by Clare Chase
Darrick felt inside his jeans pocket and pulled out a small notebook and pencil. ‘Hangers-on …’ he said as he scribbled on the top page.
‘If you’re going to carry on taking the piss out of me I’m going home right now.’
He put it away again. ‘Don’t be like that. A man’s got to have some fun. You were saying …’
I thought back to what I’d been about to explain, and rapidly edited it for Darrick’s ears. ‘He had hangers-on. I expect you know the sort, I think they’re around in every college in the country. They’re the ones that find out who’s the best prospect if they want to cadge cigarettes, or booze, and then stick themselves like glue to whoever it is. In our case it was Seb.’
‘Sounds like a generous guy.’
Darrick’s tone caught my attention, but his face was in shadow – his fringe down over one eye – and I couldn’t judge his expression.
‘There was a similar bloke who lived in my hall at university as a matter of fact,’ he went on. ‘He always had crowds of people in his room. Mind you, it turned out he was offering more than just booze and fags. Drugs were on the menu too, and he was dealing …’
He was sounding like a journalist again now. Seb had certainly taken drugs, but I wasn’t going to tell Darrick that.
‘You’re barking up the wrong tree,’ I said, leaning back in my chair. ‘There was a dealer on our corridor, but it wasn’t Seb. It was this really weird guy with eyes like saucers. He had every drug going – both to sell and for personal use, I imagine – and there definitely wouldn’t have been room enough for both of them to set up stalls in such close proximity. Even if he’d been tempted, Seb would have had enough business sense to know that.’
‘I’m sure you’re right.’ Darrick sat back in his seat too and held up his hands, a smile playing round his lips again. ‘You must have had some wild parties, with a dealer just across the corridor.’
I shook my head. ‘Not me. I was far too much of a coward to try any of the hard stuff.’
‘But I’m guessing Seb was up for anything that was going? It sounds as though he enjoyed living on the edge.’
I certainly wasn’t going to answer that one, although he’d obviously already got a good impression of what Seb would or wouldn’t do. ‘You do seem very curious about him, you know,’ I said instead.
‘Of course I am.’ He reached over and stroked my arm. ‘Through our conversations I got the impression that you were fond of him at one time, and that makes me want to know every detail of your past relationship. There’s nothing sinister in that, it’s just the bloke in me.’
‘He was very popular,’ I said, hoping to wind Darrick up some more. ‘I think people sensed he’d go places even then. There was something about him, a kind of crackle which turned the tension up a notch whenever he appeared.’
Darrick stifled a yawn.
I smiled sweetly. ‘He even had the university staff eating out of his hand.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘What did he actually study? I can’t imagine it was art. If he was an artist I presume he’d want to be out there producing work himself, not selling other people’s.’
‘No, you’re right,’ I said. ‘Business has always been his strong suit really. That’s where he channels his creativity. He actually read history of art.’ I laughed quietly. ‘He always said he chose it because he knew there’d be plenty of girls on the course.’
‘Hmm.’ Darrick didn’t seem to find this all that amusing. ‘He wouldn’t really have done it for that sort of reason though, would he? He’s far too canny.’
‘True,’ I said. ‘No, in fact his parents made their pile out of art and antiques, and I think he always thought he’d follow in their footsteps.’
‘As indeed he has, with spectacular success.’
I nodded.
‘So what about these academic types that loved him so much?’ Darrick went on. ‘Were they male or female?’
‘Male, actually,’ I said, musing on the fact as I took another swig of my Chardonnay. ‘I don’t remember any of the female members of staff ever visiting his room.’
‘It’s what I would expect,’ said Darrick.
‘Meaning?’
‘By the time women are old enough to be university lecturers they’re probably fairly good at reading people.’ He went on before I could respond. ‘But he was obviously a hit with the old men of the department.’ He speared another chip.
‘How do you know they were old?’
‘Well, weren’t they?’
‘Actually most of them were, fairly,’ I admitted.
