Having given up modelling some years ago, Jane was now a freelance fashion stylist, and, from what Paul had said in his emails, in great demand.
‘You get some rest and see if you can garner the energy for tonight. We could do with another man.’ Jane massaged Nick’s shoulders briefly before kissing her husband on the lips and disappearing from the kitchen.
‘You are a lucky sod, Paul,’ Nick grinned. ‘Jane really is gorgeous. You both look as happy as you did ten years ago.’
‘Yes, I am lucky,’ Paul agreed, ‘but no marriage is without its problems, old boy. And we have our share like anyone else.’
‘Really? You wouldn’t know it.’
‘No, but you may or may not have noticed the lack of the patter of tiny feet. We’ve been trying for almost six years, with no success.’
‘Paul, I didn’t know. I’m sorry.’
‘Ah well, can’t have everything, can one? I think it’s worse for Janey, being a woman and all that. We’ve tried the lot, had all the tests and been through two rounds of IVF. And let me tell you, if there’s an antidote to sex, that has to be it. There’s something rather off-putting about having to perform to order, on a certain date, at a certain time.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘Anyway, we’ve decided not to go through it again. It was putting a huge strain on the marriage. Janey seems reasonably happy with her career and I’m certainly flying relatively high at present.’
‘Any finds?’ Nick was as eager to change the subject as Paul obviously was.
‘Only a Canaletto that I came across on my travels,’ he said lightly. ‘Got a good price for that, as you can imagine. It means I’ve sorted out our pension and anything else we earn is for fun. So, how goes it with you?’
‘Good. Well, financially, anyway, though I’m still searching for my Canaletto,’ Nick grinned.
‘Well, I’ve sourced a couple of shop sites I think would be perfect for you if you do decide to open in London. As I’m sure you know, the antique market has been through a bit of a downer, what with the fetish for stainless steel and all things modernist. However, with a recession looming and everyone nervous about the markets, people are returning to buying what they hope will hold its value. Everyone knows so much more these days, what with the advent of all the television programmes on the subject. People will pay a lot for top quality stuff, but it’s harder to shift the rubbish.’
‘That’s good news, because I’m going for the top end of the market, like I’d begun to in Southwold before I left,’ said Nick, stifling a yawn. ‘Sorry, it’s been a long journey, Paul. I’m beat. I didn’t sleep much on the plane.’
‘Of course. You go up and get some rest and I suppose I’d better show my face in Cork Street.’ He slapped Nick on the back again. ‘It’s good to have you back and you know you can stay here as long as you want.’
‘Thanks.’ Nick stood up. ‘I really appreciate you having me here. And I love the house.’ He indicated his surroundings. ‘It’s so . . . English. I’ve missed the architecture.’
‘It is indeed. You’re on the top floor. Sleep tight.’
Nick dragged his case up the three flights of stairs and opened the door to an attic bedroom. Like everything else in the house, the room was furnished eclectically, but cosily, and the big brass double bed with its lace counterpane looked enticing. Without removing his clothes, Nick fell onto it and went straight to sleep.
He woke when dusk was falling outside, kicking himself for not setting an alarm. He turned the light on and saw it was almost six in the evening, which meant the chances of him sleeping tonight were viturally nil. He opened a door, found it was a cupboard and tried another which led into a small but well-fitted shower room. He pulled his wash-bag and some clean clothes out of his case, then went to shower and shave.
He wandered downstairs twenty minutes later and found Jane in the kitchen, chopping peppers and mushrooms in her robe.
‘Hello, sleepyhead. Feeling better?’
‘Yes, although I apologise if I want to stay up and chat until four in the morning tonight.’
‘That suits me, you know what a night-owl I am.’
Nick took a slice of pepper from the chopping board and bit into it. ‘So, you’re enjoying your new job?’
‘Yes, I am actually, far more than I thought I would. I did it initially as a favour for a photographer friend of mine. To be honest, I was just filling in time whilst . . . well, Paul and I waited for the babies to come along. Now that’s no longer a possibility, it looks like I’ve got myself a career.’
