Lost Innocence

by Susan Lewis

  She waved a dismissive hand. ‘Terrified of them,’ she assured him. ‘My daughter, on the other hand, says it’s the only good thing about us moving here, so she can learn to ride and have her own horse. I’m still trying to pluck up the courage to tell her it’s not likely to happen. You’ll know when I do, because you’ll probably hear the howl from here to Wyke.’

  He looked amused. ‘How old is she?’

  ‘Twelve. I have a son of seventeen too, who’s being very stoic about the move, at least so far.’

  ‘So what exactly are you hoping to do with the shop?’ he asked, starting to take another look round.

  Wondering if he was genuinely interested, or just being polite, she decided to believe the former and launched into a guided tour of what would go where, once the display cases, plinths and shelves were fully assembled and installed. And how she hoped to exhibit other artists’ work too. ‘Probably not sculpture,’ she said, ‘that would be too much of a conflict.’

  ‘Unless your styles are completely different.’

  ‘Of course, but I don’t really do much painting any more, so I thought some talented abstracts would be a great way of filling up the walls and helping to get some promising newcomers a little exposure.’

  ‘Have you seen anything that takes your fancy yet?’

  She shook her head. ‘We only arrived ten days ago, and so far all our energies have gone into sprucing this place up. As you can see, we still have a way to go. When the time’s right I’ll start hunting down the local talent, then I’ll put some notices in local shops and libraries, and the newspapers too, if I can afford it, to let the world know we’ve arrived.’

  Seeming to consider this reasonable, he said, ‘Would it be too presumptuous to suggest we combine a talent spot and house search?’

  Only just managing not to gush with excitement, she said, ‘I’d like that immensely. After all, I can’t think of anyone more qualified than you to spot a burgeoning ability, and I can just imagine the impact it’ll have on my potential new protégés when the great Cameron Mitchell turns up on their doorsteps.’

  He was laughing and starting to protest.

  ‘No, really,’ she insisted, ‘I know how they’ll feel, because it was pretty amazing for me just now. In fact, it still is. Are you actually here, or am I dreaming this?’

  ‘I could pinch you, if you like,’ he offered, ‘but that probably wouldn’t be very gentlemanly.’

  She laughed, and realised with an unfamiliar sense of lightness that she was actually enjoying herself. Maybe the glass of wine with lunch had gone to her head, but even if it had, he wasn’t coming across as anything like the other art critics she’d met. On the whole they were an extremely pompous, self-aggrandising bunch, far too exclusive even to notice someone outside their rarefied world, never mind go out of their way to be pleasant.

  ‘Well, I guess I’ve taken up enough of your time,’ he said, putting his glass on her cluttered workbench. ‘Would it be possible, before I go, to…’

  ‘Oh no,’ she protested, ‘please don’t ask me to show you anything now. It’s all still in its packaging from the move, and it has to be properly displayed for the best effect. I’m sorry, do you mind? I’m sure you’ll hate it anyway, but at least then I’ll know …’ She stopped as his hand went up.

  ‘I understand perfectly,’ he told her, ‘and actually, I was going to ask if I might use your bathroom before I leave.’

  Alicia felt herself blush as she burst out laughing. ‘It’s at the far end of the patio,’ she told him, pointing outside and wanting to hug Rachel’s Uncle Pete with all her might for whipping out the grungy old loo and replacing it with a swanky new buttercup piece that he’d conjured up from… she knew better than to ask where. OK, the walls hadn’t been painted yet, and Pete hadn’t, so far, managed to produce a matching – or not – handbasin to take over from where the old one had dropped off. However, the important thing was it flushed like a vacuum, and the tiny brick cubicle was so much improved from when she’d first forced open the door that she wasn’t going to waste time feeling ashamed now.

  As he picked his way past the old bird bath and a bench she was in the process of sanding, Alicia pressed her hands to her cheeks, still hardly able to believe he was here. She wanted to snatch up the phone and call Rachel, or better still to thank Antonia, but that would have to wait till he’d gone.