‘And they probably wanted to feel young again; to be in with a happening crowd, show they were still game enough to smoke the odd joint, that kind of thing.’
‘You make a lot of assumptions.’ It rang true, in fact, but I didn’t want to confirm what he’d said. Or give him the satisfaction of thinking he’d got them all down to a tee, for that matter. ‘There was one slightly younger guy: an overachiever like Seb, who’d been made a professor in his early forties. He was actually an art collector.’ In the back of my mind I tried to remember his name. Something double-barrelled, but it eluded me.
‘An art collector?’ Darrick’s voice brought me back to the present. ‘He must have been limited in what he could afford. Academics don’t usually bring home a lot of cash.’
I thought back to what Seb had told me. ‘I think he had family money. But anyway, I reckon meeting him inspired Seb. It showed him his end market and just how much it craved what he might be able to provide one day. People who mind about art mind big time, it seems, whether it’s passion, or just because owning important works boosts their status.’
After the waitress had cleared our plates and we’d settled our bill Darrick leant forward, one elbow on the table. ‘Don’t believe anything that Radley woman says about me,’ he said, his intense blue eyes locking onto mine. ‘She’s definitely the one who’s muckraking.’ And he moved in even closer, until I was aching for him to kiss me. ‘Come on,’ he said, standing up suddenly. ‘Let’s go outside.’
He put an arm round my waist as we left the building, thanking the staff as we went, and this time it was a firm move, without any sign that he was suddenly going to whisk it away again. I felt that same need I’d had when we’d walked along the Thames: that feeling of wanting more, a hollow ache inside me. He drew me closer to him.
‘Do you always go out for walks after you’ve eaten?’ I asked, hoping to keep my thoughts hidden.
We took a right down a deserted side street – possibly it was a dark alley – and he turned to look at me, the glow of a street light throwing shadows across his face, emphasising his high cheekbones.
‘I was wondering if you might like to walk back to my place. I like physical activity in general,’ – he gave me a look – ‘but it’s always particularly good if there’s a proper purpose to it.’ Reaching inside the flap of my coat, he put a hand on my waist and moved in so that he was standing up against me, with me leaning back against the wall we were passing. His body was warm, but the contact sent shivers running down me. ‘I didn’t take that photograph, Anna,’ he said. And then he started to kiss me with an urgency that matched the feeling well below the pit of my stomach.
Chapter Twelve
I wanted to go with him, back to his place. I really, really wanted to. I think if he hadn’t mentioned the photograph again I might even have gone for it, but that little discrepancy still nagged at the back of my mind, making me wonder.
It was just one extra thing that stacked up against him, along with how little I really knew about his life; how much he liked us to talk about me, rather than about him; and the way that he looked at me when I mentioned Seb.
In the end, I made the usual excuses, and pointed out, quite reasonably, that I hardly knew him and that he seemed to want to keep it that way, for all he’d told me about himself.
He just smiled and said he didn’t want to lose his mystery, but he did pr
omise to call, which left me feeling better than I would have done. I kicked myself all the way home, but deep down I had the feeling I’d done the right thing. My jumbled emotions didn’t lend themselves to sleep though, and it was well past two o’clock before I managed to drop off.
The next day I peeled myself off my bed rather late, having to combat a strong feeling of inertia. When I arrived in the communal kitchen I found both Sally and Alicia in unusually peaceful silence. I soon saw why. It was the day my article was due out in Epic and they were holding a copy each, both so absorbed that they hadn’t noticed me come in.
I’d been careful not to mention the piece when I’d talked to Darrick the night before; I didn’t feel it was his sort of publication.
It looked as though I’d got Alicia and Sally’s attention though, and that was what it was all about. I was feeling reasonably pleased until I realised that Alicia had actually got her copy open at the horoscope page. She slapped the magazine shut when she realised I’d rumbled her.
‘I read your article first,’ she said, sniffing, ‘and then I thought I might as well see what else they manage to fill their pages with.’
