Chapter 1
So this was what it was like, Alfie thought. Falling in love. He was falling in love in the American Bar at the Savoy, on a powder-soft evening in spring, the delicate warmth of the April sun still clinging to the pavements, the clouds drifting away like theatre goers as night fell.
Later, he would shudder as he remembered how close he had been to leaving.
It was an engagement party, and he wasn’t keen on engagement parties.
They seemed superfluous and a little bit smug.
Tonight, everyone was drinking fast, and the air was thick with idle gossip, shrieks of laughter and a pall of cigar smoke.
He wasn’t in the mood. He’d have one more drink and hop it.
And then he saw her. She wore a black velvet beret on her dark curls, and on it was pinned a diamanté spider, a little flash of bejewelled wit that was quite at odds with her demure tea dress, and if Alfie was intrigued by anything, it was contradictions.
She was raking the crowd with her eyes, presumably working out if there was anyone there she knew, or liked, and then Alfie saw her eyes narrow as Johnny Mullinger bore down on her.
Johnny saw every woman in London as a personal challenge.
With raven hair and Malteser eyes, he was a practised seducer and rarely met resistance.
Alfie snatched up one of the cocktails lined up on the bar and swept across the room.
‘There you are, darling,’ he said, cutting right in front of Johnny and pressing the glass into the woman’s hand. ‘A French 75. Shall we go and sit down?’
She flicked a glance at Johnny, who was looking both thunderous and lecherous. ‘Just the ticket.’ She smiled at Alfie. ‘Thank you.’
And without another word she followed him to a nearby table and they both sat down, leaving Johnny to scowl and slink away with his hands in his pockets.
‘I knew the service here was good,’ she said. ‘But to have my favourite drink brought to me before I’ve even thought about what to order is quite something.’
‘Chin chin,’ he said in reply, and they clinked glasses.
He tried to work out what colour her eyes were.
He ran through the possibilities: sky was too light, navy too dark.
Teal too green; turquoise too bright. Petrol was a bit murky.
Was there a sea-blue? Though that wasn’t right either.
He should know, given that colour was in his blood, even if he was trying to avoid the family business and stay in London as long as he could.
Duty to Arbutus Paints would call in the end, and he would have to return to his beloved Somerset eventually, but in the meantime, there was fun to be had.
Sapphire, he decided in the end. Her eyes were like sapphires, deep and sparkling.
As he gazed at her across the table, he felt the same familiar warmth as when he rounded the final corner of the drive to Foxwood on a Friday evening, when the house stood square and splendid and welcoming in front of him, the windows ablaze, the front door ajar, the dogs quivering with excitement on the top step.
‘Do you have a name, by the way?’ she asked, breaking into his thoughts.
‘Oh. Gosh. Sorry. Yes. Of course. Alfie.’ How crass, not to introduce himself.
‘I’m Clementine,’ she said.
He wanted to say her name over and over again, to see how it felt in his mouth, but he said it once for now.
‘It’s very nice to meet you, Clementine.’
‘I need this,’ she told him, holding up her glass. ‘You won’t believe the day I’ve had. I only just stopped a client’s Pekingese from cocking its leg on our most valuable painting. Although, to be honest,’ she leaned into him, laughing, ‘some might say it would have improved it.’
He joined in her laughter, for it was infectious. Her voice was surprisingly gruff, and she struggled to pronounce her r’s: she had what his family had always fondly called a howwid wabbit. It was utterly entrancing.
‘So what do you do?’ He took a sip of his Martini, the icy molten silver stinging his lips.
‘I work for my half-brother. He’s an art dealer.
Benjamin Bell?’ She looked at Alfie to see if he recognised the name, but he shook his head.
He wasn’t going to give too much away just yet.
‘If I’ve told him once not to prop paintings up against the wall, I’ve told him a thousand times.
But he doesn’t listen, because I boss him about from dawn till dusk, poor thing. ’
‘Are you bossy?’ asked Alfie, who had known enough bossy girls in his time to know it wasn’t a quality he was looking for.
‘Dreadfully,’ she said. ‘But only with Ben, because he’s hopeless. I wouldn’t boss you about. Probably. You don’t look as if you need bossing.’
‘Only sometimes.’ He thought perhaps he wouldn’t mind her bossing him.
‘So how do you know the happy couple?’ Was there a hint of irony in her voice? There was certainly a glint of mischief in her eye.
