I sit down, taking it all in.
Wow. This is a bachelor pad, all right.
It’s masculine, but not oppressively so. Everything is in extremely good taste. Actually, I expected nothing less.
My eye is drawn by a strange piece of furniture. It looks like a stool or a low seat, but it isn’t quite that. Instead of an armrest on each side, it seems to have two at one end, placed quite far apart, and at the other is a kind of broad rest with a scrolled back.
That’s a weird-looking object. What’s it for?
A picture floats unbidden into my mind. It’s a flashback to the scene inside the club earlier this evening. I see the girl in the cage, writhing against the bars, her eyes glittering from behind the studded mask. I see her following the man, docile as a tamed pony. That’s the place that Dominic went to with his girlfriend. I feel the first stirrings of something like doubt. I’ve been so entranced by his looks, by his aura and by the kindness he’s shown me, but maybe he’s not as straightforward as he seems on the surface.
At that moment, Dominic comes in holding a tray with a coffee pot, a jug and two cups on it. He places it on the glass table and sits down on the sofa adjacent to mine so that we’re close but not exactly cosy.
‘So,’ he says, as he pours out the coffee, adds milk and passes me the cup, ‘tell me about yourself, Beth. What brings you to London?’
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say, ‘I got my heart broken and I came here to mend it’ but that seems a little too personal, so I say, ‘I’ve come for some adventure. I’m a small town girl and I need to spread my wings.’ The coffee is hot and aromatic. It’s exactly what I need. I take sip; it’s delicious.
‘You’ve come to the right place.’ He nods wisely. ‘This is the greatest city in the world. I mean, I like New York and Paris, and I’m a big fan of LA no matter what people say, but London . . . nowhere else comes close. And you’re right in the heart of it!’ He gestures out of the window. Hundreds of windows in buildings all around us glow bright yellow in the summer darkness.
‘I’m very lucky,’ I say honestly. ‘Without Celia, I wouldn’t be here.’
‘I’m sure you’re doing her a favour too.’ He smiles at me again and I feel that odd tension. Is he flirting with me?
I’m enjoying the sensation of being close to him. The nearness of his broad shoulders beneath the white shirt is disconcerting. I can sense the brown warmth of his skin radiating towards me. The shape of his mouth is making my breathing shallow and a small buzz of something like excitement flutter in my stomach and circle my groin. God, I hope he doesn’t notice the effect he’s having on me. I take another sip of the hot coffee, hoping it will ground me a little. When I look up those black eyes are staring at me and I can hardly hold in a gasp.
‘So, tell me about how you’ve found London so far.’
I shouldn’t be so shy but there’s something about his magnetism that is making me into the old gauche Beth I’ve been trying to leave behind. I start to tell him about what I’ve seen in the city, stumbling over my words and searching for the right way to describe things. I want to talk impressively about works of art and the places I’ve seen but I sound like any other tourist reeling off a list of sights. He is utterly charming though, asking me interested questions and appearing fascinated by what I’m telling him. He doesn’t realise he’s only making my clumsiness worse.
‘And I loved the collection of miniatures in the Wallace Collection, and the portrait of Madame de Pamplemousse,’ I say, trying to sound knowledgeable.
He looks puzzled. ‘Madame de Pamplemousse?’
‘Yes . . .’ I’m glad to be able to show off my knowledge. ‘Louis XV’s mistress.’
‘Oh!’ His expression clears. ‘You mean Madame de Pompadour.’
‘Yes. Of course. Madame de Pompadour. That’s who I meant.’ I feel awkward. ‘What did I say?’
‘Madame de Pamplemousse.’ He bursts out laughing. ‘Madame Grapefruit! That’s brilliant.’ He’s properly laughing now, throwing back his head, showing his perfect white teeth, the deep rich sound booming around.
I laugh too, but I’m also mortified to have said something so stupid. I’m scarlet with embarrassment and as I try to laugh it off, I realise my eyes are stinging again. Oh no, don’t! Just don’t! Don’t start blubbing, this is ridiculous. But the more sternly I talk to myself, the worse it gets. I’ve made a fool of myself and like a baby, I’m going to cry about it. I use all my strength to stop myself and keep it in, biting the inside of my cheek hard.
