The Flirt (22 page)

H
ey, Smith! What’s the matter? You look like someone killed your dog!” Marco sat down next to Hughie at a table outside the Italian café the next morning.

Hughie explained about Clara and Malcolm. “It just makes me sad. I mean, sure, she’s no oil painting but she’s a great girl. I hate to see her so upset.”

Marco nodded.

Then he had an idea.

“You know what? You know what I’m going to do for you?” He took out his phone, checked through his diary. “Where did you say she worked? The City? I’ve got a three o’clock and a four fifteen in the City tomorrow afternoon, Smith! I can easily fit her in, if you like!”

“Really?” Hughie was touched. “You’d do that for me? You know I can’t pay your normal rate…”

Marco gave him a shove. “What are you talking about? It’s on the house! For you, absolutely free of charge! Now,” he took out a pen and paper, “tell me again what the company’s called. And her name.” He clapped Hughie on the back. “I’m telling you, by five o’clock tomorrow, she’ll be a different girl! I might try International Polo Player on her; I haven’t done that one in a while. Do you think I look tanned enough?”

“Definitely.”

Hughie scribbled down Clara’s details and passed them back.

“
Grazie!
” Marco said, slipping the paper into his breast pocket as he got up.

“Marco, I can’t thank you enough…”

“Think nothing of it. Now, are you ready for tonight? It’s a big operation; biggest I’ve even been in on.”

“I think so. It’s all a bit complicated.”

“You’ll be great!” Marco squeezed his shoulder. “Now, don’t give your sister another thought, Smith! I guarantee tomorrow will be the most exciting afternoon of her life!”

He set off, swaggering with bonhomie, and Hughie relaxed. He felt considerably better. So much better, that he ordered an early lunch to celebrate.

L
eticia sat next to Leo, holding his hand. “How are you, darling?” She stroked his cheek softly. “It’s me…Emily.”

His skin was cool. She folded another blanket out over him.

“Shall I show you something? It might interest you. It came yesterday.” Leticia pulled the card out of her handbag. “‘I have always known that one day I would find you.’ Strange, don’t you think? I mean, it just arrived, out of the blue. But before you get carried away by how romantic it is, look, there’s the stain in one corner. Now smell—it’s chocolate! And please cast your eye over the handwriting. Scary, huh? I’m sure I’ve seen it somewhere before.” She turned the card over. “Of course, you know who it reminds me of.” Her face clouded. “Just the sort of thing he used to do.”

They sat a while.

“I suppose it could be Hughie,” she considered, brightening. “Though it seems a bit creative for a public-school boy, don’t you agree? I told you I let him go. What a disaster that was! You were right of course. I should never have started the whole thing. And now I’ve got this plumber banging around the shop and trouble with the bank…” She pressed his palm more tightly. “I don’t know what’s happened to me lately. I seem to have lost my way, a bit. For a while I felt like I knew what I was doing but now…”

“Ms. Vane?”

She looked up.

It was the ward nurse. “Visiting hours are over now.”

“Yes. OK.” She stood, pulled her coat on. “What do you say? Tomorrow, same time, same place, Your Lordship?”

The nurse tucked the blanket in, carefully placing Leo’s hands at his side.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Leticia crossed to the door.

She paused, signaled. The nurse came over.

“When do you think he’ll come out of it?” she whispered.

“It’s hard to say. He’s stable.”

“How long do they…I mean, you think he will come out, don’t you?”

She looked at Leticia kindly. “It’s hard to say,” she said again.

“Do you think he can hear me?”

“Yes.” Her voice was firm, reassuring. “I think he can.”

“Oh! I almost forgot.” Rummaging in her handbag, Leticia pulled out a faded picture: a serious, plain young girl and dashing silver-haired man. Propping it up on his bedside table, she leaned over and kissed Leo’s forehead. “I thought that might give you a smile when you wake up.”

“Do you want this?” The nurse held up the anonymous note.

Leticia looked at it; at the nurse, the bed, Leo, far away; unreachable. Enveloped in a permanent sleep; a mass of machines beeping behind him, keeping him alive.

“No, thank you. It’s not important.”

I
t had just gone seven and Olivia was locking up the gallery. Her footsteps echoed as she walked through the cool, white rooms, switching off lights and checking doors. It was an hour of the day that affected her a great deal—a time when she imagined most people would either be going home to their families or heading out for an evening on the town. When she left the gallery, she was all too aware that she’d return home to find Chester Square conspicuously empty. And even though piles of invitations came every week, she wasn’t fond of going out. Loneliness isn’t relieved in a crowd.

So she lingered, drawing out the last few tasks—washing up the tea mugs and tidying the leaflets on the front desk until finally there was nothing left to do. Retrieving her handbag from the office, she flicked off the final set of lights and was about to open the front door when she spotted something on the floor.

