He grinned. ‘This is also academic.’
‘What?’
‘We’d better shut this.’ He closed the front door and stood in front of her. ‘Can we sit down?’
Roz sat opposite him on the sofa. She listened in silence and then stared at him in disbelief. ‘You are writing a thesis on the potency of fear?’
‘That’s right,’ said Jamie smoothly. ‘And I’m concentrating on investigating the root of the emotional responses which cause people – particularly men – to seek out situations in which they feel threatened or humiliated. So I just wanted to buy some of your time to ask you some questions on why, for example, when you are going to cause discomfort or pain–’
‘I absolutely don’t believe you,’ Roz interrupted hotly. ‘You aren’t in further education!’
‘You’re not in a play!’
Roz looked back at him. He seemed amused. She felt mortified. ‘No, I am not in a play.’ She stood up. ‘Would you please leave now?’
‘Would you please have lunch with me?’
Jamie was smiling at her charmingly and Roz felt at a loss.
‘I’ve tried everything,’ he said. ‘I asked Charlotte for your phone number, I went to the gallery, I have been to this house several times and knocked on the door hoping you’d be here. But then I thought it might completely freak you out if you were – er – busy, so in the end I went on the website your friend gave me and searched for Miss Sterling!’
Roz gave a sharp sigh of annoyance. Bloody Melody.
‘I was going to say it was for research on the contact form, but I thought if you refused, I’d be stuck. So, I made an appointment.’ He offered a shining smile. ‘It was the only way I could think of definitely getting to see you again. Without appearing like a stalker,’ he added.
‘Why would you want to?’ she asked churlishly.
‘Because I like you and I am seriously interested in why you are doing this and–’
‘For money. I don’t actually get off on hitting men with sticks if that’s what you mean,’ she said crossly. ‘I am completely embarrassed by it all and still terrified,’ she added frankly, ‘that you will tell Charlotte.’
‘I won’t.’
‘OK.’
‘As long as you come out for dinner with me!’
Roz gave a little jerk of alarm. He looked immediately contrite. ‘Hey, I’m joking – I’m not blackmailing you really.’ He put his hand on her arm. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. Don’t look so worried.’
Roz shook his hand away, feeling as if she could cry. ‘I am worried. If my daughter knew …’
Jamie spoke calmly. ‘Nobody will know anything from me. It’s a job isn’t it. I guess you’re providing a service …’
Roz looked at him narrowly. She remembered how Melody had been convinced Jamie was a potential client.
‘I try to give the men who come to me, what they want,’ she said carefully. ‘I don’t judge.’ She suddenly wanted to make it all crystal clear. ‘But I am doing it for financial reasons only – this is not what I am into in real life.’
Jamie smiled. ‘Me neither!’
Something in Roz dropped in relief. Jamie went on: ‘Look, I won’t tell a soul and I don’t care why your punters get their rocks off being beaten senseless, but I really would love to get to know you better.’
He looked at her appealingly. ‘Let’s make a deal. Meet me for a drink and if after one hour you want to go home you do, and I will never bother you again. If not – if you can stand me a little longer – we go for dinner – somewhere casual from which you can easily depart at any time. How does that sound?’
He smiled again. He had a nice, open face, what looked like his own hair, good teeth, even features. If they’d met differently, she might well have been happy to have dinner with him. But it was a long, long time since she’d done anything like that and right now, with all that was going on in her life …
As the silence stretched between them, and her guts knotted with anxiety, his eyes stayed fixed on hers, not laughing now but looking almost concerned.
She recalled Amy telling her about the girlfriends who came and went and wanted to be friends with his daughter. ‘Don’t you have a partner?’ she enquired eventually, playing for time.
‘No I don’t. I separated from my wife five years ago and I haven’t found anyone I want to settle down with since.’
Roz noted the careful wording. Lots of casual sex was presumably OK as long as there was no settling.
‘And you?’ he asked.
‘Charlotte told you I’m single,’ she said shortly.