‘Paul did mention earlier that you’d had a few problems,’ Nick responded carefully.
‘Did he?’ she sighed. ‘The odd thing is I’d never given having babies a second thought. In fact, I spent my late teens and twenties making sure I didn’t have them. Rather ironic, really. I just never thought . . .’ Jane stopped chopping and stared into space. ‘Well, I suppose one just assumes it’s every woman’s natural right. The trouble is, it’s only when you realise that you can’t have something that you begin to want it very badly.’
‘I’m so sorry, Jane.’
‘Thanks.’ Jane flicked a lock of blonde hair out of her eyes and began chopping again. ‘The worst thing is, I keep thinking how I punished my body when I was younger. I existed, like the rest of us models, on black coffee and cigarettes.’
‘The doctors haven’t said it was you, have they?’
‘No. We’re one of a percentage of couples for whom there is no known cause. Anyway, the worst is over now. We’ve accepted we’re going to be empty-nesters and I’ve just about got past the stage of sobbing every time I see a pram with a newborn in it.’
‘Oh Janey.’ Nick moved towards her and gave her a hug.
‘Anyway.’ Jane swiftly wiped her eyes. ‘What about you, Nick? There must have been someone special in the past ten years.’
‘Not really, no. There’ve been women, of course, but . . .’ he shrugged, ‘none of them worked out. Once bitten and all that. I’m happy as I am.’
The front door opened and Paul came hurrying along the hallway to the kitchen. ‘Good evening, darling!’ He swung his wife into his arms and kissed her on the lips. ‘I have just acquired the most darling little cameo. We’re investigating but we think it might be Lady Emma Hamilton, Lord Nelson’s bit of totty on the side. Nick, my friend. How has your day been?’
‘Sleepy,’ he replied. ‘Now, before I get in your way, I’m going to nip across to the pub. I have an absolute craving for my first proper pint of bitter on English soil and it must be satisfied.’
‘Be back here for eight, Nick,’ Jane called as he left the kitchen.
‘Will do,’ he called back.
As he walked across the road to the pub, ordered a pint of foaming beer and propped himself up on a barstool, he smiled in pleasure as he took his first sip. Savouring the beer and the unique atmosphere of the very British pub, he then thought that the last thing he wanted to do was to spend his first evening in England making polite conversation over supper with a group of total strangers.
Half an hour later, having treated himself to a second pint, Nick left the pub and strolled up Kensington Church Street, glancing though the windows of the many high-end antique shops along it. He paused and looked around him. Could he live here? Leave sunny, relaxed Perth with its amazing beaches, for life in one of the most frenetic cities on earth?
‘Not to mention the weather,’ he muttered as it began to drizzle. He gazed at a magnificent King George chest of drawers spotlighted in the window of the antique shop in front of him.
At this moment, Nick thought he could.
‘Nick, we were getting worried. We thought you might have been abducted, you’ve been out of the big city so long. Come through and meet everyone.’ Jane, who looked elegant in leather trousers and a silk shirt, propelled him through to the sitting room. ‘A glass of champagne?’
‘Why not?’ Nick accepted the glass and nodded p
olitely as Jane introduced him to the rest of the guests. Nick sat down on the sofa next to an attractive brunette, married, if he remembered rightly, to the ageing Ronnie Wood lookalike talking to Paul.
As she began to ask him vacuous questions about kangaroos and koalas, Nick sensed it was going to be a very long night. And the worst thing was, there really was no escape.
The doorbell rang and Jane left the room to answer it. She came back with a woman whose unusual beauty made even the world-weary Nick sit up and appreciate it. Tall, with skin like alabaster and a head of glorious Titian hair, he couldn’t help but stare as Jane brought her over and introduced her. She looked as though she had stepped out of a fifteenth-century Florentine painting, wearing a long green velvet dress with a Chinese collar and tiny seed pearl buttons trailing all the way down to her ankles.
‘Nick, meet Tammy Shaw, one of my oldest friends,’ she said as she handed Tammy a glass of champagne.
Tammy didn’t answer. She was looking at him quizzically with her large, green eyes. Nick stood up and offered his hand. ‘Good to meet you, Tammy.’
