Lately, Angie was finding Alan's attitude extremely annoying. She knew that Clare was still struggling with her bereavement and one day in the office, when Clare was out sick with stomach pains, she tackled Alan about it. She was standing next to his desk with a file in her hands and he was sitting, working at his computer.

"I know it's none of my business," said Angie "but I've noticed how, whenever Clare suggests a get together you say "Oh, I'm sorry Clare, I can't make it that day, I'm meeting my friends at the pub." which you're not; or "Sorry, Clare, I'm playing golf on Sunday with Patrick and he always asks me back to his house afterwards for the evening. Sabrina likes to chat." And you've mentioned golf so often she's convinced you play every Sunday. You've only played golf four times in the whole of your life, you told me and you don't even like it."

Alan pulled a face. "You're right, Angie. It is none of your business." he said.

Angie bristled and the rudeness of his comment only made her more determined to have her say, especially as she'd given him so much support.

"You're mean, Alan. Why do you do it?" she said angrily. Alan blushed. He swiveled round on his chair to face her, but stared down at the desk fiddling with a pen.

"I can't help it. I have to have some control over the situation...that's all. I don't deliberately lie...it's just...the ball needs to be in my court sometimes." Angie could tell he was finding it hard to explain himself.

"I have to wait and see," said Alan, "wait and see...and waiting and seeing is driving me mad!" He lifted his head, looking Angie in the eyes. "If I say I can't go out with her, then I feel I'm in control of some small part of the situation, instead of her. Don't you understand?"

"But she doesn't know you've got a 'thing' about her does she?"

"I know, but I can't help it." said Alan, looking despondent.

"Well," said Angie softly. "Please don't do it again. The next time Clare suggests an outing, just go with it."

Angie said no more and went back into her office. Sitting down on her chair she thought, poor Alan. Where would it all end? Clare was lovely and he was lovely. They were a perfect match; but what did Clare think? Who could tell? She liked him as a friend, but Alan wanted more. And he was right, it was just a case of wait and see, Angie had said so herself, often enough.

'Poor Alan!' she thought. She sighed and spreading her papers on the desk, began to type.

                                                                             * * * * * * *

The next event left Alan reeling. It was now mid October with Christmas fast approaching.

One Saturday afternoon not long after lunch, he was watching football on the television when the door-bell rang. He opened the door and there stood Marie, smiling confidently and looking, as always, like one and a half million dollars. In a state of catatonic shock, he stood speechless.

"Hello, Alan." she said in a sugary, seductive voice. "Aren't you going to let me in?"

"What the hell are you doing here." he shouted "How did you...?"

Not waiting to be let in she pushed roughly past him. That was her style, he remembered. She'd always pushed her way in somewhere. She walked into the lounge and looked around.

"Well, this is smart." she said.

"I've nothing to say to you...please leave." Alan pointed to the door.

"Oh, Alan, please don't be like that." she replied, softly. She came up close to him, looking provocatively up into his eyes and running the tips of her fingers over his chest. He moved away from her.

"Don't touch me, you make me sick!"

"Please Alan, it was a big mistake. I'm sorry I hurt you...I'm not with Thomas anymore. I miss you. You know how good we were together."

For a brief moment, as her hands continued to caress his body, he felt he was being accosted by an octopus and was tempted to laugh. Again, he pulled himself away from her.

"I've said all I ever want to say to you Marie, please go."

Unfortunately, Alan had left his bedroom door open and never one to give up easily, Marie walked in and sat down on the bed. He followed her briskly, wondering how without bodily manhandling her he could get her to leave. She patted the bed cover and pouted her pink lips; the lips he had always loved to kiss, which now appeared childish, almost babyish. It caused his flesh to creep.

"I'm still your wife Alan and I see you've still got a double bed!" She flashed her incredibly beautiful, blue eyes at him (her 'bedroom eyes' he'd always called them, he'd never been original) and pulled him down beside her.