‘She still wouldn’t give me your phone number,’ he smiled.
‘She knew I wouldn’t like it.’
‘And you may have been snapped up since.’
‘Hardly.’
‘Can I have it now?’ He was looking at her appealingly. ‘So we can make some arrangements?’
‘Let’s just make them now.’
‘OK – that’s tremendous! 7pm?’
She frowned. ‘What, tonight?’
He looked touchingly pleased. ‘Tonight.’
Chapter 21
All the time she was getting ready, Roz wondered why she hadn’t just refused him point blank.
Part of it was still fear that he would tell Charlotte after all – what did they say about keeping your enemies closer? Part of it was that she’d always been rubbish at saying no if someone was really persuasive – why else would she have installed that hugely expensive double glazing it had taken years to pay off. But part of it was – curiosity.
There was something about this supposedly wealthy, school-supporting, fund-raising, playboy surveyor that interested her. A drink couldn’t hurt. Perhaps it would take her mind off things. After an hour she would say she had enjoyed his company very much but would have to forgo dinner as she’d promised Amy she wouldn’t be late and – a la the advice on excuses she had handed out to Sherie – had an early start in the morning.
They had agreed to meet in The 39 Steps, a popular brewhouse near the seafront, known for its extensive range of gins. Roz had been there once or twice with Sherie, but had chosen it this evening for the unlikelihood of her bumping into anyone else she knew.
It was warm. Roz had twisted her wavy hair into a knot to keep it off her neck and tied a red silk scarf around it. She’d changed her mind several times about what to wear but had eventually, after taking off the second dress she’d chosen as being too over-the-top for a casual drink, had put on a pair of loose linen trousers with deep pockets that had a reasonably flattering cut and a red embroidered t-shirt. She put on flat sandals she could walk in and strolled from her small terraced house off the Broadway, the half mile down the High Street, enjoying the evening sunshine.
As she walked under the railway bridge and up the other side, past the familiar shops and pubs and estate agencies, she thought about her daughter.
Amy had her friend Claire round and, predictably, had shown little interest in where Roz was going. Claire had turned and smiled but Amy hadn’t looked up from whatever they were watching on YouTube, when Roz had said goodbye.
‘I won’t be late,’ Roz had said. Her daughter had nodded, eyes still fixed on the iPad screen. ‘Whatever.’
Roz tried to shake off her sadness and worry as she reached Pierremont Park, skirting a group of Italian students on the pavement, and walked on past the gift shop Expressions, Westwood Aquariums and the new pizza place that had opened in what had once been NatWest Bank.
As she crossed the road and strolled on down past Crusties the bakers, where she bought their bread in an effort to support the slowly-dwindling number of independent shops, she recalled when the High Street had boasted all four major banks plus assorted Building Societies. Now only the Nationwide remained.
Roz stopped at the cash machine, peering nervously at the balance on the cash receipt, before heading on towards the Costa Coffee that inhabited the building t
hat had always been Barclays. Fay had written a letter to the Isle of Thanet News when that had opened, complaining about blots on landscapes and the curse of the multi-nationals in ruining the character of the traditional seaside towns and squeezing out small businesses. She had insisted all four of them pledge never to set foot inside – they weren’t allowed in Iceland either – and frequented only the quirky cafes and bars that were privately owned.
Roz paused for a moment and gazed at the glistening sea visible beyond the despised chain and the long-established Suzanne’s – purveyor of colourful shrimping nets and buckets and spades – before taking a deep breath and turning into Charlotte Street towards The 39 Steps.
Jamie was sitting at a table in the corner when she got there. He had a small beer in front of him that looked untouched and he sprang to his feet as she came in, appearing strangely delighted. Roz felt suddenly silly and shy. She hadn’t been on a ‘date’ for years. She wished she’d been firmer and stayed in to wash her hair.
She twisted her bracelet nervously while he fetched her a Silent Pool gin with orange-flower tonic and sat back down opposite her.
