She is more than content to let Ben drink the warm boxed white wine and nibble at the soggy egg salad sandwiches, all while practising his sincere face, so that she can get on with some real work. But they cannot avoid each other for long. On the dot of two, Ben walks into the office, nods amiably to everyone, and heads for the sectioned-off space at the back, his new office. Despite her recent lunch, Jasmine’s stomach suddenly feels empty. With a deep breath, she picks up her phone, laptop and notebook, and enters the lion’s den.
There is a desk and three chairs. Ben stands behind the desk. She knows the psychology of seating deems the chair at right angles to him as the open, non-confrontational position, so she takes the chair opposite, the desk between them. Ben sits, crossing his legs with his ankle resting on one knee. He leans back.
“I’ll be honest,” he says, looking directly at her but avoiding her eyes. “I wasn't pleased to find out you were here. I asked for a different campaign manager but they said I had to accept you or wait another five and a half years until the next election.”
Wow! Straight out of the gate, Ben is telling her he tried to get her fired. Anger flares. But Jasmine is sharper than she looks. Ben is a political animal. This is not just pique; this is calculated. If she storms out, he gets a new campaign manager and she loses the promised Special Advisor post. It’s a power play, much like his pose.
“Diddums,” she says. By being obnoxious, Ben has given her a life raft. She holds onto the irritation; it is better than anguish. “Poor you. Now, I have spent the last five years developing a comprehensive knowledge of all things Hayburn. I know the local press; I know which bigwigs might donate money. I know the political geography and the local issues. Unfortunately for you, your best chance of getting elected is me. Make no mistake, even in the current political climate, Richard’s majority was not high enough that his manner of passing will not create a serious dent in your chances.”
“About that—” Ben begins, but Jasmine cuts him short.
“Don’t even go there.” She stares him flat in the eye. “You know me. If I’d have known, do you think I would have done nothing?” Which is probably why Richard was very careful to keep it from her.
Ben leans forward. “Okay,” he says at last. “I accept what you say.”
Jasmine leans back and makes her challenge. “Can you draw a line on our past for the sake of your future and move forward from here? Because if you can’t, we might as well pack up now.”
Silence. Then, “Yes.” The word is slow, deliberate, reluctant.
Not sure if they’ve turned a corner or reached a temporary reprieve, Jasmine opens her laptop. “Right, let’s start with your diary.” She businesslike, even brusque, moving on quickly. The next hour is spent briefing Ben on the work she has done so far. There have been several polls run on voting intentions in the constituency, post-scandal, and they do not make for happy reading. Jasmine and her core team have been running social media interventions, but until the candidate was announced, they had not been able to deflect the conversation from Richard Exmore and Irina Petrova.
Jasmine is grateful for one thing. She knows Ben’s character thoroughly, his strengths and his weaknesses. She might have changed massively in five years, but his life has trundled along smoothly. Having combed the internet for every digital vestige, she is well-informed as to how Ben’s life has unfolded since they parted. It will enable them to hit the ground running. She has already got ideas for copy that highlight his assets and photo opportunities that emphasise his manliness.
The more she talks, the less nervous she is. At lunch, when Sean called to see how she was, she’d been close to despair. She could not see how they could ever function as a team. But Sean’s unwavering support, even mired as he was in his own misery, had grounded her and given her the determination to try. And it is working. She and Ben are co-operating.
As their scheduled slot nears its close, Jasmine stands and slides a card across the table – Sean’s barber. “He’s opening early, especially for you. Eight o’clock tomorrow.”
Ben’s hand goes to the dark locks that flop invitingly at the top of his head. “It’s not that bad, surely.”
A memory of running her fingers through his glorious, thick hair flashes in her mind and Jasmine has to restrain a gasp. “It could do with a trim,” is all she says as she gathers her things together. Ben nods and looks down at his phone as she moves to the door.
She stops and turns around.
“One more thing,” she says and his head comes back up. “The last Labour candidate obviously left this constituency mired in a sex scandal. We won’t survive another one.”
“What are you implying?”
“Keep your pants zipped. Especially around nubile young girls. At least until after the election.” Until Jasmine was gone.
“Got it.” He grins flippantly. “Can only bonk the elderly and middle-aged.”
Jasmine does not dignify it with a reply. She has made her point. He is far from stupid.
***
When eight o’clock rolls around, Jasmine packs up, leaving Ben still working, personally signing letters to go to voters in villages too remote or too small to warrant a visit. Lou and her friend left a couple of hours before and Jasmine wonders when will Ben head out for his date with Lou. The thought of them together makes her chest burn. Then her phone chimes with a message from Sean.
Come to mine when you finish. Georg’s sister is over.
She blinks and re-reads the message but it still makes no sense. She has no idea why Sean’s partner and his sister are significant, but she is not about to turn down an invitation from Sean, even one so late. Their relationship is not as sound as it once was and Jasmine needs her friend too much to risk upsetting him, especially so soon after his father’s death. His words don’t long remain a puzzle. Sean pulls her into the house as soon as she knocks on the door and steers her to a chair in the kitchen. Three of them line up before her – Sean, Georg, and his sister, Agnes.
“This is an intervention, my lovely,” Sean says and Georg nods.
“What?” Jasmine’s eyebrows squish.
“You are a wonderful, strong, beautiful person.” Sean’s hand lifts her chin, so she is looking directly into his eyes.
“Uh? Thank you.”
