It was August and still too hot to go out. They were all in the office one lunch-time with the fans working overtime. Clare was reading a magazine at her desk, Angie eating a salad and Alan sitting with his feet up on the post desk reading 'The Financial Times'. Clare and Angie were chatting away when suddenly Clare said, "Oh look, they're asking for volunteers for overseas work in Africa. I love Africans. We were planning a trip to Africa just before Hal died. I'd like to go."

Alan heard the word Africa only vaguely, but the words 'I' and 'go' sprang to his ears.

His little grey cells jumped into action. What! She'd only just come back from Chester a month ago! He started to panic. He rose rapidly to his feet, scrunching the newspaper down on the desk.

"You wouldn't like Africa! There are so many diseases over there and snakes and mosquitos... you might catch malaria...you can't go to Africa."

He threw a look at Angie and she threw it back at him. She smiled. She knew what was going on. Clare, however, was completely in the dark.

Geoff wandered into their office to have a chat with Alan and Alan seized the moment. 

"You went to Africa, didn't you Geoff. Will you please tell Clare how bad it is; she wants to go." said Alan loudly.

"Oh, Africa. It's not nice, no, not nice at all." said Geoff. "You wouldn't like it Clare. Francis and me, we were both sick with some horrible stomach complaint and we were ill for weeks when we came home. It was very nasty, very nasty indeed. Don't go. That's my opinion." Geoff wandered back out of the office, obviously forgetting why he'd come in, in the first place.

"There you are." Said Alan. "Listen to Geoff, he knows. He's been there."

By now, Angie had dissolved into a giggling blob on the desk. Clare was wondering what was going on.

"Don't be so ridiculous, I was only..."

"Well," said Alan, his mind still racing, "If you go, perhaps I can tag along. Do you think they might need an Accountant in Africa?"

Clare rose up angrily from her desk. "I do wish certain people would mind their own business. I was talking to Angie and I was only musing!" She marched out of the room, taking her magazine with her. Angie was still laughing and holding her side. "I've got a terrible stitch now and it's all your fault. If you carry on like this you'll give the game away. Clare will begin to suspect something. Of course she won't go to Africa, she's still very fragile at the moment."

Alan thought for a while and then said, "I'm going back to my whiskey tonight. It calms me down, I've been feeling rather edgy without it." Alan had given up his whiskey while Clare was away, as a little 'added extra' to his prayers.

"Yes, go back to your whiskey for goodness sake, I think you need it, but don't overdo it. We don't want an alcoholic for a boss."

Clare wandered back in and watered the cactus on the top of the cabinet.

"I'm sorry," said Alan "It's absolutely none of my business what you do or where you go. Go to Africa, if you like." He walked dejectedly back into his room and closed the door, quietly.

As he stood by his desk he could hear Angie's voice, she was talking to Clare in their office. There was a knock on his door and Clare walked in.

"I didn't know you had trouble with the temp." She said.

"Pardon?" said Alan. What was happening now?

"Angie said the temp made a big play for you and you were embarrassed. I didn't know, no one told me before."

Alan swallowed hard. There was a lump in his throat. Of course no one had told her, because it wasn't true. He would give Angie a good tongue lashing, for sure, or better still give her the sack. "No one else knew, Clare, only Angie and me. It was too embarrassing to talk about. What can I say?" Alan was blushing deeply, not because of the temp, (she'd been a mousey little woman who wouldn't say 'Boo to a Goose,') but because Angie had dropped him right in it.

Alan walked around his office, gesticulating.

"She kept making suggestive remarks and touching me, only on the hand or on the shoulder, but I didn't like it. I still wear my wedding ring. I told her I was getting back with my wife, but it made no difference, she kept on and on. She was so good at her job we couldn't let her go, but oh boy, was I glad when you rang up and said you were coming back. I sighed with relief!"

It was all a BIG lie, but the last part was true, how he had sighed with relief.

Clare smiled across at him. "Poor Alan, you just can't help it can you?"

"What can't I help?" Alan was worried, what was going through her mind now?

"You're so irresistible to women, Alan, you're just so handsome. They can't help themselves."

She was laughing at him now and Alan didn't like it.

"Well, they'd better not help themselves! I'm private property and they'd better keep their hands off." said Alan in disgust. "I want nothing to do with women, nothing at all. I've had enough of women to last a lifetime!"

Clare seemed convinced and she grew serious.

"I'm sorry Alan, you do forgive me don't you?"

Alan looked at her and his heart missed a beat and again, he swallowed hard, before he said,

"Of course I forgive you, Clare, but do you forgive me?"

"Yes, of course." She smiled again and left his office and Alan watched her leave.

'Right then', thought Alan, 'definitely back to the whiskey tonight'. To repeat today's goings on would be disastrous, who knew what the consequences would be? He must not over-react. If Clare got wind of it she might leave, she might not want his attentions. He sighed deeply. Oh, life was hard! If you were a 'Heel' you were nearer the ground...of course it was hard, you were nearer the concrete!