She wondered what they would talk about, her mind suddenly devoid of any conversational topics. ‘Do you er live in Canterbury?’ she asked, although she knew he did, cursing herself for this scintillating opening and wondering if she could perhaps surreptitiously text Sherie and ask her to effect an interruption via an urgent phone call about a flood or earthquake that would necessitate Roz heading for home post-haste.
But she needn’t have worried. Jamie talked. As she sipped her drink, he chatted easily about his surveying practice that had grown over the years and now employed six of them including two secretaries, about his love of antique furniture and habit of going to auctions and finding bits he could restore, and his daughter, who had been a promising horsewoman – show-jumping all over the country – but who now was more interested in boys and make-up.
Which was a relief, he explained, on the one hand, because horses cost an absolute fortune and involved lots of dawn starts, but a bit of a shame on the other, as she could have gone far.
‘Yes,’ said Roz faintly, feeling totally out of her league. Should she match this with Amy’s short-lived interest in stick insects? ‘Amy mentioned your daughter had a pony.’
Jamie nodded. ‘He’s quite an old chap now. We’ve loaned him to a younger girl at the stables where we keep him, but Luci still pops up to see him at weekends.’
‘So she lives with her mother? In Broadstairs?’
‘Kingsgate. Not far from Charlotte. But she’s staying with me tonight. She’s going to see something at the Marlowe with a couple of friends – some young singer they all moon over. So she’s coming back to me to save Madeleine picking her up – which is always a performance – or her having to get a late train. I’ll drop her to school in the morning.’
He sipped at his beer. ‘Are you happy with Highcourt?’
‘Er yes I think so. Amy seems to be doing OK.’ Roz felt awkward, knowing that she didn’t really know what it was like these days. Amy was rarely forthcoming and it had been changeover at the Gallery the night of parents’ evening. She had allowed herself to be persuaded by Amy that going would be a waste of time anyway and that she may as well wait to see the end of term report which, Amy assured her, would raise no issues.
Jamie nodded. ‘I’m thinking of standing to be a governor.’
‘Oh. That’s very good of you. Charlotte said you ran the PTA.’ Roz hoped he wouldn’t ask her to join. She hated committees … She began to formulate a reply that involved her erratic working hours but Jamie was still talking.
‘When Luci was little, I was always working and I was overseas for a while. Bahrain. It was a fantastic salary and a great experience, but I missed out on a lot. I suppose I’m trying to make up for it now.’
‘Is that why your marriage broke up?’ Roz clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘Sorry! That was really nosy.’
‘Not at all. Maddie would certainly tell you we split up because I was never there. I tend to put it down to the fact that she spent most of the time I was absent, in bed with my tennis partner.’ He paused. ‘Who she’d always purported to detest.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘Yes, it was a shame. I miss him.’ He smiled and shrugged. ‘We’d grown apart. It was as much my fault as hers.’
‘What’s your excuse?’ he went on, smiling. ‘How come you’re unattached?’
‘Oh,’ Roz shook her head, self-consciously. ‘You know, being a single mother, working …’ She took the last mouthful of her gin. ‘Not really had time for relationships.’ She stopped, not having the words or inclination to describe her protectiveness of the safe little world she’d tried to create for her and Amy when her daughter was young. A world of just the two of them, that she was always afraid to disrupt, and that was now in danger of being smashed apart …
Jamie didn’t push her. He looked at his watch. ‘We have been here one hour and five minutes,’ he announced. ‘Have I passed muster? Are you hungry?’
Roz smiled. ‘I am actually.’
‘Good. I’ve booked a table round the corner.’
They walked the short distance to Posillipo, a traditional Italian restaurant that was one of Roz’s favourites.
‘Charlotte recommended it,’ said Jamie, as they were shown to a table on the terrace facing the sea.
Roz felt a small stab of alarm. ‘Did you tell her you were seeing me?’
‘No – in case you stood me up.’
Roz took the menu the waiter offered her. ‘I wouldn’t do that to anyone.’
