Men will Say Anything…
(Мужчины скажут что угодно)

‘Sugar!’

Emily Rider wiped salad-oiled fingertips on a flowered apron. The doorbell rang again as she patted her hair before the hallway mirror. ‘Yes?’

‘Good evening, my name is Jim Hutson. I have a range of financial services available to you at big discounts, and……’

‘No thanks,’ she interrupted, ‘it’s been a long day. Excuse me.’

‘If only……’

But the door was closing. The man shivered, squaring his broad shoulders against the black, rain streaked evening. The chill wind flipped his thick, dark hair. Emily paused. He looked safe enough. Besides, it sometimes got lonely living on one’s own. Well, he was rather good-looking too……

‘Oh, all right. Keep me company while you dry off, will you. But I’m definitely not buying anything, okay?’

Roughly around 35, her own age, still clean and well groomed after day-long door-stepping as he stirred a mug of coffee at her kitchen table.

Encouraged by her lingering appraisal the salesman again launched into his sales patter, only to be frostily ignored while Emily finished off her salad making. She knew he would try another tack soon, salesmen like him were not easily discouraged.

‘Would you like to travel?’ he asked suddenly. ‘Far off exotic places, exciting new foods, warm climates, the sea… the sun.’ Emily turned around, allowing the first spark of interest into her eyes.

‘You could have an immediate loan secured against your property – or a life policy, in which case you’d have to wait a few years until it matured to a lump sum. And with a good pension plan running alongside you could keep up the trips abroad even after you retired…’ His voice had mellowed seductively as he noted her favourable reaction.

‘Tell me more, Mr Hudson,’ she invited, trying not to sound too eager as she pulled out a chair.

‘It’s Hutson, actually. But do call me Jim.’ His eyes crinkled warmly.

‘I’m Emily. But be warned, I’m only using you to while away a few moments of an idle evening with beastly weather outside.’

But Jim already looked smug with the fore-knowledge of success. His tanned, well manicured hand holding a gold fountain pen looked good against the white sheet of paper on which he began writing neat rows of figures. Emily admired a salesman who took pains with his props; the tan was fake, of course, as was the gold. And the after-shave was middle-of-the-road at best.

Momentarily distracted, Emily’s mind wandered. Back to five years ago when, on the eve of their wedding, her beloved John had been spotted keeping a cosy dinner date with an old flame. ‘It was nothing, I was only saying goodbye,’ John had insisted. ‘Then why didn’t you tell me?’ she demanded. ‘I didn’t want to upset you. Nothing happened, I swear it.’

But she knew he was lying. He had hoped to get away with it. Men will say anything to have it all their way, had been her bitter lesson.

‘Well – don’t you think it’s simply ideal for you?’

‘Wha…?’ Emily tore herself back to the present at the sound of Jim’s voice. ‘Yes… …yes, it seems fine. I suppose I should take it.’

‘Great!’ enthused Jim Hutson, grinning hugely. ‘Now, if you’d like to sign here……’

He held out his pen, regarding her anxiously, and their fingers touched briefly. Emily’s hand hovered over the dotted line as Jim watched her tensely. Suddenly she looked up. Jim’s keen desire for a signature had turned his smile into a fixed grimace.

‘I thought you looked familiar,’ Emily exclaimed brightly. ‘You were at St Joseph’s too, a year behind me. ‘Gimme Jimmy,’ we called you – you took our smarties, no girl was safe with you around at break-time!’

Jim Hutson looked dismayed.

‘Well, fancy that. It’s a small world, isn’t it,’ he replied uncertainly.

‘I can see you don’t remember me,’ continued Emily, ‘but you must recall our headmaster, Mr Kipper, and the way he’d always have to send a monitor on ahead to reflate his bike tyres each afternoon?’

‘Yes, that I do remember! Those were good times, weren’t they,’ observed Jim, shaking his head nostalgically, adding, ‘you’ve got a good memory.’ His glance again strayed to the document before Emily, and then he caught her eye and they laughed together.

‘You must stay for a bite,’ she said. ‘I’ve got an extra pizza in the freezer and the salad is enough two.’

‘I’d be delighted,’ said Jim, before pointing to the document. ‘On the top one, and then on the duplicate, if you would, Emily.’

Smiling, Emily signed her name with a flourish as directed.

‘Happy?’ she enquired.

‘I certainly am,’ beamed Jim.

‘I like making people happy,’ giggled Emily.

‘So do I – especially pretty women,’ was Jim’s quick response. They laughed again, only this time the atmosphere seemed distinctly charged.

Next morning Emily awoke to find Jim already gone. She wasn’t surprised, it had been a lovely night and she had no regrets. From her bedside table she picked up a specimen copy of the document she’d signed. At her request Jim had left it for her reference.

Nowadays the law allowed a cooling off period after signature on all such transactions, and she would write off today telling his firm that she had changed her mind. ‘Gimme Jimmy’ was a figment of her imagination and Mr Kipper had always driven a shiny BMW. Shame on Jim, but with one night stands the lies didn’t matter.

From underneath her bed she pulled out a ring-binder to file away the specimen. Idly she leafed through the other documents therein, trying to match faces to each… there was a double-glazing agreement, one for a water softener, a set of encyclopaedias, an intruder alarm system, a garden swimming pool – all reneged on. ‘Men will say anything to have it all their way,’ whispered Emily.

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