  ‘Alicia? Are you in here?’ Mimi called from the door. ‘Ah, there you are,’ she beamed as Alicia appeared in the arch. ‘I noticed the door was open and wanted to be sure it was you, because there was a man hanging around outside a while ago. Never seen him before, and I didn’t get a chance to ask what he was doing because I had an order come in. Did you see him? I thought he might be a friend of yours, because he was very smart, and very good-looking.’ She winked, then her mouth formed an O as Cameron stepped back into the studio. From his expression it was clear he’d overheard.

  ‘Oh, there’s me rattling on when you’ve got company,’ Mimi said, starting to edge out.

  ‘Cameron, this is Mimi,’ Alicia told him, catching Mimi’s hand and pulling her back. ‘She has the flower shop next door and I’ve known her all my life. Mimi, this is Cameron Mitchell.’ She doubted the name would mean anything to the old lady, but she liked saying it anyway.

  Smiling as he came forward, Cameron said, ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Mimi. I was admiring your arrangements on my way past.’

  Mimi flushed with pride. ‘That’s very kind of you,’ she replied, shyly shaking his hand. ‘I do me best, and it’s nice when folks are appreciative. Anyway, don’t let me hold you up. I’ve got lots to do next door. Pete’s coming in later,’ she told Alicia, ‘to lay them new pipes you discussed.’

  ‘Lovely,’ Alicia smiled, but Mimi was already bustling away.

  ‘I guess it’s time I was leaving too,’ Cameron said, glancing at his watch. ‘Jasper’s going to be wondering what’s happened to me, I’ve been gone so long.’

  Alicia gave him a quizzical look.

  ‘Jasper’s a dog,’ he explained. ‘He usually goes everywhere with me, but he cut his foot on a stone at the weekend, so the vet thought he should rest it… Ah, that’s who I saw in the pub garden earlier. The vet. I thought I recognised her. And was it you she was with? I’m sorry, I only saw you from the back, but the hair…’

  ‘That was me,’ Alicia confirmed.

  ‘It’s such a small world,’ he joked, ‘here we are, we already have two people in common, Antonia and the vet. Who knows where it might end?’

  Laughing, she said, ‘Who indeed?’

  It wasn’t until she was standing watching him cross towards the old bank where he’d left his car parked, that she realised she hadn’t taken his number. Her first instinct was to go after him, but he knew how to get hold of her, so rather than appear too eager she turned back into the shop, smiling warmly to herself. This unexpected boost to her spirits was so welcome that she wanted to believe it was life’s way of showing her that luck could change. It didn’t all have to be about loss and struggle, husbands dying too young and sisters-in-law who belonged in hell. Sometimes good things happened, and she couldn’t help thinking that Cameron Mitchell showing up out of the blue like this was very good.

  ‘Annabelle, I want you to help me with this please,’ Sabrina called from Annabelle’s bedroom. Throwing back the sheets, she got to her knees to inspect under the bed. ‘My God, how long has this been here?’ she demanded, her lip curling in disgust as she dragged out a plate of mouldy food with an encrusted knife and fork and clusters of fluff attached.

  ‘Just leave it,’ Annabelle snapped from the bathroom.

  ‘This place is a pigsty and I want it cleaned now, today,’ Sabrina told her sharply. ‘Rhoda’s refusing to come in here, and I can’t say I blame her.’

  ‘I like it this way, and it’s my room so I’m the one who gets to say how it is,’ Annabelle shot back.

  Choosing not to get into such a f
atuous argument, Sabrina continued picking up clothes and shoes, magazines, old tissues, dropped make-up, remote controls for the endless electronic gadgetry and a revolting assortment of sweet and crisp bags. ‘Do you ever put any of this stuff in the waste basket?’ she demanded. ‘Or the washing machine?’ she added, holding up a badly creased pair of white jeans smeared with lipstick and heaven only knew what else.

  ‘No, I just buy new when I need to,’ Annabelle replied, coming into the room in a thin silky wrap. She had a towel wrapped around her head and her toes were padded with cotton-wool puffs while the scarlet varnish dried.

  ‘You’re not funny,’ Sabrina told her.

  ‘Who’s joking?’

