manage somehow.) I take her fingers in mine and stroke them for a bit. 'I really need this Sunday, because his birthday's on Wednesday and Michelle's only coming in on Monday to get the cake. I'm sorry. Can we do the walk next week?'

'Of course.' She surprises me by suddenly turning her hand and linking our fingers. 'I'd like to be with you, even so. Would I be in the way if I kept you company while you bake?'

The way she asks, almost expecting me to turn her down, touches me deep inside. I can't think of anything nicer than spending the day with her, whatever I'm doing. I lift our clasped hands up and kiss the back of hers. 'I'd love that, Diana.' We're due to go to a gig in the pub on the Saturday, and if I'm going to be baking all day on Sunday, I wonder if it might make sense for her just to stay at mine on Saturday night. She's been back for a drink a few times after being out, but has only ever seen the kitchen and the living room; I've been thinking about that kiss on the sofa ever since. I've still never been back to her flat. I wonder if I'm really ready to take this next step, but decide I need to ask anyway. I try to find a way to approach the issue subtly. 'You could come round on Sunday morning. But it'll be a fairly early start.'

She keeps her fingers linked with mine and brushes her lips over my hand, then guides our clasped hands back down to rest on my knee, where my legs are crossed alongside my desk. She squeezes my fingers lightly. 'I was going to offer you the use of my kitchen. If you wanted to come to mine.'

That's an interesting thought. Maybe she's circling round the same thought as me. I like the pressure of her hand on my leg. 'We're still on for this gig, aren't we?' I can't get the idea of spending the night with her out of my mind, now I've thought about it. I don't know whether anything would even happen, or if it should. But I do like the idea of spending the night in the same place as her, having breakfast together, being with her for almost the whole weekend.

'Definitely.' She looks at me carefully. 'I'm very much looking forward to it.' She looks down at where our hands are clasped on my knee. I can feel she has something else to say, and is thinking about how to say it.

I wonder why she might want me mucking up her kitchen while I make Toby's cake, and why she offered. I gaze at her face while she stares at our hands. I used to worry about saying something while she was thinking like this, in case I broke her train of thought – but now I know that sometimes she welcomes me doing it. It takes the pressure off her to say what she was thinking about, and lets her come back round to it when she's ready, while we talk about whatever else. I know she would always tell me if she actually wanted me to stay quiet. I cross my legs the other way and let go of her hand in order to stroke her fingers. 'I will probably make a terrible mess of your kitchen, you know. And I might need some time – it may go wrong and I'll have to start again.'

She looks up and grins, which tells me I was right to distract her by talking. 'I'm sure the mess won't be a problem, it's a fairly spacious kitchen. It's certainly bigger than yours,' she adds pointedly. 'And I'm sure it'll be fine. You do bake well, Fiona.' She gently moves her hand out from under mine and rubs the back of it against my knee. 'So, do you think you might like to do that? Use mine?'

'If that's OK with you. Lots of space would be great. Thanks.'

She nods. 'Good. I'll help wash up, and so on.' Her hand moves off my leg and she strokes the nape of her neck a couple of times. 'Er, Fiona?'

'Mmmm?' This is what she really wants to ask, coming up now. I think I can guess what it might be. I think she's been thinking the same as me.

She's so attractive when she thinks she's being discreet. 'We'll be quite late on Saturday. I presume Paula will be going to Martin's?'

'Probably.' The fluttering pleasure starts up inside me. It feels quite a large step to take, spending the night with her, but now we're here I feel the time is right. 'I'll have the house to myself. You wouldn't have to go as soon as you usually do.' I hide a hand under my hair to tug at my earring and smile at her. My other hand I slide between my crossed knees, just in case having her attention drawn back to my legs makes her decision easier. 'Or at all.'

She does flick her gaze down over my legs quickly, then I catch her eye and notice the look of surprise on her face. Shit, maybe I misjudged this after all. I flush with awkwardness and add quickly, 'I mean, if you want...'

She clears her throat. 'Ah. Actually, Fiona, I was going to suggest very much the same thing.'

I breathe out heavily and look at her. 'You were? Really?' That's OK, then.

She isn't smiling, but there is a twinkle in her eye. 'Yes. Except I was going to suggest we spend the night at my flat.' She hurries on, 'I know Martin shares with his friends, and he and Paula can't enjoy much space there. It seems only fair to let them have the use of your house, at least sometimes.'

