Chapter 16
Friends’ connections, online dating, cocktail and dinner parties, evening classes, yoga and pilates sessions and especially art exhibitions. Now that Damien had flown, Anna intended to explore them all.
She started with an early morning trip to the National Gallery before the crowds descended. Exquisite in a white lace dress, her long dark hair tied up in a black velvet bow, she sat on a bench, gazing at Goya’s lush portrait of the actress Antonia Zarate.
And along came James, early fifties, just about sexy and still willing to have another shot after two divorces. Seeing the lovely Anna, he was ready to throw her a line and reel her in with an arty chat-up.
He settled himself next to her at a respectable distance and surreptitiously googled a quick critique of Goya’s painting on his mobile.
‘She’s very pretty, isn’t she?’ he said in his soft Welsh accent.
Anna gave him a coy glance and a sweet smile. ‘Are you talking to me?’ she said.
He moved a little closer to his target.
‘Yes, I am. I like to share my observations. Do you mind? Am I disturbing you?’
‘No, no, please carry on,’ she replied. He was quite attractive.
‘You see there’s something not quite right with her mouth.’ He squinted his eyes and stared hard at the lips.
She looked back at the portrait, whilst he glanced at his mobile and extended his pitch. ‘However, the eye’s instinct to auto-correct makes it right, but if you override this reflex, you can see that her mouth is faintly odd, like a brilliantly repaired harelip.’
As she turned back to him, he deftly slipped the phone into his pocket.
Anna didn’t understand a word of it, but was suitably impressed with his intellect.
‘Yes, you’re quite right. I would never have noticed if you hadn’t pointed out her imperfection. However, I think the flaw makes her more interesting,’ she said, and looked up at him with a hint of ‘try me’ eyes.
That’s it! He sensed the little spark, which he then expertly kindled with perfect timing. Names were exchanged and a meeting arranged for Wednesday, 7 p.m., after work.
***
They met at a bar off Baker Street.
‘What would you like to drink?’ he asked.
‘G&T for me, please,’ she said, sitting primly on a stool in a little pink suit matched with a pair of silver slingbacks that she’d found in the Oxfam shop on Finchley Road.
He had a beer and they moved to a booth.
James talked about his terrible marriages, golf trips to Spain and the flats he owned in Cardiff, while she nodded.
‘Bought them years ago with my business partner, Bob, who still lives there. Pain in the neck, really. The tenants aren’t exactly house proud. There’s always a flood in one of the bathrooms or an electricity short. But the properties were cheap and at least Bob can sort things out. Can’t say I miss Wales.’
‘I haven’t been there myself,’ she said, ‘but I’ve heard that some parts are beautiful. And all those marvellous Welsh singers.’
But James didn’t hear her. Just ploughed on as if she wasn’t there.
‘I was a bright lad,’ he reminisced. ‘I should have gone to university, but my dad wanted me to run the business – removals. We did a lot of top jobs. Transporting antiques and artwork from stately homes to London and abroad. Then Dad died and I was left to carry on. I married a couple of disasters on the way and finally, after running the business for another ten years, I jacked it all in. To tell you the truth, I was bored stiff.’
Not as bored as I am . Anna’s hand had gone to sleep propping up her head.
‘So I bought the properties and moved up to London,’ he droned on.
When was he going to ask her if she wanted another G&T?
He paused and looked at her glass.
Oh good , she thought. At last .
But, no, he hadn’t finished.
‘Things are better now. I like living in London, got a flat in Bayswater, which is quite convenient for getting around. But I like to think if I had my chance again, I would have gone to art school. In fact, I sold a few of my paintings at local fairs… Anyway… how about you?’ he finally asked.
His sudden interest jolted Anna out of her trance.
‘Well, to be honest, there’s not much to say about me.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘It’s getting late and I really should be going.’
‘Well, it was good to meet you,’ he said. ‘Do you want to visit the ladies first?’
‘No, it’s okay.’
‘That’s good, a bladder like a camel.’ Couldn’t he see that she was desperate to leave?
Maybe if she took a taxi, she’d be back in time to see her favourite show, Someone Like Us , a programme about ordinary people who had secret habits like shoplifting and stealing deliveries left outside houses.
‘Sorry, I really have to go. I have a dinner appointment,’ she said.
And on she went, eager to meet the man who would whisk her off to Sardinia and treat her like a precious jewel.
But no one came. Nothing changed.
Until that Monday…