‘I see. Hello. I don’t think I know James.’ That wasn’t a surprise given that a lot of averagely friendly people didn’t know their neighbours in cities, and James seemed a lot less friendly than average.
‘He owns the flat but I’m going to be living there for the next few months. I was wondering if I could ask an enormous favour. Could I borrow a hairdryer, if you have one? And maybe you’d like to come over for a cup of tea in the next few days?’
‘I’m Anthony. I live here alone.’ He put his hand out and Cassie shook it. ‘Great to meet you and yes to both. How nice to have a friendly neighbour.’ Exactly. Unlike James.
A reply from James came through as she was going back into the flat. He’d had new bed linen and towels delivered to the island and had presumed she’d do the same for herself in London. And he recommended a café called Luigi’s. He didn’t mention the appliances.
Cassie hadalreadybought expensive new bed linen for James and had nearly broken her back making all the beds in one morning. Hard not to find that annoying.
It was what it was, though. There was nothing she could do about it now, other than go shopping this afternoon, and for now go and check out James’s café recommendation.
Luigi’s was quite near Notting Hill Gate Tube station, but on a side road out of the way of all the bustle. Inside, it smelled deliciously of warm bread and pastries.
Cassie sat at a table in the corner, next to the windows, with a herby squash and chickpea salad, some very moreish olive bread and her Kindle. James was right; the food was great. And the café was great too. She had an excellent view of passers-by and the pastel-painted terraced houses opposite. This would be a great place to work with her laptop.
Right now, it was very relaxing sitting here, reading a little, watching the world go by, reading again. This was something you didn’t get on an island where you knew everyone. By the time she was eating a delectable raspberry tart for pudding, she had the sensation that she was on an enjoyable weekend city break. London was great, and the flat was extremely clean and well furnished – ignoring the sofas – and in a great location. She’d probably been too harsh on James.
* * *
Five, literallyfive, hours later, after trips to the supermarket and a department store, and a nightmare journey back on the Tube grappling with an enormous duvet box and pillows as well as the sheets and towels, she was standing in the bedroom in the flat, sweating – actually sweating – from trying to get the bloody sheet onto the incredibly heavy mattress, and she knew that she hadn’t been harshenoughabout James.
Making the bed wasn’t going to work. She’d bought a fitted sheet, obviously, because she wasn’t a masochist and she didn’t want to be ironing sheets, but it did not in fact fit. She’d definitely bought the right size, but the sheet wasn’t going on, because the mattress was deeper than the seams on the sheet. She got her phone out. And Google confirmed that there was such a thing as an extra-deep mattress, for which you needed extra-deep sheets. Maybe,maybe, Jamescouldhave bloody mentioned,knowingthat she was going to be buying bed linen, that she needed deep ones.
She really wanted to say something to him. She shouldn’t. Sod it, she was going to. She was really tired and, yes, she felt cranky. She sent him a quick text. And immediately regretted it. It was easy to forget to mention things.
The doorbell rang as she was staring at the ‘deep fitted sheets’ page of the John Lewis website.
A tall, blonde woman was standing outside the door. Her clothes were conservative and expensive-looking: navy narrow-legged trousers and a navy silk top, with a cream jacket. She was beautiful but definitely suffered from ‘resting bitch face’. Unless she’d arranged her features like that purposely.
‘Are you the cleaner?’ She really did not look friendly. Cassie hoped she wasn’t a neighbour.
‘Nope. I’m living here for a few months.’
‘What?’ Now the woman had a moving bitch face. ‘Where’s James?’ She didn’t wait for an answer but pushed past Cassie, through the hall and straight into the sitting room.
Cassie followed her in, fast. ‘Excuse me. James has moved out. He left last week and I’m now living here.’
‘Nonsense. Where is he?’ Wow. The woman’s voice was trembling and, from the looks of her screwed-up face, it was with anger.
‘It isn’t nonsense. He doesn’t live here at the moment.’ Why was Cassie engaging with her?
‘What? Where the helldoeshe live?’
‘I don’t know.’ Cassie didn’t want to be giving her own address to this woman. ‘James has moved out and I’ve rented the flat. I’m sorry but could you leave?’ Seriously. So ridiculously British of her. The woman had barged in and was swearing at her, and Cassie was using the wordsorry.
She’d definitely been too British about things. The woman wasn’t moving towards the front door; she was walking towards the bedrooms. And flinging doors open.Wardrobedoors. She was literally searching the flat.
‘Please stop,’ Cassie said. This was awful. Normal life didn’t prepare you for a seemingly deranged woman hunting through the flat you’d just moved into. She had no idea how to stop her.Nowthe woman was riffling through the piles of John Lewis bags Cassie’s new bed linen and towels were in, like any kind of remotely average-sized man could be hiding under them. ‘I’m sorry but I’m going to have to call the police if you don’t leave.’ The police.Security. Cassie had a buzzer. ‘And security.’ She was already on her way over to the button.
Henry answered immediately and told her he’d be straight up.
He was fast. The woman was still checking out the study when he arrived, while Cassie stood in the hall saying, completely ineffectually, ‘Will you please stop that?’
Henry got the woman out of the flat in well under a minute and then knocked on the door and put his head round it when Cassie said, ‘Hi, Henry, thank you.’
‘I can only apologise,’ he told her. ‘She must have got past me when I was signing for a delivery.’
‘Do youknowher?’
