Chapter 16 #2
Stella took in his revelation. Monsieur Corbières had always played his cards close to his chest, and although she suspected he had a story to tell, he never gave her much of a clue about his past. Even now, he didn’t give much away, except to reassure her.
Although, in fact, it made her more nervous.
‘I don’t know if I should be doing this,’ she said. ‘He belongs to another world, Mr C.’
‘He will make you his world,’ he replied.
Stella was startled by his vociferousness, his belief in the two of them.
She wasn’t sure he quite understood what she meant.
He was French, after all. He probably didn’t appreciate the English class system, and how hard it was to move from one to another, especially if you were trying to go upwards.
It rarely worked. Maybe they were more open-minded in France, but the English were snobs, and protected their stations in life as fiercely as they were now about to protect their country.
Everyone pulled together in times of adversity, but there were still rules.
Shop girls didn’t belong with posh boys, even if the posh boy was taken by the idea at the time.
Edwin might think himself smitten but, in time, the people around him would make life so difficult their relationship would crumble.
In which case, why was she putting herself through this, if she was so convinced it was doomed to failure? Monsieur Corbières’ words of earlier came back to her.
‘We have to live while we can,’ she told herself. This could be the first and last time she ever went out with Edwin. Who knew what would happen, either to him or to her, in the coming months?
‘Do you want to slum it?’ he asked her when he arrived. ‘Or push the boat out?’
She had no idea what either of those meant. After all, his slumming it was probably her idea of pushing the boat out.
‘What about something in between?’ she said.
‘Good idea,’ he said. ‘I’m not all that fond of hovering waiters and seventeen knives and forks. We’ll go to my new favourite place. It’s just opened and it’s rather fun.’
The restaurant was dark and wood-panelled with lots of tiny rooms leading into each other.
It was noisy and spirited and no one took any notice of them whatsoever as they were led to a table in a shadowy corner.
They ate goulash and potatoes roasted in goose fat and red cabbage.
The waiters were friendly and slapped everything on the table with aplomb and kept topping up their glasses with wine that made her completely forget her nerves.
Edwin was so charming, and funny, and attentive without being suffocating, that she completely relaxed.
‘This is as good as my dad’s beef,’ she said, prodding the melting chunks of meat with her fork. ‘I always know when people have cut corners, but this is first rate.’
‘That’s a great skill to have.’
‘I don’t have many.’
‘That’s not true,’ Edwin contradicted her. ‘Corbières says you’re a very good artist.’
‘Does he?’ She gaped at him.
‘And if he says you are, you must be. He’s very critical.’
‘He is,’ she said. ‘He makes me do things over and over. To the point where I never want to pick up a pencil or a paintbrush ever again.’
‘You’re lucky to be taught by him. He’s better than going to art school.’
‘But that’s my dream.’
‘Trust me. Stick with him and you won’t need to go. He was a very well-respected painter in Paris. His work went for a lot of money.’
‘What happened?’
Edwin sighed. ‘A woman. She betrayed him. He was painting her in his studio. They fell in love. Well, he thought they did. He lost his heart to her. But her real lover was a bandit. She let him in one night and they stole everything he had ever painted. He never saw her again.’
‘Oh, poor Mr C. That’s terrible.’
‘It broke his heart. He has never painted since. And he left Paris, convinced he was a laughing stock.’ Edwin looked genuinely pained.
‘He came to London and opened the shop. And if he finds someone he likes, he takes them under his wing. Teaches them everything he knows. And inevitably, they go on to be a huge success.’
‘Did he teach you?’
‘Sadly not. I discovered him too late. He says I’ve developed far too many bad habits for him to have any impact.’ Edwin laughed, then looked serious. ‘But you must stay learning with him. He is a wonderful teacher.’
‘Blimey.’ Stella took a sip of her wine, thoughtful. No wonder Mr C was so intense, so insistent that she re-do everything, so many times that she lost her judgement and couldn’t tell if what she was doing was better or worse. But he usually seemed pleased in the end.
‘I probably shouldn’t have told you all that.’
‘I won’t tell him you told me. But I understand him better now. He can be tricky sometimes.’
‘Oh yes.’
‘Though he’s always lovely to me.’
‘He thinks a lot of you.’
‘Does he?’
‘You should show me your work some day.’
‘Not yet.’ Stella laughed. She couldn’t imagine showing Edwin anything she’d drawn.
He was looking at her very intently. Her heart was bashing about inside her chest. She still couldn’t believe she was here with him.
He was unlike anyone she’d experienced. She’d had a few boyfriends but they bored her quickly, for they never seemed to want much from life apart from football and a few pints and the obvious, and they certainly didn’t want to talk about art or books or what else might be out there.
Going to a film was as exotic as it got, or maybe the dance hall on a Friday.
Edwin darted from topic to topic, and was interested in her thoughts and opinions. And he seemed genuinely interested in her.
‘What do you like to paint the most?’
‘Things that catch my eye. I like detail. I found an old sheep skull last time I went to the country. I loved drawing that. And my dad’s motorbike. I wanted to paint it so you could smell it. And people. I like painting people.’
