“It’s you!”
Libby startled at a voice to her left. She spun round to see the elderly man in the faded velvet jacket sitting across the aisle.
“YouareLibby, aren’t you?” he said, looking suddenly concerned.
“I am. Hi, Frank.”
“I’m so happy I remembered you!” He grinned. “The old memory’s not so good these days, but I knew I wouldn’t forget that beautiful hair.”
“How are you?”
“Good, good. Have you been practicing drawing on the bus, like we discussed?”
Libby gave a wry laugh. “Funny you should say that. I did try once, but I’m afraid it didn’t go well.”
“What happened?”
“Well, I saw this striking-looking man and I remembered what you said, so I had a go at sketching him. But then I made the mistake of taking a photo so I could carry on with it later, and he caught me doing it.”
“Oh, no!”
“Yeah, he wasn’t impressed—I honestly thought he might kill me.”
“Oh, dear, some people can be so grumpy on the bus. But I hope you’ve tried again?”
“Eh...” Libby looked down at her lap.
“Come on, now, you can’t let one little incident put you off. What about the National Gallery? Have you been there yet?”
Libby shook her head. “Sorry. I’ve been busy looking after my nephew and...” She trailed off; he didn’t need to hear about her tragic life. “It’s so funny bumping into you again.”
Frank didn’t respond, and when Libby looked, he was staring out of the window, his attention fixed on the bus stop they were pulling up at. Libby could see his eyes scanning the passengers waiting to board. When the bus pulled off again, he turned back to her. “Sorry. What did you say?”
“I said I’m surprised to bump into you again.”
“Oh, I’m always on this bus. It’s practically my second home.”
“Where are you headed today?”
“Nowhere in particular.”
“Why are you on the bus, then?” Libby hoped she didn’t sound nosy, but there was something about Frank that she found fascinating.
“Oh, it’s silly, really.” He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, looking faintly embarrassed.
“No, go on, tell me.”
He studied Libby as if weighing something up. “I’m actually looking for someone.”
“Who?”
“A woman.”
Libby waited to see if he’d elaborate, but he didn’t say anything else. “Who is she, Frank?”
He smiled. “Ah, now, that’s a long story.”
“I’ve got time.” As she said it, Libby glanced out the window. They’d reached the bottom of Kentish Town and were turning right into Camden. She must have at least twenty minutes before she needed to get off the bus at the hairdresser’s. “Please, I’d love to hear the story.”
