Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine(50)

“Well, you don’t want to work at By Design forever, do you?” he said. “You’re, what, twenty-six, twenty-seven?”

“I recently turned thirty Raymond,” I said, surprisingly pleased.

“Really?” he said. “Well, you’re not planning to spend the rest of your life doing Bob’s books, are you?”

I shrugged; I genuinely hadn’t given it a moment’s thought.

“I suppose so,” I said. “What else would I do?”

“Eleanor!” he said, shocked for some reason. “You’re bright, you’re conscientious, you’re . . . very well organized,” he said. “There are lots of other jobs you could do.”

“Really?” I said, dubious.

“Sure!” he said, nodding vigorously. “I mean, you’re numerate, right? You’re well spoken. Do you know any other languages?”

I nodded. “I have a very good grasp of Latin, actually,” I said.

He pursed his whiskery little mouth. “Hmm,” he said, gesturing to the waiter, who came over and cleared our table. He returned with two coffees and an unrequested saucer of chocolate truffles.

“Enjoy, guys!” he said, placing the dish with a flourish.

I shook my head, not believing that anyone would actually say such a thing.

Raymond returned to his theme.

“There are lots of places that would be looking to hire an experienced office manager, Eleanor,” he said. “Not just graphic design—it could be a GP practice, or an IT company or, well . . . loads of places!” He shoved a truffle in his mouth. “Do you want to stay in Glasgow? You could move to Edinburgh, or London or . . . well, the world’s your oyster really, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” I said. Again, it had never crossed my mind to move cities, live somewhere else. Bath, with its fabulous Roman remains, York, London . . . it was all a bit too much.

“It occurs to me that there are many things in life that I’ve never considered doing, Raymond. I suppose I hadn’t realized that I had any control over them. That sounds ridiculous, I know,” I said.

He looked very serious, and leaned forward.

“Eleanor, it can’t have been easy for you. You don’t have any brothers or sisters, your dad’s never been around and you said that you have quite a . . . difficult relationship with your mum?”

I nodded.

“Are you seeing anyone at the moment?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

He looked expectant; bizarrely, he seemed to require a more detailed response than this. I sighed, shook my head. I spoke as slowly and clearly as I could.

“I’m seeing you right now, Raymond. You’re sitting right in front of me.”

He snorted with laughter.

“You know fine well what I mean, Eleanor.” It became apparent that I didn’t.

“Have you got a boyfriend?” he said, patiently.

I hesitated. “No. Well . . . there is someone. But no, I suppose the factually correct answer at this point in time is no, for the time being, at least.”

“So you have a lot to deal with on your own,” he said, not as a question but as a statement of fact. “You shouldn’t give yourself a hard time for not having a ten-year career plan.”

“Do you have a ten-year career plan?” I asked. It seemed unlikely.

“Nah,” he said, smiling. “Does anybody? Anybody normal, I mean?”

I shrugged. “I’m not really sure I know any normal people,” I said.

“None taken, Eleanor,” he said, laughing.

I pondered this, then realized what he meant.

“I didn’t mean any offense, Raymond,” I said. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be daft,” he said, gesturing for the bill. “So, when do you have to decide about the job? I think you should take it, for what it’s worth,” he said. “Nothing ventured, eh? Plus, I’m sure you’d make a great office manager.”

I looked at him closely, waiting for a follow-up remark or a snide comment, but, much to my surprise, neither was forthcoming. He took out his wallet and paid the bill. I protested vehemently but he flat-out refused to allow me to contribute my share.

“You only had a coffee and a scone,” he said. “You can buy me lunch when you get your first office manager’s paycheck!” He smiled.

I thanked him. No one had ever bought me lunch before. It was a very pleasant feeling, to have someone incur expenditure on my behalf, voluntarily, expecting nothing in return.

The hour was up just as we got back to the office building, and so we said a brief good-bye before returning to our respective desks. This was the first day in nine years that I’d eaten lunch with a companion, and that I hadn’t done the crossword. Strangely, I felt no concern about the crossword whatsoever. Perhaps I’d do it this evening instead. Perhaps I’d simply recycle the newspaper without even attempting it. As Raymond had pointed out, the world was full of infinite possibility. I opened my e-mail and typed him a message.

Dear R, thank you very much for lunch. Kind regards, E

I supposed it made sense, in a way, shortening the names. It was obvious who was addressing whom, after all. He replied quickly:

No worries, good luck with your decision. See you Saturday! R