A Married Man, page 15
‘Ah, the Compleat Angler,’ I observed drily.
‘Absolutely, and keen to do a bit of the real thing too, while I’m here. The river looks perfect. Still,’ he mused, glancing around, ‘be interesting to see if you can stay the course. They haven’t driven you to drink then yet, like someone we know?’ He raised his eyebrows as Lavinia staggered past, breathing heavily, muttering to herself and clutching a champagne bottle to her breast.
I groaned. ‘No, but I have a feeling it’s only a matter of time. I’d forgotten – well.’ I stopped, guiltily.
‘How ghastly they all are? Ah no, not me,’ he said shaking his head, lips pursed. ‘I only have to walk through that front door and it all comes flooding back in glorious Technicolor. Still, needs must, and I have to say, I am a bit needy at the moment.’ He drained his glass cheerfully.
I smiled. Jack was a university lecturer of sorts, inasmuch as his wild social life would let him hold down a job at all. He hung onto his post at London University by the skin of his teeth, and when he wasn’t being hauled up before the Dean for reprehensible behaviour, taught English and Theatre Studies. He was a bit of a poet, too, on the sly, but as he always rather ruefully observed, poetry wasn’t quite merchant banking, and he always seemed to be lurching from one financial crisis to the next.
‘Not in gainful employment at the moment then, Jack?’ I enquired sweetly.
He straightened up. ‘I’ll have you know I’m about to have a small volume published, for which I’ve been slipped a not inconsiderable advance. Added to which I’ve also been made head of my department, but it may have escaped your notice, Lucy, that the holiday season is upon us, and as such, my services are not required. I told you, I’ve come to annoy you.’
‘That’ll be fun,’ I said, and meant it.
Undeniably wicked, and with an appalling reputation for unsuitable dalliances with beautiful women, Jack, nonetheless, was terrific company. He radiated vitality, and was the only member of the family Ned had ever had any time for. The first time I’d met Ned, years ago, at a dance here in Oxford, he’d been with Jack. The pair of them had been propping up the college bar and getting exceedingly drunk – quietly in Ned’s case and noisily in Jack’s – and Ned had bought me a drink. We’d then danced the night away in something of a euphoric trance – eyes locked in recognition of something really rather wonderful – and didn’t see Jack for the rest of the evening. The next morning, however, there was a terrible rumpus when he was discovered in bed with the warden’s daughter, and had to make a speedy exit, naked, but for an apron, from a second-floor window. I smiled into my glass, remembering the scrapes Ned and I had hauled him out of.
‘And you, Luce. Are you better?’ he enquired gently, breaking into my thoughts.
I startled. ‘Oh! Oh yes, much better thanks.’ I blushed. Poor Jack had been party to some miserable evenings with me after Ned had died. I’d sobbed all over him, and not just at the time, either. Up until relatively recently he’d been subjected to some very maudlin company in Royal Avenue, when I still hadn’t quite recovered.
‘It took me a long time,’ I said ruefully. ‘As I’m sure you’re aware. But you know, Jack,’ I glanced up, ‘I think I can safely say that four years down the line I’m as well as I’ll ever be.’ I smiled. ‘And you? Still the seasoned Lothario? Still hustling your wares around the university, simultaneously breaking undergraduates’ hearts and colleagues’ marriages?’ I glanced around. ‘Unusual to see you unaccompanied, I must say. What happened to that pneumatic Brazilian beauty I met you with last time? She was gorgeous.’
‘Two Planks?’ His eyes widened.
I giggled. ‘Oh come on, she wasn’t that bad.’
‘Oh no, not that bad. In fact, very good, in many respects – mostly horizontal – and very easy on the eye too, but pretty devoid of grey matter nonetheless. No, I decided her best friend, Ursula the Nord was more of a challenge. A mistake, as it happened, since Ursula was a big girl, much bigger than me, and I still have the bruises to show for it.’ He gave a mock shudder. ‘But actually,’ he mused, ‘I’m grateful to old Ursula in many respects. She was the catalyst, you see Lucy, the turning point in my career. After Ursula I felt drained, exhausted, a mere husk of a guy, but I rose up, and these days – well, I’m a changed man.’
‘Oh really? How so?’
‘It’s quite simple. I’ve decided to abandon the predatory sexual role I’ve been forced into all these years. I’ve grown weary of it, you see.’ His blue eyes widened innocently.
