Max came in this morning to meet us all. He's in his fifties, tall, with thick grey hair and a very distinguished look to him. He dresses smartly, including a neatly folded handkerchief in his breast pocket.
"What a ponce," sniffs Paul after Max leaves.
"Oh, I don't know, I thought he was a nice gentleman," I retort.
"So did I," Maria backs me up. "You're just jealous because you won't be the only man on the staff any more, Paul."
"He's too old for you, signorina," Paul fires back.
"And you're old enough to be my grandfather, so you can keep quiet, sugar-daddy."
I decide to leave them to it and open a letter from Harry Porter, the client who was charged for my error with the VAT addition. He thanks us for reducing the bill (and I'm relieved to hear that Henry must indeed have cut the bill back), and says that he accepts that mistakes will be made, but he doesn't expect to pay for them to be corrected and that if it happens again, he'll take his custom elsewhere. I can understand that, because I would feel exactly the same in Harry's shoes. I just wonder why Henry couldn't see that. Perhaps partners have a different view of the world.
"You want to meet this new client I've just signed up," Paul is telling Maria. "He's a nice handsome young man. He'd be just right for you."
I decide it's time for a cup of tea.