She walked towards a mannequin dressed in a beautiful, white-silk balcony bra and matching panties. As she felt the material between her fingers, a huge wave of sadness engulfed her. How could she ever feel sexy again, now? The constant fear of telling someone, if she hadn’t already, would be there, plus the fear of passing on the virus, or the doubts about what the other person might be thinking about her, even if they had taken it all on board.
In fact, would anyone ever find her sexy or attractive again?
Overcome with emotion, she aborted her present-buying mission. Keen to compose herself before meeting Jerico, she walked back down the street, engineering a loop through the King Edward Court shopping centre so she could get some sun on her face and try to clear her mind of this negativity.
Arriving early at the castle, she was amazed that she managed to get a space to sit on a bench near the impressive statue where they were to meet. She was just scrabbling around in her bag in panic because she thought she had forgotten her shiny new Nokia 8800, which was still a novelty to her, as it had so many different features, when a familiar voice greeted her.
‘So, my real life Queen Victoria – what kind of adventure shall we have today, then?’
Startled, Vic grinned, then stood up to an enthusiastic kiss on both cheeks from the handsome author, which caused her to flush slightly.
She noticed that Jerico Flint was a man who wore his longbeige shorts with the effortless style of a European. His predominantly green, patterned shirt brought out the emerald of his eyes, and his khaki-coloured fedora made him look like some kind of unassuming movie star. In fact, she saw a couple of Japanese tourists giving him a second look, as if they were wondering about him. Maybe they could sense the Vince Vaughn vibes, too, or had caught the same delicious whiff of expensive-smelling sandalwood aftershave that had just reached her on the breeze.
‘I’ve always wanted to meet someone here,’ Jerico enthused. ‘A bit like meeting someone under the Waterloo clock – it holds an element of mystery and romance, doesn’t it?’
Vic laughed and took on a dramatic tone. ‘Maybe pass on the Pitons then, for I have a new title for you. Once your donkeys are done with, of course.’ She raised her voice slightly. ‘I can see it now,Mr Pigeons and the Queen Victoria Statue.’
‘Love it already.’ Jerico threw his arms out wide. ‘An eccentric author meets a mysterious artist and they find themselves solving a murder that takes place in the chapel within Windsor Castle.’
‘As long as you’re not murdering me, then fine.’
‘Au contraire, dear girl,au contraire. Also, this is quite the statue. I had a little read-up about it last night. Did you know that it’s made of bronze and was erected in 1887 to mark the great monarch’s Golden Jubilee? The cost of it was covered by subcriptions from the people of Windsor and surrounding districts.’
‘A generous lot, us Windsorians, clearly. I didn’t know that, and I guess I really should, considering I was born here. And isn’t that always the way? I’ve only ever been around the castle twice, too.’
‘Are you hungry?’ Jerico suddenly enquired, above the babble of a group of Chinese tourists who had appeared out ofnowhere and started taking photos of the statue and the castle walls.
‘I can be.’ Vic smiled. ‘There are loads of places to eat around here.’
‘No, dear girl. I have taken the liberty of bringing us a picnic. We have a river and sunshine – why on earth would we want to sit inside with the stinking masses when we can be outside with nature?’
‘That backpack is like Doctor Who’s TARDIS,’ Vic laughed as Jerico pulled out a blanket, a bottle of wine in a clear chiller pack, plastic glasses and various Tupperware containers. They had managed to find a quietish area of riverbank down near her favourite bench. With swans for company and boats quietly meandering their way up and down the river, it really was quite idyllic. They sat down with their legs out straight towards the river bank.
‘I can’t take credit for anything, I’m afraid. The sausage rolls, mini quiches, mini pizzas and egg custard tarts are all from the posh deli near where I live.’ Jerico started to lay out all the goodies between them.
‘Which is where, exactly?’ Vic quizzed.
‘Bray, and that’s not a command for your best donkey impression.’
Vic laughed. ‘Very posh.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘Other than you living in a fancy village not far from here, all I know is that you write books about murders and dress like somebody out of a Dickension novel.’ She cocked her head. ‘No spectacles today, I see. Or maybe you are going to bring out a monacle in a minute?’ She smirked.
Jerico remained deadpan. ‘They are purely for show, but isn’t everything we wear on the outside, including ourselves? For show, I mean.’
‘Perhaps,’ Vic said, eyeing up the delicious-looking food as Jerico snapped the lids off the plastic tubs. ‘Oh, and also I heard that your dog died. I’m so sorry to hear that.’
Jerico suddenly looked intently at Vic with his deep emerald eyes, which she realised were watering with sadness. His dark lashes were longer than hers, and she noted, with a dart of alarm, that his shoulder-length raven hair made him a ringer for Nate – just an older, wiser version. And boy, did she fancy him.
‘Grief is the price we pay for loving, Queen V.’ His voice became animated. ‘Fat Frank was a joy. Better than any human I’ve ever known. I never knew to this day which mixture of breeds he was, or even how old. I found him wrapped in a blanket in a bus shelter one Christmas Eve. A label around his neck said, “Please love me like I deserve to be loved”.’
‘Aww.’ Thinking maybe she should try that for herself, Victoria put her hand to her heart.
‘Yes, my little boy. He had a bark as deep as Frank Bruno’s voice, hated exercise and I overfed him. But despite him being overweight, he lived a long and happy life, so put that in your healthy-living pipes, everyone. Maybe that’s the answer, Queen V: that happiness and dog treats are the key to longevity.’
‘I’ll stick with sausage rolls, for now.’ She wiped her mouth free of flaky pastry. ‘These are delicious.’
‘I really appreciate you meeting me today. I feel I’m on a writing roll. In fact, I think grief has turned me into a literary demon. I knocked this one out in three months. It’s with the editor – hence me having this delectable breathing space.’
‘Yes, I umm… I needed some breathing space earlier in the year too.’ The ever-wise Jerico gave her silence to expand if she wanted to. There was something about his expression and his manner that made it easy to open up to him; he felt safe. ‘Had a bit going on myself. I split from my fella of six years. It’s been tough.’ She sighed and suddenly spiralled into her thoughts. Should she tell him the real reason? Was Jerico Flint someone she could just could divulge her diagnosis to? She hardly knew him. And was this what her life was going to be like from now on? Was she supposed to live a lie, and in fear of how people would react if she did want to be honest? But why did he need to know, anyway? Their relationship wouldn’t change if he didn’t know. And maybe it wouldn’t if he did. But she liked him and didn’t want his thoughts of her to be any different to what they were now.
