by Page, Sophie
Lottie cast the last bit of newspaper on to the floor, yawned, and said, ‘You can’t beat a lazy Sunday with an old mate. What do you want to do this evening? Telly, a movie or a DVD?’
Bella looked up from the last colour supplement she was leafing through. ‘Whatever. Don’t ask me to make decisions.’
‘DVD then. Something with a happy ending.’
‘Sounds great. I suppose I ought to call my mother, too. This should be late enough for her.’
Lottie gave a crack of laughter. ‘Too right, even if she danced till dawn.’
‘She’ll probably have an early night, though. So I’d better move sharpish before the window of opportunity snaps shut.’
Bella went to retrieve her shiny new mobile from her beside table. Then remembered she had put it in the bag Lottie had lent her last night. After turning over all the various piles of clothes in her room, she found the bag under the bed.
She took it back into the living room. ‘Sorry, Lotts, I forgot. I should have given this back to you this morning.’ She emptied it out and retrieved her lipgloss, the cab company’s card, her running away money, even a scrunched-up handkerchief.
There was no phone.
‘Oh, hell! I must have lost it.’
Lottie was calm. ‘Problem of being plastered in a new place,’ she said tolerantly. ‘Walk me through what you did when you came home last night.’
They went to the front door and did the whole action-rewind thing. It was no help. Bella had not put the phone down on the hall table, with her keys. She had not left it tucked into the pocket of Lottie’s coat. She had not even taken it into the bathroom with her and put it in the bathroom cabinet, which Lottie said that she herself had done several times.
‘Damn. It’s got all my numbers in it,’ said Bella, furious with herself.
‘OK. When did you last use it? I mean, you called the minicab, right? What did you do after that?’
Bella bent her mind to the problem. Her memory was hazy but she was almost certain that she had called the cab before Silk Shirt appeared. ‘I suppose I might have left it on the table in the courtyard,’ she said doubtfully.
‘That’s easy then. I’ll call them.’
‘Actually, they might be miffed. I did leave a bit of a mess in the courtyard,’ said Bella uneasily.
‘Well, I don’t suppose they’ll have dusted for fingerprints. If they ask, I’ll just deny all knowledge. I’ll call. You have another look in the bedroom.’
But their hosts had not found a phone. And, even though Bella stripped the bed back to the undersheet, it was nowhere in her bedroom. Then Lottie called the minicab company, while Bella, reminded, put fresh sheets on the bed and hovered up the twiggy fallout.
The minicab company hadn’t found it either but the car Bella had taken home was presently on another job. They promised to check and call back if they found it.
‘Only one thing for it,’ said Lottie. ‘We call your phone and see if someone answers.’
She did.
And someone did.
‘Hello? Who is this? I think … What?’ Pause. ‘Er, no, not me. It’s my friend’s phone. Maybe you should talk to her.’
Lottie handed the phone across to Bella with a very odd expression on her face. She went into the kitchen, closing the door behind her ostentatiously.
‘Hello?’ said Bella, puzzled.
‘Who is this?’
Even through a cheap mobile’s tinny reception, Bella knew those dark brown tones. She looked down at her bare toes and saw they were curling into the rug with appreciation.
‘Um – me.’ It came out in a squeak. She cleared her throat, tried to imagine a gargle, tried to imagine she was speaking slowly and clearly to someone who didn’t understand English very well, and tried again. ‘I mean, Bella Greenwood. We met last night and you’ve got my phone. Hello.’
‘I thought it was probably yours.’ Oh, yes, it was him all right, that hint of laughter in the smoky voice. Her toes wriggled.
‘Er – really? Why?’
‘Pink and sparkly, covered in ivy, just a bit battered.’
‘Oh.’
‘It’s a compliment,’ he assured her. ‘How many people do you know whose mobile phone is completely unmistakable?’
Bella cheered up a little. ‘Well, if you put it like that—’
‘I do. Now,’ he said briskly, ‘how are we going to get it back to you?’
‘Are you in London? Could I possibly collect it?’