‘And what do your stars predict for you this month?’ I asked sweetly.
‘Oh,’ said Sally, ‘is that what you were looking at? I must just check mine next. Great article by the way, Anna.’
‘Shouldn’t you be at work?’ Alicia asked her.
‘Later shift today. By two this afternoon I shall be rubbing the hard bits off the feet of the rich and famous, but for now, it’s relaxation all the way.’ She stretched luxuriously and turned to me. ‘Intriguing about Zachariah Shakespeare’s lack of underpants.’
‘Honestly!’ Alicia said, with a loud tut. She got up and left the room.
‘It’s no use her pretending not to be interested,’ Sally said. ‘She’d already read your article by the time I came in. She was guzzling up stuff on Pippa Middleton and Samantha Cameron before she started on the horoscopes.’
‘The Samantha Cameron piece was quite serious,’ a sharp voice said from the hall. ‘She’d been visiting a shelter for the homeless.’
‘Oops!’ said Sally in a stage whisper. She flicked her own magazine to the horoscope page. ‘What’re you?’
‘Virgo.’
‘Hmm. Sounds like you’re in for a difficult time,’ she said, frowning. ‘It says a conflict of interest is going to make things tricky at work.’
‘Except I don’t actually go to work.’
‘You mustn’t be cynical. You need to look at things more broadly.’ She scanned the page again. ‘It doesn’t seem to mention anything that might relate to your date last night, which is weird because I’d say it was a pretty significant event.’
‘Gosh yes,’ I said. ‘That really is inexplicable, isn’t it?’
‘Sarky! How was it anyway? Did you have a nice time?’
‘I’m not sure nice is quite the way I’d put it,’ I said, poking my head into the hall to check that Alicia wasn’t still listening.
‘Sounds like there’s more to tell,’ she said, so I closed the door and filled her in.
She sighed. ‘I do like a man of mystery. I can’t believe you didn’t go home with him. You could have found out so much more that way.’
I think she was frustrated I couldn’t give her any extra salacious details. ‘I thought you said I should be careful.’
Sally waved away my comment with a perfectly manicured hand. ‘Up to a point, Anna, up to a point.’
Epic was mailing me a copy of the latest issue for my records, so I didn’t have to dash out and buy one. Unfortunately, this meant I had no excuse to mooch about and fritter away my time, but Sally seemed to have spotted I was in that kind of state when it’s hard to settle to anything.
By the time she came and put her head round my door I’d already picked up a file of copywriting jobs that needed doing three times, on each occasion slinging it back down again with a sigh. Desk tidying had been next on my list of distractions.
‘Fancy coming shopping?’
‘I’m supposed to be writing about a computer chip manufacturer.’
‘I should think that settles it then,’ she said. ‘Come along.’
So I went. I trailed about after her as she bought little bits of jewellery, a scarf and a new pair of shoes. Then we passed the shop she’d told me about, where the handmade bags were over two hundred pounds.
‘You ought to get yours in there,’ she said, nodding at the window, where the bags were displayed on silk-covered pedestals. ‘They’re definitely good enough.’
I shook my head. ‘It’s only a hobby, Sally.’ I was about to say I wouldn’t have time to turn it into more than that, but then it occurred to me that that wasn’t really true.
‘You like it though, don’t you? Next time I come this way I’m going to bring the one you made for me and see if they’d be interested.’
I was about to tell her not to when my mobile rang and Sally continued to browse as I fished it out of my pocket.
Glancing at the screen triggered an adrenaline rush. Seb Rice.
Chapter Thirteen
I gave myself a moment to calm down before I answered. ‘Seb! I haven’t spoken to you in ages.’
‘I know darling, and it’s entirely my fault. I wanted to congratulate you on the piece in Epic.’
‘It’s horribly frivolous, as well you know,’ I said, twisting on one heel as I stood there, feeling awkward.