Immediately, Alan rose to his feet. "Ugh, what's that horrible smell?" he said, sniffing loudly. He went into the bathroom and fetched a can of air freshener. It was Lavender scent and he knew Marie would hate it. She was still sitting on the bed when he sprayed it towards her. She screamed and was out of the door like lightning,

"That's smells better." he said following her into the lounge, the can still held high in his hand.

"Keep that stuff away from me, you brute." she cried. "How could you?"

"What's that noise? I wonder where it's coming from?" He gave a spurt of spray.

Alan was enjoying himself now, knowing how Marie hated it when she was ignored or made to feel small.  He put the can down on the side table, but Marie again tried to plead with him. She stood very close to him and said "Alan, I'm sorry. I realise now how kind you were to me. Other men aren't the same. I miss you."

"There's that smell again and that noise, what can it be?" 

 He took up the can and sprayed around the room, then he walked to the front door.

"I'm going to open this door and I suggest you walk through it." he said to Marie.                         "And if you need to speak to me, you speak through my solicitor. I never want to see you again." Alan held the door and Marie pushed past him and grabbing a handful of his sweater she snarled into his face. "You'll pay for this Harding, just you wait and see!" Her words unsettled him somewhat, but he had the satisfaction of watching her walk away.

Alan was trembling as he flopped down onto the sofa. Why had he ever married her? What was the attraction? She was gorgeous looking with her beautiful blue eyes and her strawberry blonde hair and she always wore designer clothes; not to mention her shapely, sensuous body. But, even so, Alan couldn't answer those questions now. Looks were nothing, absolutely nothing, by themselves; she was poisonous. He'd been under her spell for a considerable time, but now the spell was well and truly broken. Although, she'd almost broken him in the process.

Alan rose from the sofa, poured himself a whiskey and quickly knocked it back. Then he poured another. He smiled. Perhaps it was a good thing she'd called round to see him, as he now understood that Marie no longer got to him in any way at all. Not her blue eyes, her sensuous body, or her intoxicating perfume. They left him cold. There was a time when she could wind him around her little finger, but not anymore. He was completely over her and it was liberating. He was one more step along the long, winding road he was travelling towards Clare.

He sat down and continued to watch the football, but couldn't concentrate. Who had told Marie where he lived? It wouldn't be anyone at the office and he had few enough friends, although none of them would have told her. While he was thinking this over the door-bell rang again. Was there to be no peace this afternoon? He hoped it wasn't Marie again, because if it was, he couldn't be sure of his actions.

On opening the door, Alan had a pleasant surprise. It wasn't Marie again, back to taunt him, but Clare wearing a pale grey track-suit and trainers. She smiled at him.

"What a nice surprise, come on in." he said.

"I've been running in the park and I thought I'd pop in for a cup of tea." she said. "Are you all right? You look a bit strained."

Alan closed the door and she followed him into the Lounge.

"Huh, strained! I'm bloody livid. Guess who's just called round saying it was all a big mistake and she misses me?" asked Alan.

Clare looked at him wide eyed.

"Not Marie?"

"Yes, Marie. She's just left."

"Does she drive a red Mercedes, by any chance?"

Alan was puzzled. "Yes. Why?"

"I saw three young men gathered around a red Mercedes when I came in. I wonder if it was Marie? She had blonde hair and looked very..."

"Tarty is the word, tarty. I expect she was lapping up the attention." said Alan. He was furious! How dare she come here flaunting herself and now she was in the car park talking to the three idiots. It sounded like it anyway.

Clare touched his arm, gently. "Don't upset yourself, Alan, she's not worth it."  She crinkled her nose and sniffed. "What's that smell? It's a bit strong."

Alan laughed.  "I had fish for lunch and I had to use the air freshener." He lied. 

     Suddenly, an idea popped into his head.

"Hey, I know, let's go to the pub for a drink and if she's still there we can pretend you're my girlfriend. If you hold my hand and if we kiss in the car park, perhaps she'll get the message."

He knew he was going too far, but couldn't help himself, anything to get a kiss from Clare, even if she didn't return it. Just to feel the softness of her lips would be wonderful. "I'll hold your hand, but kissing is going a bit far. You talk to me and I'll laugh and we'll pretend we're going out together." She stopped and laughed. "Do you think we're being childish?"