I chuckled. ‘I don’t believe that for one moment! And who says you were forced into it, anyway?’
‘Ah but it’s true.’ He sighed. ‘All of us unattached males who don’t suffer too much from dandruff or gushing armpits do feel a dreary sense of obligation to chase the fairer sex, you know. And sometimes – well, frankly I’m just not in the mood. Haven’t got the energy. I sometimes long for the days when the back of a neck, underneath a wimple perhaps, bent to study some charming needlepoint, could keep a chap going for months, before galloping off with your mates to have a bloody good battle in Scotland. Must have been marvellous. So much more restful, and actually,’ he mused, ‘more sexy. All that pent-up desire and never actually doing it …’
‘Except with your whore, of course.’
‘Oh, of course. Chap’s got to let off steam.’ He drained his glass and sighed. ‘No, I’ve had it with women I’m afraid, and I intend to withdraw from the whole tedious charade. I plan to build myself a nice little Platonic world where I’ll have more time to appreciate literature and the arts, because frankly Luce, I’m just a shagged-out old wreck at the moment.’ He gazed mournfully into his glass.
I laughed. ‘You’ll perk up.’
‘Oh absolutely not. No, I’m past perking. God, you’ve no idea. It’s all so utterly predictable. All that obligatory chasing to sustain your reputation, and then when you do get a night off, that terrible moment when some Lycra-ed bum slides onto the bar stool beside you and bang goes a quiet evening with a pint and a book as you realize you’re committed to yet another evening’s full-blown flirtation. Christ, the effort, the brain-power expended, the attempts to be winning and charming and then back to her place to execute some supposedly classy manoeuvres and prove your magnificence in bed, and then waking up the next morning, surrounded by cuddly toys, with a sore head and no clean underpants.’ He shuddered. ‘I’m too old for all that.’ He shook his head ruefully and sank into his champagne glass again. ‘In fact, I sometimes think … Hello?’ he said suddenly, without quite rising from his glass. ‘What have we here? Rather pretty.’
I followed his gaze to where Trisha, who was supposed to be employed handing round canapés, was roaring with laughter in the middle of a clutch of male guests, dressed in a low-cut top and a sarong skirt.
I laughed. ‘You see? You see! Always on the prowl!’
‘Not at all,’ he said quickly, ‘I’m merely continuing the anthropological study I mentioned earlier. Merely making observations, because study, is, after all, a major part of my new Platonic venture. And speaking of study, young Lucy, what do you intend to do with yourself down here? Thinking of going back to work at all, or are you just going to continue bringing up those two young scamps I ran into earlier? They seemed to have found a friend, incidentally, a certain Pietro, and the three of them set about tackling me and pinning me to the ground in a horribly expert manner. I let them think I was subjugated, then roared like fury and rose up like a Phoenix from the ashes, arms flailing as – Lucy?’
But I wasn’t listening. I was still watching Trisha, whose conversation was clearly about me. She was nodding and smiling in my direction in an animated fashion, and now she was pulling the arm of her friend, a man who had his back to us. I caught my breath, tightening my grip on the stem of my champagne glass. The man turned his head, and looked in our direction. My heart leaped up into my throat and rattled around like some crazed pinball. They were coming towards us now, the pair of them, and the man Trisha had by the sleeve of his jacket – was Charlie.
Chapter Ten
The pair of them came across the lawn towards us; Trisha, clearly over-excited, gesticulating wildly, and talking non-stop, and Charlie, looking even more devastatingly handsome than I remembered. He was wearing an elegant, biscuit-coloured linen jacket, and his head was slightly cocked to one side as he listened to what Trisha was saying. Despite the incline of his head, though, his dark eyes were bright and focused. Principally on me. I felt the blood drain right through me, down my legs, and away into my witty little Italian shoes.
‘Lucy,’ Trisha called. She flagged me down with a long brown arm as she approached. ‘Hey, Lucy, listen!’ She halted breathlessly in front of me. ‘This guy’s called Charlie Fletcher, right, and – oh boy,’ she rolled her eyes dramatically, ‘are you gonna be thrilled to bits. Are you gonna just be so pleased I got you guys together!’
I couldn’t speak. Had neither wind nor words to draw on. I couldn’t look at him, either. Kept my eyes firmly on her.