There was a silence. She thought: damn, I shouldn’t have said that. He’ll think I’m angling for a date. And now he’s trying to let me down lightly. Ouch!
She went into delete mode. ‘From your office, maybe? I mean, we don’t have to meet in person. I could just drop in, if you left it with Reception. If you have a reception desk, that is. Or you could have it couriered to me here. I’d pay, of course. Can you tell them to collect the cost from me …’ Oh, God, she was burbling.
But he interrupted. ‘Do you jog?’
‘What?’
‘Jog. Run. Exercise.’
‘Oh, jog. No.’
‘Ah.’ He seemed to be thinking. ‘Look, do you know Battersea Park?’
‘I suppose so,’ she said, puzzled.
‘I’ll be running there tomorrow morning. Meet me on the bridge over the lake at … let’s say, ten to eight.’
‘Bridge over the lake. Right.’ Bella couldn’t remember a bridge and had only the haziest recollection of a lake. But there had to be a map somewhere that showed it.
‘I’ve got a really full schedule tomorrow. I may not be able to wait, if you’re not there.’
Bella stiffened. ‘Wouldn’t it be simpler just to put the phone in the post?’ she said frostily.
‘But then I wouldn’t get to see you again,’ he said, redeeming himself a bit. ‘No, let’s try to meet up tomorrow. If we don’t manage to meet, then I’ll have it sent round. Give me the address.’
She did and he rang off. Bella took the phone back to Lottie.
‘Thanks.’
‘Asked your address this time, did he?’
‘I thought you weren’t listening.’
Lottie gave a naughty grin. ‘Didn’t need to. Dream Girl.’
‘What?’
‘That’s what he called me when he thought I was you.’
Bella could feel herself blush, and glared at her friend. But Lottie was unrepentant. She looked knowing. ‘So where’s he taking you?’
‘He isn’t,’ snapped Bella, and banged off to call her mother, without telling Lottie one single thing more.
Lottie wasn’t a morning person. She still hadn’t surfaced by the time Bella let herself out of the flat the next day. So she didn’t have to lie about where she was going. She wasn’t sure that she would have lied, if Lottie had been up and feeling nosy. But she was really glad that she didn’t have to decide.
It was a crisp morning, with a heavy dew making the grass sparkle in the garden squares. But when the sun came up, it was dazzling, hitting her straight between the eyes again. After yesterday, though, she had come prepared. She fished sunglasses out of the pocket of her borrowed coat and marched stoutly over Chelsea Bridge.
It took her longer to get to the park than she had expected and the bridge wasn’t easy to find once she got there. It turned out to be reached via a smallish path, overhung by evergreens. By the time she finally found it, her watch said it was after eight. So maybe he wouldn’t still be there, she thought, remembering his warning. Her first instinct was to break into a run.
Then she thought of another of Georgia’s maxims: a lady may be late but she is never rushed. Bella laughed out loud and slowed down, thinking: what the hell? He’s probably gone. And if he hasn’t – well, given the disasters when we met, I’m not rushing up all pink and panting the second time he sees me. Granny Georgia, she felt, would be proud.
But still she strode out briskly. And when she arrived, he was there.
&n
bsp; Or, at least, she thought it was him. Bella couldn’t be absolutely sure. Tall man, running on the spot, navy blue jogging pants and hooded sweatshirt, wearing wrap-around shades. She frowned, trying to impose a silk shirt and wicked laughter on that lithe figure in the early morning sun. Was it? Wasn’t it?
And then he saw her and she had her answer. He broke into a great grin and jogged down the path to meet her.
‘You made it!’
‘Hi,’ said Bella. Now they were face to face she found she felt awkward. Did they shake hands? Kiss on the cheek? High five?
He had no such hesitation. He gave her a big hug.
‘Nrrgh,’ said Bella, winded. Though it wasn’t just the bear hug that was making her breathless.
He steadied her – for which she was grateful; her head was definitely swimming a bit – and let her go.
It didn’t make any difference. Even through Lottie’s coat and woolly gloves, his touch made her tingle. Bella shivered involuntarily.
‘You’re cold. Come on, let’s walk.’