  Looking at her, so young and pretty and unbearably full of herself, Sabrina was about to launch into another dressing-down over the way she’d defied her and gone to the party on Saturday, when a depressing sense of weariness sank into her bones. They’d only end up screaming at one another, and they’d done so much of that over the last few days that she couldn’t face it again. So, turning to strip back the bed, she began bundling up the sheets. ‘I’m half afraid of what I’m going to find in here,’ she commented seriously.

  ‘Could you just go now?’ Annabelle said, sitting down in front of the mirror. ‘I need my privacy…Oh no, hang on, could you help me with some waxing? I can’t do it myself, it hurts too much.’

  ‘You should come with me to the salon at Babington and get it done properly,’ Sabrina told her. ‘I’m going on Friday. I can book you in if you like.’

  ‘Cool. Are you having a Brazilian?’

  Sabrina’s eyebrows rose. ‘I might.’

  Annabelle grinned at her in the mirror. ‘Bet Robert gets really horny when you…’

  ‘Don’t go any further with that,’ Sabrina cut in. ‘I’m not discussing my love life with you, especially not in that sort of language.’

  Annabelle shrugged. ‘Whatever,’ and peeling off the towel she began brushing out her hair. ‘Can I borrow some of your Leonor Greyl stuff?’ she asked. ‘It makes your hair really shiny and soft.’

  ‘If you were going somewhere special the answer might be yes, but it’s too expensive for everyday use, particularly in the heat when you’re wearing your hair up anyway.’

  Rolling her eyes, Annabelle squirted a large ball of John Frieda mousse into her hand and began smoothing it into her hair. ‘Phone’s ringing,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you, I can hear. Right, I’m taking this lot down to the laundry room,’ Sabrina said, scooping up the towel Annabelle had dumped on the floor and plonking it on top of the sheets. ‘I shall expect this room to be properly cleaned before you go out, or you won’t be going.’

  Waiting until the door had closed, Annabelle muttered ‘Fuck off,’ and began rummaging around for her mobile.

  ‘Hey,’ she said, when Georgie answered. ‘Are you having a weepy Wednesday?’

  ‘A bit,’ Georgie answered dolefully. ‘How about you?’

  ‘The same. We need some more E.’

  ‘Or weed, or anything.’

  ‘Are you still up for going to Clark’s Village later? Shopping usually cheers us up.’

  ‘OK. Actually, I need to get something for the rave, because I’ve got absolutely nothing to wear.’

  ‘Me neither. So how are we going to get there?’

  ‘I’ll ask my mum if she’ll take us, if yours can bring you here. Oh, by the way, my parents are going to be away for the whole weekend of the rave, so you can come and stay here if you like.’

  ‘Brilliant. Count me in, but don’t let on to my mum that yours won’t be there, or she’ll start erupting again. She’s been on my case ever since I got back on Sunday about going to the party on Saturday night, stupid bag. It would do her head in if she thought I was going to the rave.’ Her eyes closed as they filled with a sudden rush of tears. Why did everyone always keep picking on her? It wasn’t fair, she was only doing the same as all her friends, but her mother, being the narrow-minded uptight control freak she was, who didn’t really give a damn about anything anyway, had to keep going on and on like she was talking to some kind of delinquent. God, it made her sick. ‘Actually, I was thinking,’ she said shakily, ‘I might call Nat to find out what he’s doing tonight.’

  ‘Do you have his mobile number now?’

  ‘I can call the house. If Alicia answers I’ll just hang up.’

  Georgie was sounding dubious. ‘I know you’re not going to want to hear this,’ she said, ‘but I really don’t reckon he’s interested. I mean, he had a perfect opportunity at the party…’

  ‘Yeah, and if we’d been on our own…’

  ‘He could have taken you somewhere…’

  ‘It wasn’t his house so…’

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ Georgie interrupted, and covering the mouthpiece she shouted, ‘I’m up here. OK. I’ll be down in a minute,’ and coming back on the line, ‘What were we saying?’

  ‘We were talking about Nat, and I’m telling you he is interested, or why would he have come over to talk to me?’

  With a sigh, Georgie said, ‘Whatever. Let me know how it goes if you do call, otherwise I’ll see you here about two.’

  After ringing off Annabelle tossed the phone on the bed and went out on to the landing. ‘Mum!’ she yelled.

  No reply.