Alan smiled. "Frankly, yes, but I'm past caring."

Clare laughed again. "I know the feeling. Come on, let's go and have a drink. I expect you could do with one."

She turned and walked out of the lounge and he followed her, not daring to tell her he'd already had two whiskeys.

It was Marie in the red Mercedes down in the car park and she was still there, showing off and laughing with the three rugby players. When he walked by with Clare, Alan completely ignored her and held onto Clare's hand. She played along and looked lovingly up into his eyes, making romantic overtures. It was a magical moment for Alan and as they walked out of the car park, he glanced back and saw Marie and the three idiots staring after them open mouthed. He almost collapsed with laughter.

"Pull yourself together." Clare whispered. "You'll spoil the whole effect if you do that."

Alan managed to contain himself and they walked on to the pub, still holding hands.

"She'll have a fit! She was always madly jealous, I couldn't even talk to another woman and she was suspecting something or other."

"And yet, she was the one who had the affair." said Clare.

"Yes, ironic don't you think?"

It was quiet in 'The Crown' and they chose a table for two. Alan went to the bar and ordered himself a whiskey and half a pint of lager for Clare. He brought their drinks back to the table and Clare took a sip from her glass.

"How did she find out where you live?" she asked.

"God only knows!" said Alan.

Clare looked across at him with a look of disappointment. He knew she hated it when people made remarks of that kind.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I don't usually, but I'm very upset." said Alan.

Clare said nothing. Alan began to feel awkward. He had a habit of putting his foot in it.

That was the trouble with big feet.

"Look, I am sorry." he said.

"It's not me you should say sorry to." she replied. Silence fell for several seconds, neither of them speaking. Then Clare broke the silence.

"No one in our office would give out your address. Would your friends tell her?"

"I haven't got many, not now." said Alan.

Clare sat pondering. She looked lovely today, he thought, even though she'd been running, she looked fresh and pretty. Alan could hardly take his eyes away from her.

"The solicitor who did the Conveyancing work on your new apartment, he would have your address and the staff in his office would have access to it, wouldn't they?" asked Clare.

Alan frowned. Patrick! Surely even Patrick wouldn't stoop so low! But his company was also handling his divorce.

"Not Patrick, surely!" said Alan frowning.

"Who is it?" asked Clare, her brown eyes wide with astonishment.

"Patrick Harris of Harris Bros. and Cole. They're handling my divorce."

"I saw you talking with a man in reception the other day, was it him? He's about your height with very thick grey hair."

"Yes, that's him." replied Alan. He took a swig of his whiskey.

"I've seen him before, going upstairs in the lift. Will you have it out with him?" asked Clare.

"I'm not sure, but I do know this has left a nasty taste in my mouth." said Alan.

"Don't let her get to you Alan, try to forget it. If she saw how angry you were, I don't expect she'll come round again."

"I bloody well hope not!" said Alan. Then he apologised for swearing again, but this time Clare laughed.

"If it was me, I'd not say anything to Patrick in case it affects your divorce proceedings." she said. "Anyway, you don't know why he gave her the address. Was it just to appease her or was it malicious intent on his part? Either way, I'd ignore it. Don't give him the benefit of knowing the effect."

"Yes, I suppose you're right." said Alan. "I don't know for certain that he told her and if I ask him, he may only deny it."

Clare was helpful and sympathetic and Alan left the pub feeling calmer and more centered. It was good to spend time with her, talking over his problems. She was so completely different from Marie, who didn't have one sympathetic bone in her body and even when he had a migraine she would call him 'selfish' if it spoiled her fun. The two of them came from different worlds. Clare was part of his world now, but Marie was not and never would be again and, oh boy, was he thankful for that!

It was not strange, in fact it was quite natural, that when Alan climbed into bed that night, it was Clare who gently tiptoed into his thoughts, before his head touched the pillow and he fell fast asleep.