Back at the car park, it hadn't seemed particularly windy but up here, right at the top of the cliffs, there's a surprisingly strong, cold breeze, riffling my hair as my trousers flap around my ankles. It gently pushes and pulls at me as if urging me to make a decision. I can hear the distant rumble of the sea surging against the jagged rocks below and see the storm clouds massing at the edge of the darkening sky.
I step closer to the edge, wobbling a little, my knees suddenly weak. I've never been keen on heights and below me the cliffs spin dizzyingly as I try to comprehend how my life has been turned upside-down in such a short space of time. How on earth had I gotten myself into this awful mess?
--
If my memory's correct, it was the second day of April when I first met Fiona. We'd been expecting someone for weeks, had joked about the coming of the 'grim reaper' from head office. The rumours had been gathering for months as sales of the new version of our software had stalled and the cost-cutting emails had started appearing in our inboxes. "Please save paper by printing on both sides." "From today, all expenses have to be signed off by someone at level four (department head or above)." "Think green! Please save power by switching off all electrical equipment when not in use."
Although it was often promoted as part of our green agenda or good business practice, more experienced employees like me recognised it as the first signs of something more significant, the financial storm clouds gathering on the horizon. Sure enough, a few weeks later everyone had heard the same rumour: that head office in London was sending some people down to look at our costs and make some recommendations for savings. The consensus was that we needed to cut ten to fifteen per cent off the wage bill, which sounded like an awful lot of redundancies in a company of around three hundred people.
To be fair, our new owners, Phoenix Software, had left us alone for a couple of years after the takeover, but now times were tighter and it was clear that they thought cuts were the only way forward.
We'd been expecting a small team of sober, middle-aged accountants so I was pleasantly surprised when Terry, the head of Research and Development, introduced me to a tall, attractive woman wearing designer, black-rimmed glasses, who looked to be in her mid-thirties.
"David, this is Fiona," he said. Something about her compelled me to stand, and I noted how tall she was as I offered my hand.
"Nice to meet you," she said, her full lips curling into a friendly smile and revealing pearly white teeth as she grasped my hand, giving it a firm, confident shake.
"Likewise," I said.
In retrospect, I should have known it wouldn't be a typical work relationship at that moment; something about her just didn't seem normal. It might have been the way her slim fingers grasped mine for slightly too long, or her slightly knowing smile, or maybe the way she was dressed. Her skirt just a little on the short side, her grey silk blouse perhaps slightly too clingy. Nothing too obvious or unusual, but in retrospect all the warning signs were there in that brief moment our eyes met for the first time.
"I think I mentioned to you last week that Fiona's down from head office for a couple of months, to help us with our reorganisation."
"Yes, of course," I said. How could I forget? The 'reorganisation' or 'downsizing' (or whatever euphemism that management was using this week) was all that we'd been talking about recently.
"Great, well I've given Fiona Alan's old office and told her she can come to you if she has any technical problems," Terry said.
"Sure, I'm happy to help," I said with a smile, eager to please the woman who'd be reviewing our positions.
"Pleasure to meet you, David," Fiona said as they swept on towards the Terry's corner office.
"Is that her?" Gwen whispered, leaning over the partition as Terry and Fiona moved onto to meet the Support team, who were at the other end of the floor.
"Gwen the Goth" had worked at the company for years, everybody knows her. It's hard to miss her with her nose stud, black lipstick and brightly coloured hair. This week it was bright purple. She's quite open about being a lesbian and the other managers often make jokes about me having her on my team to fulfil some imaginary quota or improve our 'street cred'. In fact, she's one of the best programmers I have, and the one person I trust to look after the rest of the team when I'm on holiday.
"Yeah," I replied, sitting back down and unlocking my PC.
"I imagined a grim, middle-aged hatchet man in an expensive suit," she concluded. "She's quite attractive though, huh?"
"I hadn't really noticed," I lied as I watched Terry escort her towards Translation, her heels clacking on the hardwood floor, unable to take my eyes off her pert bottom wiggling provocatively beneath her tight black skirt.
--
It was a couple of days later, a Wednesday morning, that she suddenly appeared beside my desk.
"Hi," I said, hurriedly slipping off my headphones.
"It's David, right? I've got a problem with my laptop, would you mind having a quick look?"
Fiona's temporary office was large enough to have a desk in front of the outside window as well as a small area containing a modest sofa, coffee table and a couple of pot plants. Venetian blinds covered the glass partitions, giving her some privacy from the rest of the office.
"I just don't seem able to connect to the network this morning," she said, gesturing towards her laptop which sat on a large wooden desk.
"Okay, are you on wireless or are you using a LAN cable?"
"I can't seem to get a decent wi-fi signal in here, so I'm using a cable," she explained as she sat down.
The LAN cable appeared to have a solid connection with the laptop's socket, so I found myself kneeling on the thin, biscuit-coloured carpet and crawling beneath her desk as she slid her chair to one side, tracing the cable down into the floor socket.
"Aha! I think the cable's been plugged into the wrong floor socket, let's see if we can find one that works. How about this one?" I said, crouching on all fours as I stretched beneath the desk.
"Let me see... um, no," she replied.
She was wearing a short, navy skirt and I couldn't resist twisting my head a little and taking in the view of her long, slender legs, clad in sheer dark nylon. I've always found stockings very sexy. I guess it's something about the way they're so ultra-feminine and somehow enhance the shape of womens' legs.
"Okay, and now?" I said, trying to concentrate on network sockets as I watched her slowly cross her legs with a faint hiss of static, her skirt riding up a little, exposing a brief glimpse of her darker stocking tops.
"No..." she repeated her black heel tapping the carpet impatiently next to my leg.
"Now?" I repeated.
"Yes! Perfect!"
It could have been my imagination but I'm sure I felt her eyes assessing me, checking out my backside as I carefully reversed out from beneath the desk, and found myself kneeling before her.
"Well, well, David, you really are very resourceful," she said, that little half-smile playing around her lips again as she slowly uncrossed then re-crossed her legs.
"I'm glad to help," I said, unable to resist looking as her tight skirt rode up a little. I was so close I could see the way the sheer nylon was paler were it stretched over her knees.