  ‘Mum.’

  ‘I’m on the phone,’ Sabrina said, coming into the hall.

  ‘Sorry. Can you give me a lift to Georgie’s in about an hour?’

  ‘Hang on,’ Sabrina said to the caller. ‘Provided your room’s finished,’ she told Annabelle.

  ‘Ugh,’ Annabelle snorted, and spinning round she slammed the door behind her and began stuffing everything on the floor into wardrobes or under the bed, or behind the drapes. Then, opening a drawer, she scooped all her make-up and perfumes off the dressing table into the tangle of underwear inside, before turning on the hairdryer to blow the remaining dust and debris on to the floor, out of sight. She then dried her hair, taking less care than usual, because, as her mother had pointed out, she was wearing it up a lot lately; ringed her eyes in black kohl, and tugged a short blue halter-neck dress from the back of the wardrobe. Lastly, she laced a pair of Roman sandals around her ankles and stood in front of the long mirror to admire her reflection.

  Not bad. She looked at least eighteen, and her tan was really starting to show now. To view the contrast of her white bits she raised the hem of her dress and felt a sharp bite of wickedness as she gazed at her own nudity. She’d love to go out with no panties on, it would give her such a kick. Just imagine if the wind blew as a lorry went past, or if she bent over in a café and some bloke was sitting behind her. He’d get a real eyeful and she could pretend she had no idea he was watching.

  Deciding to pop a thong in her bag in case she felt like putting one on later, she sank down on the bed and picked up her mobile. As she scrolled through the numbers the urge to cry swept over her again, the way it had all morning, and turning into her pillow she began to sob. She wished Robert would come home and do something to make everything all right again. Her life was horrible, everything was wrong. She wanted to run away with Nat, whose father was dead, and it wasn’t fair. He didn’t deserve to lose his dad, no one did, and as more waves of wrenching despair came over her she pressed her face harder into the pillow. She hated being rejected. It really sucked, but she wasn’t exactly sure that was what had happened on Saturday night, because she couldn’t properly remember now. She knew she’d said something about his dad, but she’d only been trying to be nice. Anyway, she knew he wanted her really, he was just playing hard to get, or pretending to be faithful to his stupid girlfriend. Once she got him alone she knew everything was going to happen the way she wanted it to, because men were all the same – all they ever wanted was sex, and since Nat had been dead keen to do it with her before, she couldn’t see any reason why he wouldn’t want to now.

  Finally reaching for her phone again, she used a
hand to wipe away the tears, and once she was sure she’d shaken off some of the gloom inside her she pressed in his number.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘Can you get that?’ Alicia said, as the main phone started to ring in the kitchen. Her hands were sticky with orange and strawberry juice as she chopped fruit to make a salad.

  Tilting his chair back from the table where he was using Alicia’s laptop to send emails, Nat reached for the cordless on the counter top behind him. ‘Hello, Alicia Carlyle’s personal assistant,’ he announced.

  As Alicia turned round he winked, then his humour faded as the voice at the other end said, ‘Hey. It’s Annabelle.’

  He said nothing.

  She took a breath. ‘I was wondering if you’re free tonight, I thought maybe we could…’

  ‘I’m not,’ he broke in.

  ‘… play some draughts.’

  He let a silence run.

  ‘So, do you want to change your plans?’ she said huskily.

  ‘No,’ he replied, ‘but thanks for calling,’ and he rang off.

  ‘Who was that?’ Alicia asked, going to rinse her hands.

  He shrugged. ‘Some telemarketer. Did you call Jolyon back to get a time for dinner on Friday?’

  ‘Yes, we’re meeting at eight, so we’ll have to leave here about six thirty. It’s quite a way up to Huntstrete.’

  ‘I’ll drive if you want to have a drink,’ Nat offered.

  She smiled and kissed the top of his head. He couldn’t know how much she’d need one to get her over the fact that they might be sitting at the very same table his father had once shared with Sabrina, or looking out at gardens where he might have strolled with her. More likely though, Craig and Sabrina had spent their entire time in one of the luxury suites, rolling around the bed, slick with sweat, breathless with lust, unable to get enough of one another, never sparing a thought for anyone but themselves.