He sees my expression and stops laughing at once, his smile fading. ‘Hey, don’t be upset. It’s okay, I know who you meant. It’s just funny, that’s all, but I’m not laughing at you.’ He reaches over and puts his hand on top of mine.
The moment our hands touch, something strange happens. The sensation of his skin on me is electric, almost burning. A kind of current flows between us that almost makes me shudder, and I look up, astonished, into his eyes. For the first time I really see him, and he stares straight back at me, his expression surprised, almost disconcerted, as though he’s also feeling things he didn’t expect to. I feel as though I can see his real self, unmasked by politeness and convention, and that he can see right back into me.
Every day, as we go about our lives, hundreds of faces slide by, flickering in and out of our consciousness. We meet the glances of people on trains or buses, in lifts or on escalators, in shops, at counters, on the way to work and back again, and we make a tiny half connection that is broken and lost almost at once. For an instant, we recognise someone else’s existence, grasping for an instant the fact that they have a life, a history, a whole past that has brought them inexorably to this moment where we connect with them, and then, just as swiftly, we disconnect, our eyes turn away and we go on our separate paths, forward to different futures.
But right now, as I look into Dominic’s eyes, it’s as though I know him, even though he’s a stranger. As though our different ages and life experiences don’t matter a bit. In some strange way, it feels like we know each other.
The world beyond us falls away and disappears. All I’m conscious of is his hand on mine, the torrent of excitement that’s racing through my body, the deep sense of connection. I am staring into eyes that seem to penetrate to the core of my being, that seem to know me intimately. I have the instant conviction that he understands me. I am certain he feels it too.
It seems as though we’re frozen like this for an age, but it must only be a few seconds. I begin to grasp our situation, coming back to reality like a swimmer breaking the surface after a long dive, and I wonder with a kind of shivering anticipation what’s going to happen now.
Dominic looks both awkward and amazed, as though something he never imagined has just happened. He opens his mouth, and is about to say something, when we hear a sound in the hallway. Dominic’s gaze shifts at once to the door, and I turn as well, just in time to see a woman marching in. She’s wearing a long dark fur coat despite the warm evening, and her expression is cross.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ she demands as she walks in, and then stops dead when she sees me, looking me up and down with a rapier gaze. ‘Oh.’ She turns to Dominic. ‘Who’s this?’
The spell, our connection, is broken. He hastily removes his hand from mine. ‘Vanessa, let me introduce Beth. Beth, this is my friend Vanessa.’
I murmur a quiet hello. This is the woman I’ve seen before. So that’s her name. Vanessa. It suits her.
‘Beth’s staying just across the way,’ Dominic goes on. He’s very self-possessed but I can pick up the slightest hint that he’s a little flustered under that calm surface. ‘I’ve been neighbourly and asked her in for coffee.’
Vanessa nods a greeting at me. ‘How gallant,’ she says coolly. ‘But we were supposed to meet two hours ago.’
‘Yes, I’m sorry, didn’t you get my message?’
I notice he doesn’t mention coming to my rescue in the dark Soho st
reets.
She stares back at him, obviously telegraphing that she doesn’t want to talk about this in front of me. I get to my feet at once.
‘Thank you so much for the coffee, Dominic, it was terribly kind of you. I’d better be getting back now, I mustn’t leave De Havilland on his own for too long.’
‘De Havilland?’
‘Celia’s cat,’ I explain.
Vanessa looks amused. ‘You’ve got to look after the cat, have you? How sweet. Yes, well, don’t let us keep you.’
Dominic gets up too. ‘If you’re sure, Beth. Don’t you want to stay and finish your coffee?’
I shake my head. ‘No, I don’t think so. Thank you anyway.’
He walks me out into the hall and as he hands me my coat, I look into those dark eyes again. Did that moment between us just happen? He appears just he did before it: a kind, polite stranger. And yet . . . something in those black depths is still there.