‘Nick has arrived today from Australia,’ Jane said as Nick made space on the sofa and Tammy sat down next to him.
‘So how do you know Jane and Paul?’ he asked her.
‘I met Janey years ago on my first shoot. She helped me through and we’ve been friends ever since.’
‘So you’re a model too?’
‘Was, yes,’ she nodded, taking a sip of her champagne and casting a glance around the room.
Nick felt the antipathy from her and understood. A woman who looked like her must have an endless queue of men chatting her up.
‘To be honest,’ Nick lowered his voice, ‘a supper party is not quite what I had in mind on my first night back, so forgive me if my conversation lacks a little substance.’
‘Personally, I hate them.’ Finally, Tammy offered him a small smile. ‘Especially when you’re invited as the token single woman. But Janey’s my closest friend, so I make an exception for her. Do you live in London, Nick?’
‘No, I’m staying here with Jane and Paul.’
‘Where did you meet them?’
‘I met Paul at prep school when I was nine. I saved him from a bunch of bullies who were sticking his head down the toilet. We’ve been friends ever since.’ Nick’s gaze moved to Paul with a smile. ‘He hasn’t changed a jot since then, though I love to imagine that while he’s been so successful, his toilet-flushing contemporaries have amounted to nothing.’
‘Boys can be so cruel, can’t they? If I have kids, I’d never send them away. All the men I’ve met who went to boarding school seem to be messed up.’
‘Not all of us, I hope.’ Nick gave a grim smile. ‘And boarding schools have come out of the dark ages these days.’
‘Maybe,’ Tammy shrugged.
‘So what do you do with yourself?’ he asked politely.
‘I sell vintage clothes on a stall in Portobello Road market.’
Nick looked at her. ‘Really?’ he said, his opinion of her making a seismic shift.
‘Yup. I’ve hoarded them in a storage unit for years, because I love them. Now everyone else wants them too.’
‘How weird, because I’m an antiques dealer. Does that mean we both look to the past rather than to the future?’
‘I’ve never thought about it like that,’ Tammy said as she scratched her nose, ‘but maybe you have a point. I’ve always felt like I was born in the wrong century. What kind of antiques do you sell?’
‘Eclectic ones, i.e., no brown furniture. I find unusual things I think are beautiful and hope other people do too. I’m going to a sale tomorrow as a matter of fact. There’s a stunning Murano glass chandelier I’ve got my eye on.’
‘That makes me feel better, because I only buy clothes I love and want to wear too.’
‘And do they sell?’
‘Yes they do actually. But to be honest, I’m getting too old to be standing out in the rain on a freezing Sunday in January, not to mention that it doesn’t do the clothes any good either. So I’m looking for premises.’
‘Right,’ Nick chuckled. ‘So am I.’
‘Okay guys, supper is served in the dining room.’ Jane stood at the door waving an oven glove.
Nick was relieved he was seated next to Tammy. Despite himself, she fascinated him.
‘So how did you become a model?’
‘By chance,’ she shrugged as she helped herself to the tapas laid out on the table. ‘I was doing my degree in philosophy at Kings in London,’ she continued between mouthfuls, ‘when I was spotted by a modelling agency in Topshop at Oxford Circus. I never expected it to last, to be honest, saw it as a bit of extra cash to subsidise my student grant. But it did and so here I am, a has-been.’
‘Hardly,’ Nick responded, glad to see that she seemed to have a healthy appetite. ‘Did you enjoy it?’
‘Bits of it, yes. I mean, working with some of the top designers at the best ateliers in the world was a thrill, but it’s such a cut-throat world I was glad to get out of it, get back to reality.’
‘You seem pretty real to me.’
‘Thanks. Not all models are brainless, cocaine-sniffing addicts, you know.’
‘Do you worry you’re seen like that?’ Nick asked her bluntly.
‘Yup, I do,’ she admitted, a faint blush rising above the collar of her dress.
‘Is what you’re wearing one of yours?’
‘Yes. I bought it when I was eighteen from an Oxfam shop. I’ve lived and died in it ever since.’