As she picked it up, her heart leaped in her chest. It was the same Smythson’s cream-colored notepaper as last time! Someone must have only just dropped it in.

She tore open the envelope. Inside another card in the same hand read:

Walk with me.

She turned the card over.

It was blank.

But where? she wondered. Walk where?

Closing the front door, she locked it then turned around, half-expecting to see someone waiting for her outside.

But there was no one.

The early-evening air was cool, pleasant; the golden sky splashed with red and orange. Rush hour had been and gone, the street was quiet and empty.

Then she noticed, on the ground at her feet, an arrow pointing toward the large iron gate of Mount Street Gardens. It was made of three long calla lilies.

Her favorite flowers!

They couldn’t have been there long; they were still fresh and cool to the touch.

How had this person known?

Gathering the flowers up, she crossed and headed into the garden. It was all but abandoned. Tall plane trees lined the walk, and the fountain in the center burbled softly. Elegant red-brick Edwardian mansion blocks bordered each edge and the pathways were lined with wooden benches.

Olivia found herself drawn to the fountain. There around the edge, spelled out in shiny, new pennies, was written, “
Make a wish
.”

She laughed in delight. It seemed bad form to ruin the message, so she fished one out of her bag and closed her eyes.

“To the unknown,” she whispered, throwing it in.

Then she noticed that one of the wooden benches had a small bottle of champagne and a glass on it. Around the top of the bottle was a luggage tag. “
May I buy you a drink?
” it said.

Again, Olivia couldn’t help but laugh out loud with pleasure.

She sat down and popped open the champagne. The glass was long, of heavy crystal that sent the light dancing in rainbows.
Whoever was seducing her had imagination, taste and, she thought, watching the champagne bubble into the glass, money.

She leaned back. A breeze sent a handful of dry leaves waltzing down the path. Somewhere, from one of the top-corner flats, a piano began to play, something soft, effortless, jazzy and nostalgic.

Then a bum ambled in through the far gate.

Oh no, she thought. Just when everything was so lovely.

Sure enough, he spotted her with the champagne and made a beeline for her.

She tried to avert her eyes, but he stopped right in front of her and thrust out his hand. He held open a slim box of black Sobranie cigarettes.

“May I offer you a fag?” His voice was surprisingly posh.

Olivia stared. How had he known her guilty secret?

“Yes, thank you,” she flushed, taking one.

The bum produced a rather nice silver lighter. “Enjoy!” And he lit it, before moving on.

Olivia leaned back, sipping the champagne and smoking her cigarette. She felt like Beauty in the Cocteau film of
La Belle et La Bête
. All around her unseen hands were busy, anticipating her every desire—even the ones that no one knew about, like a longed-for cigarette. It was both unreal and enchanting suddenly to have the city she knew so well transformed from an indifferent, occasionally hostile one, to a poetic symphony of carefully orchestrated pleasures.

Someone had gone to an enormous amount of trouble. But would he appear? She looked from one entrance to the other. Would he be tall, short, young, old? Was it the mysterious young man on the bike?

The light began to fade.

No one, not even the cigarette bum, came in.

Olivia finished the champagne and waited a few more minutes, just in case another extraordinary event occurred. Then she
wrapped the beautiful crystal glass in a tissue and slipped it in her handbag, heading out of the opposite gate.

A black cab pulled up. “Olivia?”

“Yes?”

The driver opened the door. “Chester Square, right?”

“Yes. But how do you know?”

“It’s too far to walk,” he smiled. “No need to worry. I’m fully licensed. And the fare’s already paid.”

“By whom?”

“No idea. Radio cab, see?” he pointed to a sign on his door. “It came through the central office. Now, shall we?”

She climbed in and shut the door.

London sped past, cool air against her skin. The champagne left her exhilarated yet languid; it was a delicious, dangerous feeling.

The cab pulled up at Chester Square. Olivia stepped out and it drove away.

Fishing for her keys, she realized that once she stepped over the threshold, her adventure would be over. She would be engulfed again in the Bourgalt du Coudray world where nothing enchanting or magical would or could ever happen.

Turning, she took one last look round. If only her secret admirer would reveal himself!

But the streets were empty.

She pushed open the door.

Suddenly the sky lit up behind her, as a flurry of fireworks exploded above her head. Twisting and turning, they shone bright red, green, blue and searing white against the black night. Olivia gasped. Running into the street she searched to see where they’d come from. But they were over almost as quickly as they had begun. Apart from a few of the neighbors peering out of their windows, the street was abandoned.

Heart pounding, she climbed up the steps and closed the door behind her. Another envelope was waiting on the hall table:

Sweet dreams.

It was hard work arranging the evening-walk scenario. Hughie found himself running all over town with shopping lists from Flick, who was nothing if not demanding. Twice she sent him back to As-prey because the crystal champagne glass wasn’t quite right, and she interrogated the firework man on the length, height, sound and color of the display with all the intensity of a general planning a military attack.

