‘He’s a friend of Alexandra’s,’ she said, her voice a little higher pitched. ‘They met because they’re both antiques dealers. Alexandra does it in a very small way but David does much more of it. He has a stall at the Portobello Road Market.’
‘Oh, that sounds fun!’ said Hugo. ‘Have you ever been?’
Relieved that Hugo didn’t start to grill her about David, Lizzie smiled. ‘No, but I’ve said I’ll go with them and help them on their stall sometime.’
‘I often go there. I enjoy spending Saturday mornings looking for beautiful old things.’
‘And what do you buy?’ Lizzie imagined silver candelabra, Chippendale chairs, jewellery for Electra possibly.
‘Tools,’ said Hugo. ‘I buy old woodworking tools.’ He smiled. ‘Now, can I tempt you to some zabaglione? If you’ve never tried it, it’s delicious but not too heavy. In Italy they give it to you if you’re ill and need building up.’
‘That sounds delicious!’ And it was.
When they’d finished, Hugo paid the bill and they took a taxi home; Hugo made the driver wait while he saw her into the house and then sped away. Lizzie stood in the hall getting her emotional breath back. She knew the others would be downstairs, waiting to hear about her date with Rich. David would be pleased that she had been rescued from the Bad Boy by a gentleman who knew exactly how to treat a lady.
Chapter Eight
‘Are you sure you want to come to the market with us tomorrow?’ asked Alexandra later that night. ‘We start extremely early in the morning.’
‘I know,’ said Lizzie. ‘But I thought I’d like to experience it properly, and you don’t do the market every week, Alexandra.’
Alexandra nodded. ‘That’s true. I’ll wake you then.’
Lizzie breathed a secret sigh of relief. She didn’t want anyone to guess there was a slightly ulterior motive to her eagerness to get up before dawn and stand around in the chilly spring morning. But it appeared that no one had picked up that she was developing feelings for Hugo.
They couldn’t know that he enjoyed visiting Portobello Market and that was why she was so keen to be there. She wasn’t really willing to acknowledge these feelings herself. There was no point in having them after all; he was spoken for. With Electra as his girlfriend, why would he lookat her? She was just Elizabeth from the Home Counties in her home-made dresses. Her edgy haircut was beginning to grow out and, in her own gloomy opinion, her moment of being fashionable had passed.
It felt like being raised from the dead the following morning. ‘I’ve brought you some tea,’ said Alexandra. ‘But hurry, because David is ready to go now, more or less. I’m going in on the bus. There isn’t room for both of us in the Citroën. It’s a big car but it’s full of stock.’
Lizzie took a sip of tea. ‘OK.’ Her voice sounded as if she were still asleep.
‘Morning, Sleepyhead,’ said David when she appeared downstairs without having done more than pull on some clothes and brush her teeth. ‘Bless you for not dawdling. Now into the car. Bacon sarnies when we get there.’
The big French car, which had been parked somewhere else overnight, seemed to be nearer to the ground than usual, so heavily loaded was it. David had brought it round to the front of the house. Lizzie got in. She had her cloth bag containing a few essential items and put it on her knee.
‘Actually, it’s rather lovely being up before the rest of the world, isn’t it?’ she said as they drove through Hyde Park, which looked extra beautiful with dew on the grass and the spring flowers nodding in the breeze.
David nodded. ‘It’s the getting up that’s the hard part and that gets easier when you’re used to it.’
‘I feel fine now.’ She frowned. ‘Will Alexandra be OK on the bus?’
‘Of course. I’ve got her stock. It’ll take her longer to get there but she won’t mind.’
They sat in companionable silence for a while.
‘Well,’ he said after a few minutes. ‘Why are you so keen to experience the Portobello Road Market this early?’
Lizzie looked out of the window. She should have known David would sense she had a motive. ‘I just think it sounds fun, working on a market stall. Not a scary fruit and veg market or anything, but nice antiques.’ He didn’t answer so she blundered on. ‘It’s living with you and Alexandra. You’ve made me interested in old things.’
David laughed. ‘I won’t be offended by your reference to old things. And I promise you, even if we don’t have to call out our wares to passing trade, things can get heated if two people see the same thing at the same time and both want it. The dealers come first, and then later, the general public drifts in.’
‘What sort of people are the dealers?’
‘You’ll see. But it’s all sorts. You get the gentry, with their posh voices and no money. East End types who sound terribly “cor blimey” but really knowtheir stuff and who’ve done well. Housewives whose “little hobby” and fondness for going to auctions has got out of hand and turned them into experts in something or other. And a few who think it’s easy to make money out of antiques.’
‘And it’s not,’ said Lizzie. She knew this much already.
David sighed. ‘No. But if you get the bug, you love it and don’t care if it never makes you rich. Although of course, we’re all looking for the one thing that will make our fortune.’