‘Take care, Beth,’ he says in a low voice as he sees me out. ‘I’ll see you soon, I’m sure.’
Then he leans towards me and brushes his lips over my cheek very lightly. As our faces touch, it’s all I can do not to turn to him so that he can kiss my lips, which is what I’m longing for him to do. As it is, my skin burns where he’s touched it.
‘I’d like that,’ I reply almost on a sigh. Then, as the door closes, I head back down towards the lift, wondering if my weak knees will manage to carry me all the way back to Celia’s flat.
Chapter Six
My inbox is full of messages but most are rubbish. I scroll through, deleting as I go, wondering why I subscribe to so many gossip and shopping sites. A large frothy coffee sits cooling beside me, the chocolate powder on the top melting into the milky foam. I’ve found one of those coffee chains where everyone is sitting with a half-drunk cup and a laptop, taking advantage of the free Wi-Fi. There’s a message from Laura, though, and I click on that. She’s travelling in Panama now and has sent an email with several attachments showing her bent under a huge backpack, grinning at the camera, a jungley greenness behind her, and some incredible views.
Missing you loads, she writes. Can’t wait to see you when I’m back. Hope you’re enjoying your summer and are totally loved up with Adam. Hugs and kisses, Laura.
I stare at it, wondering what to tell her. She thinks I’m still at home, working as a waitress during the day and hanging out with Adam in the evening. I’ve come so far from that, and something tells me that my own adventure is only just beginning. For a moment I consider writing it all down and telling her, but I’m not quite ready to share yet. My secret is too delicate and strange, and it doesn’t quite exist in the real world. If I talk about it, maybe I’ll inadvertently kill it.
I shiver with a sweet deliciousness as I recall the moment I had with Dominic last night. (Amazing how quickly he’s become Dominic to me – the name Mr R seems ridiculous and childish now. )Just remembering that look, the strange and immediate intimacy sets everything in me swirling crazily, as though my innards are taking their own personal rollercoaster ride around my body. It’s half pleasant and half unbearable.
But then . . . there is Vanessa. His girlfriend. The one I’ve seen him with and who was expecting him to meet her.
But he didn’t tell her that we met in Soho, or that he stood her up for me.
That doesn’t mean anything, you idiot.
Even so . . . a girl can dream, can’t she?
I type out a quick message to Laura, saying how much fun she must be having and how I can’t wait to see her and tell her everything that’s been going on. As I’m writing, I see another message slip into my inbox, and when I’ve sent Laura’s on its way, I click to see what it is. It’s from [email protected]. Who? For an instant I’m confused and then it all comes back. Oh my God, my interview at the gallery.
I open the email.
Dear Beth
It was a real pleasure to meet you yesterday. I saw some other candidates after you, and I have to admit that none of them had your enthusiasm or the certain something that makes me think we’d enjoy working together. If you’re still interested, I’d love to talk about you taking the gallery assistant job over the summer. Let me know when it’s a good time to chat and I’ll give you a call.
I’ll look forward to hearing from you,
Best wishes, James McAndrew
I stare at the message and read it three times over before it sinks in. James is offering me the job. Oh wow! How fantastic. I’m delighted, triumphant. So yesterday wasn’t a total disaster – my new look paid off in one respect. I know I’ve fallen on my feet, finding a job in a proper gallery just like that.
Who knows where it might lead?
Quickly I send back a reply saying that I’m definitely still interested, and very keen to work for him. He can call me any time on my mobile. I’ve hardly sent it off when my phone, sitting on the table next to me, rings.
I sweep it up. ‘Hello?’
‘Beth, it’s James.’
‘Hi!’
‘So, are you going to be my new assistant?’ I can hear a smile in his voice.
‘Yes, please!’ I’m smiling broadly back.
‘When can you start?’
‘How about Monday?’
