. . . you don’t leave London?
I said I don’t like to ...
This was how she spent much of the early hours, replaying their conversation in her mind. It threw up as many questions as it answered. Why was he in London? How long was he staying? Did he want to kiss her, too, by any chance? It was at this latter thought that Lilly lay on her front, pushed her face into the pillow and beat her feet on the mattress until her excitement settled and she was able to breathe alittle easier ... All of this over a boy! She couldn’t wait to tell Bertie. Glenda, too. Glenda who now had a boyfriend, Norman Glaser, and they were officially courting. Norman seemed nice enough. He had a car, a navy-blue Ford Cortina with a wide chrome grille. This was evidently enough to impress Glenda, who seemed to ignore the fact that Norman rarely spoke and spent much of the time staring at the pale suede Hush Puppies on his feet.
‘He’s a bit quiet!’ Lilly had pointed out after he’d joined them in the Prince of Wales in Pimlico for a snifter after work.
‘That’s a blessing, Lil. You don’t want a chatterbox in your ear morning, noon and night, do you? It’d drive you mad! Kindness counts for a lot in my book, and even better if it comes from a quiet man, someone who’s calm, allows you to think.’
Lilly wasn’t so sure. But it wasn’t her who had to climb into Norman’s Cortina three times a week for him to drive her back to Enfield. Not her who excitedly sat in the passenger seat while they took a detour to Pymmes Park to neck under the moonlight. Not her who made sure she fixed her hair and smoothed her clothes before she walked into the house she shared with her parents, lest they see she had been acting inappropriately in the eyes of God. No, it was Glenda who had to do all that. Lilly was sure it was only a matter of time before Norman popped the question and Glenda could start picking out material for her bridesmaids’ dresses, choosing her white, white frock and selecting Pyrex from the shelves of Woolworths with which to start her collection.
Lilly had chosen her outfit carefully today: suede miniskirt, red knee-high leather boots, and her beaded smock top with the buttons undone to reveal the lacy lilac edge of her Cross Your Heart bra. She sat down, waved to the other side of the river and tried to settle, but it was hard to paint, difficult to concentrate when her actions were no more than a ruse, her paintbrush a prop. Even if the day had presentedthick fog and rain, making it impossible to see the water, and the damp had made her colours run, she’d still have been there, perched on her stool, with Aqua Manda scent dabbed on to her wrists and neck, just on the off chance that he might stop by,Wilkie ...
‘So, here we are again.’
His voice behind her, deliciously evocative and a thrill like no other – he was here! He was actually here! His tone slightly sarcastic and assumptive, as if they were mid-conversation, as if he, like her, might have been carrying on yesterday’s chat throughout the night, when alone, and conjuring images that she wouldn’t share with anyone, ever. Her gut bunched with pure delight! He was here! He was actually here!
‘So it would appear,’ she said over her shoulder, trying to sound cool while her stomach did somersaults.
‘How was your day?’ He sat on the wall as if they were better acquainted, neighbours, colleagues, friends even.
‘My day was’ – she paused – ‘great, actually.’
‘You sound surprised.’
‘I am. I love my job, which makes me very lucky, I know, but there are some days when I really love my job!’
‘And today was one of them,’ he chimed.
‘Yes, and today was one of them.’ She focused on her canvas, in case he saw in her eyes that part of the reason for such a splendid day was the prospect of seeing him.
‘What do you do for a living, if it’s okay to ask?’
‘It’s okay to ask. I’m not with MI5.’ She smiled at him.
‘Hmmm ... that’s the kind of thing someone who was with MI5 might say, just to throw me off the scent.’
She laughed out loud because the sun was on her skin, she’d had a brilliant day at work and now she was chatting to this man, who seemed ... interested. Interested in her, in everything.
‘And has it thrown you off the scent?’ She looked comically to the left and right, as if checking the coast was clear.
‘No. I’m on to you.’ He held her stare, which ordinarily would have been awkward or intimidating, but was neither. ‘So what’s your cover story, what “job”’ – he painted inverted commas in the air with two fingers of each hand – ‘do you tell people you have?’
‘I tell people I work in an art gallery, and that I get to sit among fabulous pictures all day and then I sit here and paint, just to make it look as convincing as possible.’
‘Well, I’m entirely convinced.’ He removed his leather satchel and placed it on the pavement, sitting back on the wall that edged the river, a sheer drop below of some twenty-odd feet, down to the foreshore, where she had spent her childhood mudlarking; she still had some of the treasures she’d found secreted away. ‘So what made today great, actually?’
She liked the sideways slant to his mouth; it was endearing, imperfect and unique. ‘We have a new exhibition, officially opening on Saturday, a very talented up-and-coming artist whose work is just lovely, layers of fabric and clay – textural and tonal, beautiful. Each piece changes with the light and, as you can tell, I’m rather taken with it, anyway,’ she breathed. ‘A couple came in earlier, just passing, and bought everything, every single piece! The artist is dizzy with delight, and my boss, the gallery owner – well, he’s probably already spent the very handsome sum, but that’s another story! Plus I get commission on everything I sell, so ...’ She bit her lip as excitement threatened to explode from her.
‘So will you still have an official opening? Is there any point if there’s nothing left to sell?’
‘Oh, gosh! It’s the absolute dream! When art lovers and collectors find out there’s nothing to buy they almost froth at themouth, wanting what they can’t have! The artist can take commissions and the value goes up – it’s remarkable!’
‘Ha! That is’ – he shook his head – ‘really exciting!’
‘It’s like discovering a new Lucie Rie!’ she gushed.
‘Well, that’s . . . that’s great.’