She fell into step beside him. Actually, that was a bit of an overstatement. He strode out and she kept up by means of a sort of skip step every few paces. She was not a short woman but he was so much taller that he naturally outpaced her. It wasn’t comfortable.
‘When did you find your phone had gone?’
She told him about Lottie and retracing her steps through the flat. She didn’t tell him Lottie was not going to forget him calling her ‘Dream Girl’. After all, this could be the last time they met, he might never call her that again, so it wouldn’t matter, would it?
‘And how are you? No ill effects?’
‘From the champagne or the low-flying pot plants?’ And Bella told him about her morning-after scorpion scare.
He laughed so hard he actually stopped walking for a moment.
Grateful, so did she. He’d set a punishing pace and she had been racing along even before that. She was aware of the beginnings of a stitch in her side.
‘You’re a joy,’ he said when he could speak. ‘A total joy. I’ve never met anyone like you.’
‘Just accident-prone.’
‘Creatively accident-prone. You must have a very rich inner life. Scorpions!’ And he was off again, laughing helplessly.
‘Well, until about five days ago, scorpions were a clear and present danger for me,’ Bella pointed out.
‘I’d forgotten that. Has it been difficult for you, readjusting?’
They had started to walk again.
‘Not difficult exactly. But – well, I keep feeling I’m out of step, you know? I looked at a magazine in the hairdresser’s and didn’t know half the celebrities in it. I mean, I just didn’t recognise them.’
‘You’re a celebrity watcher?’ He sounded incredulous.
‘Not particularly. But they’re everywhere, aren’t they? If you watch TV or read a newspaper, anyway. And, for nearly a year, I haven’t.’
‘Oh, right. Culture shock.’
‘And how! I’ve got out of the habit of living with lots of people. I nearly freaked when I went shopping on Saturday. And as for the party … that’s why I retreated into the courtyard. All those people were doing my head in.’
‘Sounds reasonable to me.’
‘Yes, well—’ Bella felt suddenly shy. She’d told him all about making a prat of herself over Francis, for heaven’s sake. As if he were an agony aunt, instead of a sexy guy at a party. ‘You were very kind.’
He stopped. ‘Kind? No. Call it fellow feeling.’
She searched his face. He seemed to mean it but …
‘Why?’ she said doubtfully. ‘Have you done the year away thing?’
‘No. Or rather, yes, I do it all the time. I travel a lot, you see. Abroad, mostly. When I come back, everyone expects me to get off the plane and start right on trucking, like nothing’s happened. Because, of course, nothing has – to them.’
He travelled a lot? Banker? International lawyer?
Before she could ask, he said, ‘It’s disorienting. Well, it disorients me. And it can make you feel really lonely.’
‘Lonely,’ she echoed. ‘Yes. Yes, that’s it.’
‘You’re not the person they knew, that’s the trouble.’
‘Ain’t that the truth? A year ago, I’d have shopped till I dropped. And danced all night.’
He grinned and started to walk. ’It will come back. People don’t change fundamentally.’
‘Do you think?’ She was doubtful. ‘Never?’
‘Not in my experience.’
It didn’t sound like that experience had been good. Bella looked at him sharply, but those massive shades hid his expression and he didn’t say anything more.
‘Well, I hope I at least get my phone habit back,’ she said brightly. ‘Lottie never moves without hers.’
‘Oh. Yes.’ He rummaged in the pocket of his hooded jacket. ‘Here you are.’
In the morning sun, the phone looked very sparkly and very pink.
‘Thank you,’ said Bella, faintly embarrassed. ‘I hunted everywhere for that yesterday.’
‘I was starting to think that you’d written it off.’
‘No way.’ She was horrified. ‘My life is in that phone. Or, at least, my life up to ten months ago.’
‘So why did it take you so long to call?’ he asked curiously.
She almost said: because I had to call my mother and I didn’t want to think about it. But you don’t have conversations like that at 8.30 in the morning while striding round a public park. So she said vaguely, ‘Oh, life started happening.’