He laughs. ‘You’re certainly enthusiastic. Monday is great.’ He tells me a little about the job and the salary – which is hardly more than I earn as a waitress but I suppose that’s the reality of foot-on-the-rung jobs – and says he’s looking forward to seeing me on Monday. After thanking him profusely for the opportunity, I ring off feeling buoyed up and positive. Is London really starting to open its doors to me? I dash off a quick email to my parents telling them the good news and reassuring them that all is going well. Beyond the coffee shop window, golden sunlight is blazing down on the city.
My last days of freedom before I start working – I’d better go out and take advantage of it.
I finish my coffee, pack up my laptop and head back to the flat. After dumping my stuff, I head out to visit the National Gallery and some of the other must-sees on my list. Everything seems radiant and exciting. It’s amazing how a change of mood can affect everything. The gallery is far too big to take in on one visit, so I go and see the twentieth-century European rooms to prepare for my new job, and then take in some magnificent Renaissance masterpieces to finish everything off with a huge dollop of dramatic scale and vivid richness.
Venturing back into Trafalgar Square, with its black lions sitting guard over the fountains, I think it’s a crime to spend the rest of this summer day inside. I thread my way through the groups of tourists and visitors, and make my way back to the flat, where I collect my rug, sunglasses, a book, a bottle of water and some fruit. Then I head to the garden at the back of the building, and take my old place near the tennis courts. Dominic isn’t there, the courts are empty, and I’m obscurely disappointed even though I told myself he’ll be at work. I wonder what work he does. He was playing tennis during the day earlier in the week, so perhaps he has flexible hours. Who knows?
I lie down with my book and start to read, relishing the warmth of the sun on my limbs. No matter how I try to concentrate on my book, my thoughts keep drifting back to Dominic and that moment we shared last night. He must have felt it too, I’m sure of it. I recall the way he looked confused, baffled by the strength of the connection between us, as though he was thinking this girl? But . . . that’s not supposed to happen . . .
I sigh luxuriously, putting my book down, my eyes closed, giving in to the recollection of his face, his eyes, his touch on my bare skin and the way it sent a juddering electric current flashing through me.
Beth.
I can hear his voice as clearly as if he’s standing right beside me. It’s hard not to thrill to the sound of it, deep, low and musical. I sigh and brush my hand over my chest, wishing he were really here.
‘Beth?’
It’s louder now, more questioning. I open my eyes and gasp. Domin
ic is right there, standing beside me, smiling down. ‘Sorry to surprise you,’ he says.
I sit up, blinking. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here.’
He’s wearing jeans, loose fitting, and a white T-shirt. He looks adorable – the casual look suits him just as much as the business one. In his eyes is a curious, unreadable expression. ‘I don’t know why I’m here to be honest,’ he says. ‘I was working upstairs when I just had the strongest feeling I should come down to the garden and that I would find you here.’ He spreads his hands out. ‘And here you are.’
We gaze at one another, smiling, a little awkward but only in a superficial way. That connection from last night still fizzes between us.
‘So, what are you doing?’
‘Just sunbathing. Enjoying the gorgeous weather. Being wickedly lazy, really.’
He stands there, looking down at me. ‘I’ve had enough of work for today. Would you like to come out with me? I know a fantastic pub near here with a garden, and they do a mean Pimms. I can’t think of anything more wickedly lazy than being there, with you.’
‘I’d love to.’
‘Good. I can show you a bit of London that you might not find on your own. I’ll just go upstairs and get a few things. Shall we meet by the door in twenty minutes?’
‘Fabulous.’ I beam up at him, feeling light and joyous.
Twenty minutes is just enough time to change from my shorts and T-shirt into my flowery summer dress, and slip off my plimsolls in favour of some sparkly flip--flops. After a moment’s hesitation, I take a lacy shawl from a hook in Celia’s cupboard and sling it around my shoulders. With my newly blonded hair gathered up in a ponytail and my sunglasses, I look a little bit sixties. I have a feeling Celia’s shawl will bring me good luck, though I have no idea why. Would she want me to form some kind of relationship with her neighbour? Actually, something tells me she’d be delighted. I can almost hear her whispering, ‘Go for it, Beth. Enjoy yourself! Why not?’
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