‘The problem is,’ mused Nick, ‘that pursuing your passion doesn’t always make you rich. I have a house full of lovely things back in Perth that I just couldn’t bear to part with.’
‘I know exactly what you mean,’ Tammy agreed. ‘My wardrobe is bulging with clothes I just can’t bring myself to sell. Nietzsche said that possessions are usually diminished by possession, and I try to remember that every time I pull something out to put on the stall,’ she smiled. ‘Anyway, tell me all about your business,’ she added as Jane served succulent pieces of fillet steak, new potatoes and fresh green beans.
Nick did so briefly, outlining his career from his days at the auction house in Southwold up to his possible move back to London.
‘Do you have a life over in Australia?’ Tammy asked him.
‘If you’re asking if I have a wife and family, then no, I don’t. Do you?’
‘I already told you I was single earlier,’ she reminded him. ‘It’s just me in my tiny Chelsea mews house. I spent all my savings on it. Of course I should have bought a three-bedroom house . . .’
‘But you fell in love with it,’ Nick chuckled.
‘Exactly.’
After dinner, Paul ushered the guests back into the sitting room where a fire was burning in the grate to ward off the chill. Jane appeared with a tray loaded with coffee and brandy. Nick saw it was past eleven o’clock and was amazed the time had gone so fast.
‘So why haven’t you ever married, Nick?’ Tammy asked bluntly.
‘Wow, that’s quite a question,’ he said as Jane poured them both coffee. ‘I suppose I’m just crap at relationships.’
‘Or you’ve never met the right person,’ said Jane with a wink.
‘Maybe. So now I can ask you the same question, Tammy.’
‘And I would give the same answer,’ she replied.
‘There you go then,’ said Paul, who had followed behind Jane with the brandy. ‘Obviously made for each other.’
Tammy looked at her watch. ‘So sorry to be rude, but it’s late, and I have a lot of sewing waiting for me when I get back.’ She stood up. ‘It’s been very nice to talk to you tonight, Nick, and I hope you find a suitable site for your business. If there are any going cheap, let me know, will you?’ she said with a smile.
‘Of course. Do you have a number I can reach you on?’
‘Uh . . . yes, Janey has it. Bye, Paul,’ she said, kissing him on bo
th cheeks. ‘Thanks for a great evening. I’ll go and find your wife. Bye, Nick.’
Tammy left the room and Paul sat down next to him.
‘Did I say the wrong thing as usual?’
‘You know you did, but don’t worry about it.’
‘I will, actually, because it looked like the two of you really hit it off.’
‘She seemed great, and very bright too.’
‘Brains and beauty . . . the perfect combo. Tammy’s very special. And independent,’ he added. ‘But you’ve always liked a challenge, haven’t you?’
‘Once upon a time, yes. But for now I’m sticking to business. It’s far more straightforward.’
An hour later, all the guests had left. Nick helped Paul and Jane clear up and they retired to bed while Nick sat alone in front of the fire nursing a second brandy. Despite himself, a picture of Tammy kept arriving in his head, and he admitted that he felt . . . excited. He tried to remember the last time a woman had had that effect on him. And realised that it hadn’t been since her . . .
And look where that had left him; closing his successful business in the UK and running to the other side of the world to find sanctuary. Yet the fact that Tammy had stirred something inside him was good news, wasn’t it? It meant that just maybe, he was finally cured.
And why shouldn’t he see her again? The past ten years had been as lonely as hell. He’d been living a half-life and unless he wanted to be alone for the rest of his days, he had to be open to loving again. On the other hand, why would a woman such as her be interested in a man like him? Surely she could have anyone she chose?
Nick sighed deeply. He’d think it over tomorrow and then if he still felt the same, he’d give her a call.
Jane was in the kitchen when Nick arrived downstairs the following day.
‘Good afternoon.’ She looked up at him from her laptop. ‘Sleep well?’
‘Eventually,’ he shrugged. ‘I really don’t do jet-lag well.’
‘How about an omelette? I was just about to make myself something for lunch anyway.’
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