Chapter 7

Elizabeth was, of course, all over him on Tuesday morning, wanting to know how the dance lesson had gone.

"Well, thank you, Elizabeth. I actually enjoyed it."

"Good. So, what's it like? What did you do?"

So, Stan briefly described the hall, and told her that they'd begun learning the Foxtrot.

"Ah, yes. My mum and dad used to do all of those. She tried to teach me once, but I never really got it. I was more into rock'n'roll," she said.

Then, "Did you meet anyone?" she asked

"Well, I met Yves and Belinda, the teachers. They're wonderful, you should see them dance together. Belinda must have been one hell of a catch when she was younger, she's still a real beauty. Yves is a foreigner, comes from Spain or somewhere, I can't quite make out where. Strange accent. But oh, God, can those two dance!"

Elizabeth said, "I'm glad to see they made an impression on you." After a moment, she prodded, "Anyone else?"

The look was innocent, the question anything but. Stan knew what she was driving at. He thought briefly of Pamela, but dismissed the idea — he was far too old. "No, not really. There were about seven of us, all beginner level, although I was the only one who started last night."

"So, did you talk to them?"

Again, Stan thought of Pamela.

"No, not really. Just chit-chat," he said, finally.

Elizabeth regarded him over their desks for a moment. Finally, she said,

"Well, it all has to start somewhere. I'm glad you enjoyed yourself. Now..." and they began discussion of work.

Stan was a little surprised by Denise's first words when they met later that afternoon.

"I've just booked my holiday!" she said, obviously excited.

"There was me thinking you'd ask about my dance lesson!" he teased.

"Oh! Sorry. I forgot, actually. Over the 'net this lunchtime I managed to book a fortnight in Ibiza, starting this Thursday, and I can't wait," she said in a rush. "But tell me about the lesson. How are Yves and Belinda?"

Stan told her they were well, and that Belinda had remembered her. He neglected to mention what she'd said about Raoul though!

Denise told him that she'd have to miss their weekly date, "I'll have a bit of packing to do, and I want to get some sleep. I have to be at the airport early!"

"Okay. Well, you can tell me all about it when you get back. When is that?" he asked.

"I get back in the UK on Thursday the seventeenth, " she replied, "but I'm off work that Friday as well. I expect I'll be absolutely knackered."

"Yes, I've heard that holidays in Ibiza can be tiring," Stan said, with a little mockery.

Denise just looked at him, giggled and said, "You're just jealous!"

Stan said, seriously, "No, not really Denise. You're a grown up woman and if you want to party on down all week then it's up to you. Just, please, be careful. I've heard what can happen there."

Denise smiled, took his hand a moment, and said, "You're a good, caring man Stan. Actually, I expect I'll spend the days lying on the beach or next to the hotel pool, and the nights in bed... alone, before you say any more!" She grinned, squeezed his hand a little and then let go.

"I'll ring you here at work on the Friday after I get home, Stan. See you later."

Wednesday night came. Stan felt lost, without anything definite to do. He thought of going to the pub on his own for a moment, but discarded the idea as soon as it formed. Drinking alone was bad enough. Drinking expensive soft drinks in a bar full of strangers alone was intolerable.

He got a can of beer out of the refrigerator, switched on the TV and started hunting through the channels. Half an hour later he switched it off again. He picked up a book — John Keegan's The Mask of Command — and began reading the author's commentary on Wellington.

He woke up with a start. The clock on the wall said eleven fifteen. He'd barely managed a dozen pages, and could remember none of it. Stan went to bed feeling the evening had disappeared out from under him, and he wasn't sure whether to feel good or bad about it.

Before going to sleep he idly thought of Denise. He hoped she'd enjoy her holiday. She deserved to, for she was a good friend.

Even though Denise and Stan rarely spoke a lot during a normal working day, Stan felt her absence acutely for the next two days. However, he was busy and took his mind off the redhead by applying himself to his work.

The first preproduction samples of Anne's chip were due in from Shucor next week. Stan was reviewing the measurements from the wafer manufacturer and the subcontractor's assembly data. All seemed fine, everything was within specification, but something nagged at him. He couldn't place it, but something was off.

"Bob, have you got a minute?" he finally asked his boss. The Quality Manager indicated that he did, so Stan sat in Bob's 'visitor's chair' and explained,

"I've been looking at the data we got from Shucor about Anne's chip. Everything is within their specification, and Anne assured us all at the meeting that it would be okay, but there's something not right. I can't put my finger on it, but I've got a feeling. Can I take some time and try to chase it down?"

Shucor, the company actually making Anne's device, was reputable but well known within The Firm for being a little difficult to deal with. If something was pointed out to them as being wrong, they'd never admit it, but it would never happen again. First, of course, you had to show what was wrong, and getting their cooperation was, well, difficult. Stan had done this before and had made a good call saving The Firm thousands, so Bob was inclined to trust his subordinate.

Since Stan was up to date on all the routine work, his boss simply said, "Sure. Just keep me up to speed," and Stan returned to his desk.

He went back to checking the data from Shucor.

By Friday evening Stan was almost convinced he'd imagined the problem, and told Bob that he thought he'd probably made a mistake. Bob simply shrugged, said "Win some, lose some, Stan. Don't worry too much. I'll see you on Monday, you can write up what you did or didn't find and we'll wait for the devices. They're due in on Wednesday."

Stan went home and spent a simple weekend doing household chores and relaxing. On Sunday morning he woke up to blazing sunshine and high temperatures, so he decided to walk into town and idle-away some time there. It was a leisurely half-hour walk, most of the way shaded by the trees planted along The Avenue, the main road from his area towards the High Street.

He had a late breakfast at one of the café's and wandered around until lunchtime. He found himself at Iorio's and decided that, since he'd never been there before but had heard Denise talk about it, he'd try it.

Stan got a double espresso and then checked the menu. He wasn't very hungry, so he just had an Italian-style sausage and pepper sandwich, which he enjoyed with a bottle of mineral water. The place was quiet, clean and the guy behind the counter was friendly. Stan thought he'd enjoy going there more often.

Stan walked home, savouring the day. Brilliant blue skies, high temperatures and, for a change, no chance of rain. All these things had combined to make for a perfect Sunday.

Arriving home, Stan hung up his keys and put his sunglasses down on the table beside the door. He wandered into the kitchen and got a mineral water out of the refrigerator, then made his way into the living room.

In the local music store, near the check-out counter, he'd found a CD of instrumentals intended for ballroom dancing as a discounted item and bought it on impulse. He played it, amused that they'd managed to turn the 'Muppet Show' theme into a Quickstep dance song. Also on the CD was a version of 'Me and My Shadow' which was intended as a Foxtrot and Stan made himself laugh out loud attempting to dance to it. It simply wasn't the same feeling without a partner, you could do the steps but there was no tactile feedback for when you were about to go wrong — so he went wrong. Often.

"I guess I need more practice than one lesson!" he told himself, with a smirk.

For no apparent reason he felt Caron's eyes on him, and his mood fell instantly. He told her silently, 'We should have done this, sweetheart. Like a lot of things we never got around to doing, we just ran out of time.'

Stan turned off the music, put the CD away and moped for the rest of the day.

Stan had been anticipating the dance class on the Monday but, once again, on the drive there he started to doubt himself. He tried to shake it off, telling himself that the dancing wasn't as hard as he'd thought it would be and that he looked forward to meeting Belinda and Yves again.