*
I was already in the pub when she arrived. She was wearing a black roll-neck sweater, a black midi skirt and a denim jacket and, with her Louis Vuitton bag casually dangling from her shoulder, her mop of hair flowing and her glasses on, she looked amazing. Watching her walk towards me, I had the craziest idea I think I’ve ever had, and I almost laughed at it.
She looked very excited and bursting to tell me what had got her so upbeat. I bought drinks and we took the table we liked by the window.
“So, what’s this good news?” I asked.
She jumped straight in.
Racquel was moving out; in fact she’d already got a professional firm in to pack up and move her possessions, and was now packed and gone. She was Taylor’s flatmate, although, in the four months I’d been more or less a permanent fixture at the flat, I’d seen her only three times for a total of maybe ten minutes.
“Why’d she move out?”
Evidently her long-term partner was something high up in the diplomatic corps and had just been posted to an important position as a deputy under-something-or-other working for the ambassador at the British Embassy in Lithuania. Racquel had decided to go with him as she’d been offered the chance to operate there as a freelance BBC correspondent.
The other piece of good news was that Taylor had met with her cousin Lindy, from the property company which owned the maisonette block she lived in. Lindy had asked whether Taylor had any ideas about a new tenant or wanted the company to advertise. Taylor had put my name forward, told her all about me, and Lindy had immediately agreed.
“She didn’t even want to take up references or talk about a deposit, said we can do all that later. I vouched for you, and she liked the fact you’re a detective sergeant in the Met.” She smiled. “So you’re officially the new tenant, McGraw, and your tenancy begins” – she looked at her watch – “right now. You can finally move out of that West London bolthole you pay all that rent for but hardly ever use.”
This was good news. We’d talked about getting our own place several times, but she really liked where she lived, a two-bedroomed five-roomed maisonette flat in Battersea, as did I. The flat held special memories for both of us and she didn’t want to relocate to Acton, so we’d held back. Living in Battersea would mean I’d be much nearer to my office and almost in the centre of London. The area was also so much more vibrant than Acton and, a very important consideration, I liked the pubs we frequented, particularly this one, despite the number of yuppies who also drank here.
“But the great news is” – she paused – “Lindy’s offered us the opportunity to take the lease on the flat. It’s actually less than what the rent is. We take up the lease, we get a secure tenancy, guaranteed parking behind the building and we’ll be better off financially. This is absolutely a win for both of us.”
We talked finances for several minutes. There was no denying we’d both be quids ahead; certainly I would be after I moved to Battersea, because I’d still been paying the full rent for the flat in Acton as well as contributing to household expenses in Battersea. She was right; we both came out ahead of the game here, especially me. I estimated conservatively I’d be at least £400 a month better off.
She’d been sitting opposite but had changed seats to sit next to me. She leaned in closely.
“So, what do you think, McGraw?” she said softly, looking directly into my eyes, leaning up against me and beaming with anticipation. “We gonna do this? Is the flat going to become our flat?”
I considered everything very, very carefully for, oh, at least one whole nanosecond.
“Yeah, absolutely,” I agreed.
I bought another round of drinks to celebrate and I then put my crazy idea to her. “Y’know, there’d only be one thing better than moving in with you as your partner.”
“Oh yeah? What might that be?”
After three seconds, she must have realised what the look on my face meant, because she put her drink down and performed a trick I’d not seen before. Somehow her eyes opened wide, followed one second later by her mouth, but at the same time she was still smiling. I must ask her later how she did that. She gasped audibly and was silent for six seconds, gazing at me, almost in wonderment. Her eyes had lit up and were sparkling.
“McGraw, are you . . . are you asking me . . .?”
I nodded.
“Oh my God. Oh my God.” Her voice rose half an octave the second time she said it, and she leant her head forward and put both hands to her face. A party of six women at a table twenty feet away turned and wondered what had got this young woman so excited.
She stayed like this for several seconds. She then raised her head and smiled at me.
“McGraw, are you actually asking me to marry you?”
Marius Page 32