‘I know Nigel from school. We were in the same house. You?’
‘I share a flat with Henrietta and another couple of girls. She’s a darling but she does bang on. She even talks in her sleep, you know.’
Alfie had met Henrietta a few times now. He liked her but she did talk too much. He wasn’t sure how Nigel put up with the constant monologue of non-sequiturs and information about people he’d never met mixed in with a barrage of instructions.
‘Does she?’ For a moment he imagined waking up next to Clementine. Finding her curled against him, warm and soft and smelling of that delicious scent, the one that was driving him mad wondering where he had smelled it before. Honeysuckle, he realised. The honeysuckle around the loggia at Foxwood.
‘So why haven’t I met you before?’ she asked, breaking into his day dream. ‘Where have Nigel and Henrietta been hiding you?’
‘I suppose I’m so busy with work I haven’t had time to socialise.’ It was true. Christmas and New Year had been frantic, and now they were gearing up for the onset of the summer season.
‘What do you do?’
‘I’ve got a business with another chap from school. Freddie Lambert? Do you know him?’ She shook her head. ‘It’s called Coupe. We started it as a bit of fun after National Service, but it’s taken off. We supply wines and spirits to balls and parties and weddings.’
‘That sounds great fun.’
‘Oh, it is. But it’s harder work than you think. A lot of shifting boxes around.’
‘It’s the same with art. Endless wrapping up of paintings and making sure they don’t get damaged.’
Was now the time to mention that he knew, only too well?
He didn’t want to sound like a know-it-all.
There was nothing worse. So he nodded and smiled.
But the connection cemented the draw he was feeling to her.
Few people he knew understood the world he had once been on the edge of.
He’d only had a glimpse inside, but it had been thrilling and exciting to a teenage boy.
For a moment, he imagined Edwin’s nod of approval at his companion. It spurred him on.
‘We’re thinking about getting our own shop,’ he told her. ‘With a cellar underneath. But it would be a big investment.’ He mustn’t talk about himself too much. ‘What about you? What kind of art do you sell?’
‘Contemporary. Young artists, mostly. Some of it’s abstract and makes people furious.
’ She laughed. ‘But some of it you’d have on your wall.
A mix, really. It’s good to be provocative but at the same time, we have to make a living.
’ Clementine held out her empty glass with a smile.
‘Oh dear. I seem to have drunk that awfully fast. Would you mind getting me another?’
‘As long as you promise to stay right there.’
She sat bolt upright and feigned stillness. ‘I shan’t move an inch.’
‘So – you’ve met the delightful Clementine?
’ said Nigel as he joined him back at the bar.
The two of them had been at Haileybury together, which in general turned out good eggs with impeccable manners and none of that careless arrogance that can give public school a bad name. ‘She’s unencumbered, you know.’
‘She’s fabulous,’ said Alfie.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Nigel with a wink. ‘Alfie Arbutus finally shows a chink in his armour.’
Alfie grinned. He was used to being teased about his bachelor status.
But he was surprised to feel a sudden urge to run out into the night up to Bond Street and bang on the door of Mappin & Webb, then rake through the jewels on the black velvet pads until he found a ring that matched her eyes.
You probably shouldn’t ask someone to marry you after three Martinis, he thought. But he wanted to know more.
‘What should I know about her?’ he asked Nigel. ‘She says she shares a flat with Henrietta.’
‘Yes. Henrietta says she’s quite a girl. Gets furious if the others leave their knickers drying in front of the fire or don’t do the washing-up. But fun. Don’t be fooled by the demure act. There’s more to her than meets the eye.’
Alfie was quite happy with what met his eye.
But he was a little curious as to why someone as appealing as Clementine was unattached.
Perhaps she felt the same as he did? Unwilling to settle for second best. Marriage was, generally speaking, for life, so you had to be careful.
Although of course, the longer you left it, the less choice there was.
He’d been to six weddings in the past two years.
He’d had some very jolly girlfriends. Mostly they were great company, easy-going, kind (to Alfie’s mind this was the most important quality in a human being) and full of go.
But he’d never gone to sleep dreaming of them, or woken up with a longing to see them.
And he’d never taken one of them home to Foxwood.
He knew that frustrated his mother. Elizabeth was never interfering, but he could tell she was longing for him to find someone.