Mr

‘That woman’s a monster. You should tell her where to get off.’

‘And lose my job? Do you have any idea how hard it was to get a job at Glitz?’ Cautiously Allegra wiggled the blood back into her poor toes. ‘People kill for the chance to work with Stella. She’s like the high priestess of fashion. She’s totally awesome.’

‘You’re terrified of her.’

‘I’m not terrified,’ said Allegra, not quite honestly. ‘I respect her. Everyone respects her.’

Everyone except her mother, of course, but then it took a lot to impress Flick Fielding, as Allegra knew to her cost. She suppressed a little sigh at the thought. She had been so hoping that Flick would approve of the fact that Stella had given her a job in the face of such competition, but her mother had only raised perfectly groomed brows.

‘Glitz?’ she’d echoed as if Allegra had boasted of a first journalist job with Waste Collectors Weekly instead of a top-selling glossy magazine. ‘Well, if you’re pleased, then of course...well done, darling.’

Allegra would never have applied to Glitz in the first place if she had known that Stella had once mocked Flick’s choice of outfit for an awards ceremony. Flick, a formidably high-powered journalist, had not been amused.

Still, Allegra wouldn’t allow herself to be downcast. She just needed to make her mark at Glitz and a good reference from Stella would make her CV stand out anywhere, whatever her mother might say. And then she would get a job that would really make Flick proud of her. Sadly, that would probably mean boning up on politics and economics rather than shoes and handbags, but she would worry about that when the time came. For now the important thing was to impress Stella.

‘Well, I think you’re mad,’ said Max. ‘It’s bad enough having to wear a suit to work every day.’

Allegra eyed the striped polo shirt that Max changed into the moment he got home with disfavour. ‘Thank God they do make you wear a suit,’ she said. ‘Even you can’t go too far wrong with a suit and tie. The rest of the time, it’s like you’ve got an unerring sense of what will be least stylish.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, take that...that,’ she said, pointing at his top and Max looked down at his chest.

‘What’s wrong with it?’

‘It’s hideous!’

‘It’s comfortable,’ he said, unbothered. ‘I don’t care about style.’

‘You don’t say,’ said Allegra sarcastically.

It was quite incredible how lively Libby had ended up with such a stuffy brother! Max didn’t have a clue about music, or clothes, or anything other than engineering, as far as Allegra could tell. He didn’t look too bad in a conventional suit, but his taste in casual wear made her wince every time.

‘I wouldn’t even use that thing you’re wearing as a duster,’ she said.

‘You wouldn’t use anything as a duster,’ Max countered. ‘You never do any housework.’

‘I do!’

‘Where does the dustpan and brush live?’

There was a pause. ‘Under the sink?’

He made a bleeping noise. ‘In the cupboard under the stairs.’

‘There’s a cupboard under the stairs?’

‘I rest my case.’ Max shook his head and returned his attention to the television.

Gingerly, Allegra tested her feet and decided that she could manage a hobble to the kitchen to find something to eat. She was starving. Like the sitting room, the kitchen was so tidy nowadays she hardly recognized it.

Max had moved in a couple of weeks earlier. Libby’s three-month placement in Paris had coincided with the break-up of her brother’s engagement, and she had offered him her room while she was away.

‘Would you mind?’ she had asked Allegra. ‘It’s only for a couple of months before he’ll get a chance to go out to Shofrar, so it’s hard for him to find somewhere temporary. And I’m worried about him. You know what Max is like; he’s not exactly big on talking about feelings, but I think he must be really gutted about Emma.’

‘Why did she break it off, do you know?’ Allegra had been shocked when she heard. She’d only met Emma a couple of times, but she’d seemed perfect for Max. An engineer like him, Emma had been pretty, nice...the word boring shimmered in Allegra’s head but it was too unkind so she pushed it away...practical, she decided instead. Exactly the kind of sensible girl Max would choose and the last person Allegra would have expected to have broken it all off six months before the wedding.

‘He hasn’t told me.’ Libby shook her head. ‘Just says it’s all for the best. But I know he was planning for them to go out to Shofrar together and now that’s all off...well, I’d feel better if you were around to cheer him up. As long as you really don’t mind.’

‘Of course I don’t mind,’ said Allegra. She’d been at school with Libby and had spent many holidays with her friend’s family while Flick was working. Max was the brother she had never had, and over the years she had bickered with him and relied on him almost as much as Libby did.

‘At least I know he’s not a serial killer or anything,’ she’d said cheerfully. ‘I’ll stop him missing Emma too much.’

In fact, she didn’t see much of him. Max left for work early in the morning, and she was out most evenings. When they did coincide, like now, Max grumbled about her untidiness and Allegra criticised his clothes. They fought over the remote and shared the occasional takeaway. It was all perfectly comfortable.

And why wouldn’t it be? Allegra asked herself as she opened the fridge and studied its contents without enthusiasm. This was Max, after all. Libby’s brother. Allegra was fond of him, when she wasn’t being irritated by his wardrobe and that way he had of making her feel like an idiot a lot of the time. Max wasn’t ugly, but he wasn’t exactly a hunk either. Certainly not a man to set your heart pattering.

Apart from that one night, of course. Don’t forget that.

Allegra sighed as she picked out a low-fat yoghurt. Did everyone have an irritating voice in their head that would pop up at the least convenient times to remind them of precisely the things they most wanted to forget?

And it wasn’t a night, she felt compelled to argue with herself, rummaging for a teaspoon. It had been an odd little incident, that was all. Not even an incident, really. A moment. And so long ago, really she had almost forgotten it.

Or she would have done if that pesky voice would let her.

No, it was all very comfortable. It was fine. Allegra was glad Max wasn’t gorgeous or sexy. It made it easy to be relaxed with him. Which wasn’t to say he couldn’t make more of an effort on the clothes front. He didn’t seem to care what he looked like, Allegra thought critically. That shirt was appalling and he would fasten it almost to the neck, no matter how often she told him to undo another button. He had no idea at all. If he smartened himself up a bit...

And that was when it hit her. Allegra froze with the teaspoon in her mouth.

Max. He was perfect! Why on earth hadn’t she thought of him before?

She’d pitched the ‘create a perfect boyfriend’ idea to Stella at an editorial meeting the previous week. It was the first of her ideas that she’d been given the go-ahead to follow up, and Allegra had been fired with enthusiasm at first. But she had begun to wonder if she could make it work without the right man.

And now she had found him, lying in her own sitting room!

Already Allegra’s mind was leaping forward, all her excitement about the project refuelled. She would write the best article ever. It would be fun, it would be interesting, it would tap into every woman’s fantasy of making her man perfect. It would win awards, be syndicated worldwide. Stella would gasp with admiration.

At this point Allegra’s imagination, vivid as it was, faltered. Stella, gasping? But a little strategic tweaking and the fantasy still worked. All right, Stella would look as enigmatic as ever but her words would be sweet. Allegra, she would say, you’re our new star writer. Have a massive salary.

I’d love to, Stella, Allegra imagined herself saying in reply, super casual. But the Financial Times has made me an offer I can’t refuse.

Surely her mother would be impressed by the FT?

Sucking yoghurt thoughtfully from her spoon, Allegra went to the kitchen doorway from where she could study Max without being observed.

He was still on the sofa, still flicking through channels in search of the news or sport, which was all he ever watched. Definitely not the kind of guy you would check out in a bar. Brown hair, ordinary features, steady blue-grey eyes: there was nothing wrong with him, but nothing special either.

Yep, he was perfect.