‘You won’t believe this,’ she swept on, ‘but I was like, prattling away to Charlie just now about all your antiques and stuff in the barn, telling him how it had been your thing in London and how you’d like to get back into it and I’ll look after the kids and everything, and suddenly Charlie was like – “Oh, OK. Well hang on, Trish, I’ve got this friend, right, who’s got an antiques place near here, and he’s looking for some help. D’you think that would be her kind of thing?” So I was like, “Oh, what? Her kind of thing? That would be totally her kind of thing!” Well, wouldn’t it, Luce?’ She beamed. ‘Lucy? Charlie?’
She glanced back at Charlie, but he was staring intently at me. He didn’t appear to be listening to her at all.
‘But how extraordinary,’ he said finally. ‘It’s you. We know each other, don’t we? Please tell me I’m not going mad.’
I could feel my cheeks burning up now. ‘N-no,’ I stammered. ‘You’re not. I mean, you’re right, we do. Know each other. From London.’
‘From London,’ he said, nodding slowly. ‘That’s it. That’s it exactly. How peculiar.’ He blinked. ‘D’you know,’ he said suddenly, taking his eyes off me and turning to Trisha, ‘it was the weirdest thing. Up until a few weeks ago, I used to see this girl constantly. Practically every single day. It was quite extraordinary. And now – well bugger me,’ he turned back, ran a bemused hand through his hair. ‘Here you are again. Down here!’
Trisha frowned, confused. ‘Hang on, how d’you mean?’
‘It was just bizarre.’ Charlie shook his head incredulously. ‘Literally everywhere I went in London, every shop I went into, every bus I got onto – there she was!’ He paused, gestured towards me. ‘Lucy, is it?’
‘Yes, Lucy,’ I gasped, horrified, and positively dripping with perspiration now. Oh come on, I thought, aghast. Not every day, surely, and not every bus, and every shop – that was a little far-fetched! I was aware of the deep blush spreading down my neck to my chest now, and of Jack’s eyes upon me.
‘But wouldn’t you agree though?’ persisted Charlie relentlessly. ‘We were always bumping into each other. Crowded street, busy supermarket, you name it, there we were behind each other in the queue – and d’you know what’s really uncanny?’
I shook my head. Just about managed an uncanny little whinny. Wondered if I could slink away and die without anyone noticing.
‘The other day, I could have sworn I saw you somewhere else. It was just a glimpse, and it didn’t even register at the time, but I’ve been wracking my brains ever since to remember where on earth …’ He frowned, bent his head and stared at the grass.
Oh God, don’t wrack too hard, I thought, allowing myself to breathe as he took his eyes off me – breathe Lucy, breathe, or you will bloody die. My heart was going like billyo, and not just with the effort of preserving my world. I gazed rapturously at the top of his head. I’d forgotten, for instance, the way his dark hair curled on his collar like that, the way he was going very slightly grey at the sides, the way –
‘And always with your dog!’ he said, jerking his head up suddenly.
‘Dog?’ Jack frowned.
‘Yes, you always had a funny little dog with you, didn’t you?’ he insisted. ‘Under your arm, mostly, and you used to walk up and down my street endlessly with him. All sort of red in the face and panting. I was usually working at my desk in the window and I used to feel so sorry for you. You were always staring around, wild-eyed, as if you were looking for something. I almost flung open the window once and yelled, “What? What are you looking for, tell me!”’
I gasped. Christ! Just as well he hadn’t. They were all looking at me expectantly.
‘Grass,’ I croaked finally.
‘Grass?’ Jack looked startled. ‘You were looking for grass?’ He blinked. ‘Well, stroll on down. I didn’t think you indulged,’ he drawled. ‘You were always such a goody-two-shoes. And now I find you making a drug-crazed trawl of the London streets, desperate for your next fix.’
‘No no, for the dog! So he could – you know, do his business. He was a very fussy little dog you see, couldn’t do it on the pavement. Had to have a bit of soft stuff for, well …’
‘Anti-splash?’ offered Jack. ‘Don’t we all my love, don’t we all. I always pop a sheet of Andrex down first to soften the blow.’ He scratched his head. ‘How very fascinating, Luce. I didn’t know you were such a canine expert. I must admit, I’m only really interested in doggy talk in bedroom situations but – ooh, hello.’ He broke off suddenly to gaze down appreciatively at Trisha’s bejewelled navel. ‘Someone’s had a tummy job.’
