Where There's Smoke

She turned the conversation back to him. “So what made you want to be a psychologist?”

“Oh... I’m not sure, really.” He put down his fork, considering. “It was just something that’s always interested me, I suppose. I’m a better listener than a talker, which helps.” He gave a shy grin. “And I read the Foundation trilogy when I was a kid, so perhaps that had something to do with it. You know, Isaac Asimov?”

“No, I’ve heard of him, but...” She shook her head.

Alex made a throwaway gesture. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I used to read loads of science fiction, and then I came across that, and... wow. It was brilliant. There are these ‘super psychologists’ in it, who’ve developed psychology into such an art that they don’t even have to speak to communicate. God, I thought that was great! You know, the thought of being able to know people so well. Understand why they do things. And understand themselves, as well. It just seemed—” He broke off, self-consciously, as the waitress returned with their food.

“What were you saying?” Kate asked, when the girl had gone. She noticed that he waited for her to begin eating before he started himself, which struck her as quaint.

“Oh, nothing. That was all, really.”

His reserve was back. Kate smiled, wanting him to relax again. “And are you a ‘super psychologist’?”

He gave an embarrassed smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, I don’t—”

There was another loud hiss and burst of flame from the kitchen hatch. Alex jerked, and the piece of omelette he had just picked up on his fork flipped off and landed neatly in his water glass. “Oh, God! Sorry!” His expression was so mortified that the laugh escaped Kate before she could stop it. He glanced at her, then grinned. He had a nice smile, she thought. “It was too hot, anyway.”

Blushing, he fished the omelette out of the glass and set it on the edge of his plate. “So how did you get into PR?”

The blush was fading from his face, now. It made him look very young, Kate thought.

“Oh, I just drifted into it, I suppose,” she said. “I’d done a couple of years of an English degree, but then my parents died quite close to each other, and I dropped out. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do after that, so I worked at a few places and then got a job at a PR company.”

“How long have you had your own agency?”

“Two years, now.”

“What sort of work do you actually do?”

He was looking at her with genuine interest. His manner had changed, becoming more confident now that he was asking her questions. There was no trace of the earlier hesitancy in his speech.

“Do you mean, who do I work for? Or what does it involve?”

“Both, really. It isn’t something I know much about,” he admitted.

“Well, we handle all sorts of accounts, anything from small record companies and publishers, who want to get somebody reviewed in newspapers or interviewed on TV and radio. Or it can be somebody who’s got a particular product that they want to publicise. The biggest account we’ve got is a charitable trust who want us to raise their profile as subtly as possible, but most of our clients want as much publicity as they can get.”

“So how do you go about it?”

“It varies from client to client but generally it revolves around catching people’s attention. It doesn’t matter if it’s a press release you’re sending to newspapers and magazines or a poster campaign, it’s got to be something that grabs their interest straight away. You’ve got to make sure you’re hitting the right targets, too, and be prepared to keep plugging away at them until they sit up and take notice.” She smiled. “Or until your budget runs out.”

He had his chin propped on his hand, watching her as he listened. “Do you enjoy it?”

Kate thought. “Yes, I suppose so. It has its ups and downs. You tend to find you don’t have much time for anything else, though. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have all the pressure.”

She stopped, surprised at the admission. Alex was still looking at her, waiting for her to continue. She turned her attention to her salad to cover her embarrassment at being drawn out.

“To get back to your background,” she said, businesslike again. “Do you have any family history of illness? You know, diabetes, anything like that?”

“Uh, no, not that I know of. My grandmother had arthritis, but not until she was in her seventies.”

Kate nodded, trying to remember what else she needed to ask. The questions she had prepared eluded her. She clutched at one. “Why do you want to be a donor?”

He appeared taken aback. “Well, I don’t know. It seemed like a good thing to do. It doesn’t hurt me, and if I can help somebody, then... you know, why not?”

“Have you donated sperm before?” Kate refused to let herself be fazed by saying “sperm” to a complete stranger. “Or given blood?”

“N-no, no, I haven’t.”

The syncopation was back.

“Then what made you decide to now?”

“Uh, well...” A flush had crept into his face. “It, er, it wasn’t something I’d even thought about before I saw your advert, really. But I suppose I like the idea of, well, fatherhood without the ties.”