‘It’s pushing the gallery further into the mainstream. That kind of thing’s great for creating hype. Okay, so Epic readers probably won’t come along and buy Zachariah’s paintings, but they’ll make a buzz that means every art collector looking for something poppy will be queuing up to get them. Even the teenagers in high school will be talking about his work now.’
‘Well I’m pleased you’re pleased,’ I said.
‘I am. Look, can we meet? I’d love to buy you lunch.’
After the ongoing lack of contact this was unexpected, but I needed to take it all in my stride, I knew. ‘Sure, lunch would be good.’
‘What are you up to now?’
‘Oh,’ I said, glancing at Sally, ‘I’m not sure I can do today.’
Sally made shooing “go ahead” motions with her hands.
‘Or maybe I can,’ I said to Seb. I never could manage a three-way conversation of this sort with any style.
‘I love a woman who knows her own mind.’
As Sally walked off towards Farquharson’s I made my way to the restaurant Seb had suggested. It looked horribly exclusive from the outside, and there were no prices on the menu, but then Seb had said he’d like to buy me lunch. I reckoned if this was a reward for my hard work – a perk, effectively – then maybe it was okay to let him.
He wasn’t there when I arrived, but a deferential waiter took my coat and knew all about the booking. He drew a seat out for me to sit down, and I got the timing all wrong, so that he knocked the back of my knees when he tucked the chair in again for me. I was thankful when he scuttled out of sight, no doubt to laugh at my lack of savoir faire in the kitchens.
Our table was by the window, so I could look out onto the street and see all the shoppers teeming past. The Christmas rush was already well underway, with November almost over.
Then, through the crowd of other people, I glimpsed Seb. It was odd. His photo appeared in the press every other week but it was actually a long time since I’d seen him in the flesh. His height meant I managed to pick him out quite quickly, and it gave me time to watch him as he walked the last few metres towards the restaurant. He was dressed in a dove-grey suit with a white shirt, open at the neck, and had a grey overcoat slung over one arm.
The feelings I’d had for him in the old days didn’t come back when I saw him. They always had up until now, during those intermittent times when we’d been in more regular contact. It was a relief to find that on this occasion I felt a rush of fondness, but nothing more.
&nb
sp; He was still handsome, there was no doubt about that, but I found myself comparing him with Darrick. Seb was lean and elegant but there was a coolness and reserve that went with his physical beauty. He lacked Darrick’s humour, as well as his rough edges, his strength and some kind of inner fire. At that moment he caught me looking in his direction and smiled, waving a hand.
As he came through the door I stood up to say hello and he bent to give me a hug. He smelled of cologne that I guessed was too expensive for me to recognise. The hug was the acid test. All was well so far.
‘It’s so good to see you,’ he said, pulling back for a moment to give me the once over. ‘You look well.’ He tweaked a lock of my hair. ‘I’m glad you decided to grow it long again; makes you look like a Botticelli. It’s such a glorious colour. So.’ He moved to sit down. ‘How are you enjoying being back in London then?’
‘It’s great. I mean it was lovely sharing with Terry, but I’d begun to feel like a bit of a gooseberry after Steve moved in. It wasn’t fair on them. And you know what it’s like: you either love London or you loathe it, but if you love it you’re never really quite happy when you’re living anywhere else.’
‘Well it’s great from our point of view, at the gallery,’ he said. ‘The work you did for The Enquirer was excellent.’
The waiter hovered nearby and handed Seb a menu.
‘I have a friend who works there,’ Seb went on, without looking up, ‘and he said how much they’d enjoyed dealing with you. I think they found you unusually reliable.’
‘I’m glad about that!’
We chose our food. It was several grades on in ostentatiousness from the menu at The Midnight Hour and I wasn’t quite sure what I’d ordered. I hoped it would be all right.
‘And a bottle of the Chateauneuf-du-Pape please,’ Seb said.
‘The ’95 sir, or the 2002?’ the waiter asked.
‘The ’95,’ Seb said, without pausing.
It was a far cry from house red. I’d only just left behind calculating which wine to buy based on cost per unit of alcohol.