‘What doggy talk?’
I turned to find Jess at my elbow. Oh God, she was all I needed, although I was relieved to see that Trisha had taken Jack by the arm and was leading him away towards the shrubbery, bent on further acquainting him with her sparkling midriff, which he, in turn, seemed keen to investigate. So much for Plato.
‘What dog’s this then?’ demanded Jess.
‘Oh, um, Theo and Ray’s Yorkie,’ I mumbled. ‘You remember, I used to take it for walks a lot. In London.’
‘Did you?’ She blinked. ‘I didn’t know that. Thought you said it was a ghastly little runt. Hi there.’ She directed this last at Charlie, flashing him a dazzling smile and clearly thinking he was the furthest thing from a ghastly little runt she’d seen in a long time. She shot me a look and waited expectantly.
‘Oh, um, this is my great friend from London, Jess O’Connor,’ I muttered. ‘And this …’ I stalled suddenly. Panicked. Oh bugger. Oh big bugger. ‘This … is Charles,’ I concluded lamely.
He raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘No no, Charlie’s fine. I haven’t been called Charles since I was at prep school.’
‘Charlie,’ said Jess thoughtfully, rolling it around in her mouth, savouring it as a python would a dormouse. Her eyes narrowed and she dropped the dazzling smile. ‘Really. And how do you know Lucy, Charlie?’
As another huge bucket of red-hot blood threatened to wash over me, I realized that all I really wanted to do was to wake up in a cool hospital bed to find this had all been a ghastly anaesthetic dream, and that my only task was to tick fruit cocktail or apple crumble on the hospital menu. I couldn’t believe I was standing here talking to him. Couldn’t believe this fantasy man, this pin-up on the bedroom wall of my mind, was here, right in front of me, with my best friend all set to interrogate the pants off him.
‘Well, we don’t actually know each other,’ Charlie was saying, ‘but as I was just explaining, we used to bump into each other an awful lot in London. It was extraordinary, we –’
‘Look, this job,’ I blurted out, desperate to turn the conversation away from chance meetings in London streets and Jess’s beady gaze. ‘I hate to sound grasping or anything, but Trisha did mention something. In an antique shop?’
He looked blank for a second, then came to. ‘Oh! Oh, yes, quite right. We got sidetracked. Yes, well it belongs to a mate of mine called Kit Alexander. He calls it an emporium, actually, rather than a shop, which I suppose is fair, because it’s huge. It’s in this amazing old manor house in Frampton, takes up about three floors. He’s always run it pretty much single-handed, but it’s getting too much for him now, and he’s looking for some help. Is that the sort of thing you’d be interested in?’
‘Oh definitely,’ I breathed, hopefully not too gustily and not too much all over him. ‘My mum has a stall in the Portobello Road, so I know all about selling antiques. Jess and I used to help her with it, didn’t we?’ I said eagerly.
‘We did, but that was just a lark on a Saturday morning,’ said Jess carefully. She turned to Charlie. ‘Lucy’s not giving you the entire picture here, I’m afraid. She used to work in the porcelain department at Christie’s. She’s a specialist in eighteenth-century European china, hardly a shop girl. I thought you said you were going to try the auction house in Oxford, Lucy? Or even approach the Art History Department at the university? Go for something a bit more cerebral?’
‘I was,’ I hissed, wondering what I’d ever seen in this girl and wishing she’d disappear. ‘But this would be a start, Jess.’ I grinned, baring my teeth at her.
‘Yes, but you don’t want to take this job as “a start” and then leave the poor chap in the lurch, do you?’
And you don’t want to find arsenic in your cornflakes.
‘Well of course I wouldn’t do a thing like that!’ I laughed.
‘Perhaps the thing to do is to be up front about it,’ suggested Charlie. ‘Say that you’d like the job, but it may not be your final career move. That you might well move on at a later date. Be honest with him.’
‘Oh absolutely,’ I agreed, nodding earnestly, endeavouring to look as honest as the day.
‘Because I must say, you do sound a bit overqualified to be serving in a shop. But on the other hand, Kit knows an awful lot of influential people in the antiques world. Particularly around here. He’d be a very good person for you to meet in any event.’