He nodded. ‘Me too. Which is why I was pleased I got commissioned for the Underground thing.’
‘Oh yeah. By the way. You owe me for that.’
‘What?’
‘I usually charge two bob for a modelling session.’
‘I painted you from memory.’
‘I don’t care. It’s still me, so I reckon you owe me at least half a crown. Sixpence extra for not asking first.’
She couldn’t keep it up. She burst out laughing at the expression on his face. He looked completely flummoxed. When he realised she was joking, he laughed too.
‘Touché,’ he said. ‘I should have asked.’
‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘It’s bloody annoying when people come up to me.’
‘Don’t you like being sort of famous?’
‘I do not,’ she said. ‘I hate being the centre of attention.’
‘But people must look at you all the time.’
She was getting embarrassed now. She didn’t know what to say. She wanted him to stop staring at her like that. Yet at the same time she didn’t.
‘Let’s go,’ he said.
She nodded, her cheeks burning, and he looked over at the waiter and signalled for the bill.
She wondered what was going to happen next.
He led her out of the restaurant, taking her arm as he came around to her side of the table, and she wanted to melt into him, here and now.
Was it written all over her face, how she was feeling? Could everyone in the restaurant see?
The anticipation was a kind of blissful torture as he led her along Greek Street and into the shadowy silence of Soho Square.
A breeze rustled softly in the branches overhead and it sounded like the whispers of a hidden audience waiting to see what happened next.
A new moon hung over them, slashing the dark sky with its silvery crescent.
He stopped under a tree, turned, and leaned back against the trunk.
She was two feet away from him, unable to tear her gaze from his. Her heart was thumping.
‘Stella.’ He said her name like a sigh. ‘There’s something I must tell you.’
Instinct told her she wasn’t going to like it. ‘What?’
‘I’m engaged to be married.’
Of course he was. Why on earth had she thought he might be a free man?
‘Oh,’ was all she could say.
‘She’s called Meg and she lives in America and I won’t be able to see her until the war is over. We were supposed to be getting married this summer.’
It was like a punch in the guts. She wanted to take her fist and drive it into his stomach, so he could feel what she was feeling. ‘Why are you telling me this now?’
‘I can’t lie to you.’
‘Then why did you ask me for dinner?’ It was cruel, making her feel special, giving her a taste of what might have been.
‘It was honestly to say thank you. I knew you were spoken for, so I didn’t think anything of it …’
‘I’m not spoken for,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I wouldn’t have come out with you if I was.’
He turned this revelation over. ‘I didn’t think it would be like this.’
‘Like what?’ It was obvious what he was talking about. She could feel it, even now, despite herself, the electric thread of attraction.
‘You know,’ he said.
He went to touch her, but she stepped back.
‘Don’t touch me!’ she whispered. If he touched her, she’d be lost.
Silence hung heavy between them, for neither of them knew what to say, but neither could pull away.
‘We can still be friends,’ he said eventually. ‘I don’t want to lose you.’
She gave a snort of impatience. ‘What’s the point of that?’
She looked at his beautiful face, those green eyes, those treacherous lips.
She should have trusted her instincts. She should have listened to the voice in her head.
She’d let down her guard, and now she’d had a glimpse of something she would never be able to forget, and nothing would ever live up to it. What a fool.
‘Thank you for dinner,’ she said, staring right into his eyes without a smile, then, turning on her heel, she walked away.
Now, as Stella and Ted hurried along Lamb’s Conduit Street towards the shop, she recalled Monsieur Corbières’ fury the next day when she’d told him what had happened.
‘I had no idea,’ raged her employer. ‘He has never told me of a fiancée. I would never have let you go if I’d known.’
‘It’s not your fault, Mr C. And it doesn’t matter.’
‘I will box his ears.’
The little man was puce with indignation and she couldn’t help laughing at the thought of him trouncing Edwin, who was a good foot taller than he was.
‘Never mind. I’ll survive. But you can serve him next time he comes in.’
‘I will ban him from the shop.’
‘Don’t do that. He’s a good customer. And it was only dinner. He never made me any promises.’
She didn’t want him banned from the shop. She wanted to see him again, even if she couldn’t have him.
And here they were now, back at the place that had changed her life.
The shop looked just the same as it had done the day she had first gone in there, a hopeful young girl with impossible dreams. And it looked as if her dreams might be coming true, for today she had a meeting with Harriet Banham at a well-known publishing house.
‘Here we are, Ted,’ she said. The bell pinged as they stepped over the threshold, and there he was, Mr C, so much older, frighteningly so, but still with those bright eyes that missed nothing.
‘My assistant is here!’ he cried out in delight as Ted flung his arms around his waist.
‘I need to go,’ she said, knowing she was leaving her son in safe hands. ‘Or I’m going to be late. My appointment’s in twenty minutes.’
‘Vas-y!’ He waved his hand at her. ‘Off you go. Good luck!’
She headed out of the door, knowing that they would be lost in their own world while she was away.
The two of them were as thick as thieves when they were together, and she felt guilty that wasn’t more often, for Mr C was as close to a grandfather as Ted was ever going to get.
But after today, maybe things were going to change.