'That's, um, kind. Well, OK. Yes. Why not?' It's been about nine months since that first office party, and we've been seeing each other steadily for about two and a half months now, and I have to admit, I am curious to see Diana's flat. I imagine it's large and light with stylish furniture and nothing much out of place. I wonder if she has a good view – I know she lives on one of the top floors of a fairly new, up-market development in the town centre.

'Good. Right, well that's agreed then. You'll stay the night at mine tomorrow?' The way she asks it like a slight question makes my insides flutter again. She still isn't sure I want to, and a wash of affection for her floods my body. I love the way she is such a strong, steely-minded person in public, but allows me to see little chinks in her armour when we're alone.

I reach up and hold her cheek, stroking my thumb across it. She watches my face. I lean over, half out of my chair, as if to kiss her, but stop when she doesn't move. My nose just brushes hers and her breath stirs my hair. She's still gazing into my eyes. I smile and close my eyes and let my lips find hers in a soft kiss. She kisses me back, just with her lips, and it feels wonderful. The loveliness spreads out through me. She reaches up and covers my hand with hers, holding it against her cheek.

When I sit back and smile at her, she blinks and clears her throat again. 'I presume that's a yes, then.' Our hands find each other on my desk, and she smiles back at me finally. Then she moves her hand again and gently taps her finger on my wrist. 'There was something else I wanted to ask you.'

I stay quiet and she goes on. 'As you may know, that case we worked on together resolved itself satisfactorily. Very much in our favour, in fact. It almost came to court, but they realised it was in everyone's interests to settle instead. And they were extremely generous in defeat.' She strokes the back of my hand, not really aware of doing so, while she talks. 'I am very pleased with how it all worked out, and how we managed the whole thing from the start, so I would like to find a way of thanking the people who contributed to our success. I was thinking of a meal, at the company's expense.' She looks at me, seriously. 'Do you think that would be all right?'

'Um.' I wonder why she couldn't ask Sandra or Roger or Helen or anyone else of actual importance in the company. I squeeze her fingers gently. 'Why are you asking me? Have you asked the others?'

She looks a little surprised. 'I'm asking you because I trust your judgement, Fiona. Because I honestly can't decide whether it's a good idea or not, but I know you have a feel for these things. I don't want to propose something only to find everyone else thinks it's crazy and I've finally started talking shit.' She smiles. 'Because I know you will tell me if I'm talking shit, which not everyone else would. And finally because you'd have a better idea, if one were needed.'

'I think it's a lovely idea, Diana. Who would you ask?'

'The core people who worked on it from the start and who directly contributed to our success. Michelle and few others from my team. Sandra, because that poor woman puts up with me year in year out and runs my life like clockwork. Roger and you. There'd be about eight of us.'

'Roger I can understand, but I'm not sure I had any great input.'

'I knew you'd say that.' She strokes my hand briefly. 'I want you there.' When she realises that's not excuse enough, she continues, 'I know that even if I didn't invite you, Roger would insist you were there as well. He's spoken about you to the rest of us directors several times. He says you have a rare natural talent for the work, and we were lucky to employ you. You did more to help us in that case than you think.' She pauses for a second and watches me blush with embarrassed pleasure, than adds quietly, 'I am personally certainly very glad you work here.'

'Oh, Diana...' I look down and hide my face behind my hair for a second or two while I recover: I'm delighted and embarrassed at the flattery. Eventually I look back up and shrug. 'Thanks. But listen, we can't be at this meal together as...as a couple, or whatever. It wouldn't be right.'

'You're right, that would be inappropriate.' She smiles. 'But afterwards, we can be however we like.' She takes my hand again properly and squeezes.

I squeeze back. 'We can.' I have a mental image of the two of us returning to her flat, mellow after the food and drink, happy after a convivial evening but then excited to be alone in each other's company. A rush of desire for Diana spreads out quickly from deep inside me, and I lean in again. We kiss, softly but with an underlying hint of hunger, for some time – until doing so on office chairs finally becomes just a bit too uncomfortable.

***

We leave the office about ten minutes early, and go to one of Diana's favourite wine bars for a few glasses of wine. We arrange that I will go round to hers the following afternoon, after having done the shopping I need for Sunday, then we'll go and do something together before the gig. I'm still not sure the time is quite right for everything to happen between us, but I do want to be with her all weekend. The thought of being with her continuously from Saturday lunchtime to Sunday evening is nice, and I'm excited to sleep at her flat. I like the thought that finally being invited to stay – to see it for the first time, even – is a significant step forward in our relationship. If it means we take the ultimate significant step forward as well, then I'm sure it'll be fine when it happens. And I can't deny that I have always wanted Diana eventually, and part of me is more than a little excited by the idea of it finally happening.