Well, I went to lunch today with Mr A and saying that it didn't go too well is a bit of an understatement. We went to the Westminster Cafe, a fun, relaxed and welcoming place which is situated just around the corner from work. He looked a little shifty and couldn't meet my gaze so during the main course I asked him what was wrong, his simple answer was that he'd met someone else whilst travelling to Brussels on business. Apparently her name is Dr Marta Hernandez who holds a PhD in Biological Intelligence and who'll be coming to the UK as a detached national expert from her native Spain.
To say that I was angry would be an understatement, but to keep up appearances both of our sakes, I merely kicked him on the calf several times, causing him to wince. He explained that they'd bonded over the industrial strength coffee in the margins of the meeting and had discovered a mutual love of the work of Antony Gormley, The National Theatre and Mr Bean, Dr Hernandez being somewhat of an Anglophile. He apologized profusely, stating the classic line that it 'wasn't me, it was him'. After ten minutes or so of this I threw my napkin down on the table, hissed that 'he was welcome to her' and stormed out in as ladylike manner as I could.
Back at work I cried for twenty minutes in the ladies loos, pulled myself together and left the office at 4pm. Once home I went straight upstairs and confided in Father who put his arm around me and confided to me that he'd never really liked the sound of Mr A anyway, despite Mother's positive spin on things.
"who'd trust some jumped up grammar school boy called Giles Henry Arbuthnot anyway!" Mother was visably upset and consigned her wedding outfit to the back of the wardrobe once more.
"It's all your fault if the moths consume the raw silk mix Margaret" she said as she stomped out of the room.
As for me, I'm off to bed now, I don't feel sad, I just feel numb. I'm sure it'll pass.
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