Through the autumn trees she could see a brisk breeze ruffling the waters of the lake. They were walking through an overgrown part of the park and a man in a tweed cap and Barbour was peering through the bushes at the ducks on the lake, stamping his feet and slapping his gloved hands together. His breath was like a puff of smoke in the cold air. So was Bella’s, when she looked.
She pointed out, ‘Isn’t there a café by the lake? We could get a coffee.’
‘Won’t be open yet,’ he said firmly, though she had the impression that he would have said no anyway. ‘We just need to step out briskly. That’ll warm you up.’
And she was back to a straight choice between trotting to match his pace or breaking into a hop, skip and a jump to catch up with him every few yards. It was not conducive to conversation. And that stitch in her side was threatening again. She stopped dead.
‘Look,’ she said to his back, ‘I told you, I don’t jog. What’s the point of tearing round the place like this? Can’t we go somewhere and just, well, talk a bit?’
He turned those mask-like shades on her for a thoughtful moment. Then he said, ‘Talk? OK. Let’s go this way.’
Coffee, thought Bella. Maybe even hot buttered toast. She worked hard not to dribble at the prospect.
He turned out of the overgrown path, past a grove of what looked like giant banana plants, towards a big, open ride with a Dickensian lamp-post on one corner. There were more people here: mothers taking children to school and walking dogs at the same time; purposeful joggers; and even more purposeful people walking as part of their journey to work. You could tell them by the briefcases, headphones and grim jawlines. A couple of rollerbladers swooshed past, too fast for Bella to make out whether they had briefcases or, worse, school uniforms.
‘Here,’ he said.
And, grabbing her hand, he ran her through the pushchairs and dog walkers, up the long path, into the middle of the big central circle and then up the steps of the large, deserted bandstand.
The bandstand?
He dropped her hand and strode over to the wrought-iron railing, beaming. Bella took her sunglasses off and stared at him in disbelief.
He turned. ‘What?’ he said, plainly surprised. ‘You wanted to talk. You said you did.’
‘Not,’ said Bella with restraint, ‘to an assembled multitude. You look as if you’re about to make a speech.’
‘
What do you mean?’
She gestured helplessly. A group of women with pushchairs stood talking at the end of one of the paths. The man with the flat cap was reading a park notice. Half a dozen rollerbladers were doing circuits of the bandstand, whooping and cheering each other on. A spaniel lolloped after them, barking, its curly ears flying wide. Bella swung round, watching it all until it made her dizzy, and then she fell back against the ironwork balustrade beside him. If he’d rung a handbell, she thought, they’d all have gathered round and listened.
‘I was sort of hoping for a table in a corner somewhere and something hot to drink.’
He didn’t seem to hear. He was drumming his fingers on the ironwork, scanning the park as if trying to commit it to memory.
‘I like this place. It’s so full of life. People going about their own business, in the same way as they have for a couple of hundred years. Reminds me of pictures in our old children’s books in the nursery.’
Nursery? thought Bella. Sounded a bit grand. Or possibly grand-in-the-past, fallen-on-hard-times way, like Granny Georgia. Though Silk Shirt didn’t look as if he had a problem paying his clothes bill. On the other hand, she herself had gone to that party looking like a million dollars and it was all borrowed or second-hand from Oxfam.
She said abruptly, ‘Who are you?’
He looked down at her then. He seemed startled.
At once, she was flustered. ‘I mean, where do I write my thank you note for returning my phone?’
‘Oh, that. Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad to have got it back to you.’ He added wickedly, ‘In fact, very glad. My friends were starting to comment on my having a pink phone that I kept checking.’
Did that mean he had wanted her to call? Wanted to meet her again? Bella looked at him doubtfully. She had to narrow her eyes against the low sun. He did not take off his shades. It was hopeless. She could not read him.
And he still had not told her his name. Lottie was probably right. The man probably fancied a mild flirtation; an assignation that couldn’t get too heavy. Oh, well. No harm done, and at least she’d got her phone.
‘Well, I ought to be getting back,’ said Bella. She held out her hand. ‘Thank you for the seek-and-rescue service. My phone buddies and I are very grateful. Not to mention my mother.’