Jamie was looking at the wine list. ‘I asked her about places to eat when I told her I was hopeful. And she told me you worked in the gallery.’
‘Ah!’
‘She said you liked it here.’
‘I do.’
The gin had relaxed her and suddenly it seemed a real treat to be taken out to dinner. She glanced around at the candles and baskets of flowers, listening to the low buzz of conversation as the young waiting staff weaved in and out of the closely packed wooden tables. The air was soft and the lights around the garden and twinkling along the seafront gave the place a holiday feel.
Jamie smiled at her. ‘White or red? I can only have a little so you choose …’
‘And now,’ he said, when they’d ordered, ‘it is time to talk about you.’
Roz felt herself squirm. ‘There’s really not much to say.’
‘I’m sure there is. Do you enjoy working at the Turner? Are you artistic yourself? Do you watch EastEnders, like sugar in your coffee, have sisters, make a habit of going out with strange men who won’t take no for an answer …?’
Roz laughed. ‘Yes, and five noes.’
‘Ah, I do like a woman who can retain a list.’
He was a good listener and she realised it was a long time since she’d done this – sat and simply talked about herself. Her friends knew most of this stuff already, and at home, conversation – such as it was – tended to centre around Amy’s preoccupations, rather than her own.
Jamie seemed genuinely interested in hearing about her job, her interests, the forthcoming party he’d already been invited to by Charlotte, and as the light faded and the lights gleamed on the dark sea beyond, quizzed her on her views on everything from contemporary art to Jeremy Corbyn.
Through garlicky bruschetta, piled high with juicy tomatoes and sweet-smelling basil, they bonded over the disappointments of Brexit and the perils of social media, exchanged favourite books and films, talked about their daughters, the burden of student loans and the difficulties of future employment in an uncertain job market.
Jamie was funny and knowledgeable and listed White Ladder as one of his all-time favourite albums. Roz, in fervent agreement, had a second glass of the rich fruity Rioja and relaxed further.
‘So what about Amy’s father?’ Jamie asked easily, when plates of steaming pasta had arrived. ‘Is he local?’<
br />
Roz hesitated. ‘No.’
Jamie twirled some spaghetti around on his fork and said nothing.
‘He has never really been in our lives,’ she said awkwardly.
Jamie nodded in understanding but still did not speak.
Roz saw her daughter’s face screwed up in fury and suddenly longed to spill out the story. She’d wanted to talk to Charlotte about it – as another mother and her friend who wouldn’t condemn her – but Charlotte had seemed distracted when they’d spoken briefly about the cleaning. Roz had suggested a coffee soon and Charlotte had agreed it would be nice but she hadn’t offered a time when she’d be free and something in Charlotte’s manner had stopped Roz from pushing her.
‘I’ve had a row with Amy about it quite recently,’ she said. ‘She has suddenly showed an interest.’ Roz hesitated. ‘She never really wanted to know it all before.’
Jamie looked at her with compassion. Roz swallowed.
‘You don’t have to tell me,’ he said.
But Roz took another mouthful of wine and did.
‘My parents assumed it was a one-night stand, when I wouldn’t give them details,’ she said. ‘My mother was fairly appalled. When Amy was very small, she accepted that she just didn’t have a daddy. Later, I told her that it had been a very short relationship and he’d gone abroad before I realised I was pregnant. That I’d decided to go it alone and her father never knew. She never asked again. Then when she was ten, someone at school was talking about being adopted and who their real parents might be, and Amy thought it was all rather glamorous. She asked me out of the blue what her father’s surname was and I panicked and just made up a name – I said he was called Mark Johnson.’
‘And he wasn’t?’ Jamie had stopped eating and was watching her calmly.
‘His name was Marcus. He had a different surname.’
Roz knew that later she would probably be horrified at herself – some small sensible part of her was detached, looking on, watching her telling someone she barely knew, the story she’d always kept hidden. She didn’t know if it was the alcohol or Jamie’s sympathetic expression or just weariness at always covering up, but some strange compulsion drove her on.
The Big Five O Page 15