“I want a bouquet of fireworks,” she instructed him. “A spray of light and color!”

He just nodded and said over and over, “Well, it’ll be loud.”

Jez was roped in to make the calla-lily arrow and set out the champagne while Marco cleared the park by pretending to be a mime artist. (He was suspiciously good at it.) Then Flick laid out the coins and Hughie dived into a local pub toilet to don his street-vagrant costume, complete with black wig and beard. Texts buzzed back and forth as they tracked Olivia’s progress via the satellite navigation on their phones to ensure precision timing.

In the end they all agreed it had been a triumph.

But, as the others headed off to celebrate in the pub, Hughie felt uneasy. He hadn’t realized just how many people were needed to pull off an operation like this one. It occurred to him that maybe the clues he’d left for Leticia were perhaps a little less well planned and executed than they needed to be to guarantee success.

Leticia forced her way through the large flap of clear plastic sheeting Sam had put over the bathroom door to keep the dust out of the main shop. Her beautiful bathroom was unrecognizable: all the floorboards around the bath were torn up; tiles were missing; copper pipes gleamed in a stack near the door. Sam was welding a couple together, sparks dancing in a haze of dust and early-evening light.

“Stand back!” he ordered.

She froze in the doorway.

“I didn’t want you to catch fire,” he explained, turning off the blowtorch and pushing the goggles off his face. He grinned up at her. “Tell me you’re here to offer me a cup of tea.”

Leticia was not amused. “I’m here to ask how long this is going to take. I can’t go on rescheduling appointments indefinitely and the dirt is ruining my fabric!”

“I’m doing it as quickly as I can, Your Ladyship. And if you hadn’t noticed, this is the second evening running I’m working late.”

She hated the way he spoke to her. She wanted to say something smart and caustic to put him in his place, but sleepless nights meant her wit was shot. “Yes, well…fine!” she snapped and turning on her heel, marched back into the workroom.

“I can’t wait till that fucking thing is done!” she fumed, checking her phone messages.

Nothing.

Still no news from the hospital.

Of course, she’d only checked five minutes ago.

Wearily, she eyed the mounting stack of post on the counter, running her fingers over the dozens of envelopes. She couldn’t bring herself to face it. Rummaging through she found another postcard from her parents, this time from the sunny beaches of Eilat.

They didn’t know about Leo; she hadn’t told them. Perhaps if she kept it a secret, waited one more day, things would change, for the better.

Just seeing her mother’s handwriting touched a raw nerve. She slipped the card back under the bottom of the pile.

Everything was falling apart; unraveling like a badly made jumper. Her business, her shop, Leo…Fear threatened to drown out everything else. Enough! Tossing her phone into her handbag, she flung it over her shoulder decisively. Time to get some air.

“I’m off!” she called. “Just pull the door shut when you go!”

The door slammed.

Sam emerged, covered in dust, empty tea mug in hand.

The least she could do was put the bloody kettle on!

He searched around for the tea bags. All he could find were little pale green tins of loose tea from Fortnum and Mason—Lapsang Souchong, Earl Gray, Green Tea with Mint.

He opened one and smelled it. “Jesus!”

That’s when he spotted she’d left her keys on the counter.

Grabbing them, he rushed to the front door. “Hey!” he called out after her. “Hey, Your Ladyship!”

But Leticia was nowhere to be seen.

The truth was Hughie didn’t have the funds for calla lilies, fireworks or champagne.

When Leticia arrived home, there was another anonymous note and a series of arrows fashioned from melting Smarties on the pavement.

She opened the envelope.

Walk with me.

The arrows were pointing to the garden in the middle of the square. She pushed open the wrought-iron gate. It was all but empty.

The evening air was cool and sharp. A breeze stirred the trees.

She began to walk, taking one of the narrow paths that led around the outside. Eventually she came to a bench. There was a bottle of Babycham on it.

“
Fancy a drink?
” said the Post-it stuck to the front.

She sat down, holding it. It was as if she were floating somewhere outside herself, far away.

Suddenly a couple of little towheaded girls ran up with sparklers, dancing in front of her, giggling.

“We’re going to sing you a song!” they chorused.

“OK.”

They sang “Hit Me Baby One More Time,” waving their sparklers around, before tearing back across the square.

“Who sent you?” she called.

But they had disappeared into the dusk.

Leticia sat very still.

The sky darkened; luminous navy blue.

In the houses across the street, lights glimmered in the windows. They formed glowing backdrops for small domestic scenes—a husband leaning to kiss his wife hello; two women laughing, opening a bottle of wine; a hassled mother chasing a naked toddler.

Life unfolding; warm, vibrant…distant.

A cool gust of wind bowed the tall trees.

It was late; the garden empty.

Leticia got up; headed to the far gate.

There, around the edge of a bird bath, was a message spelled out in shiny new pennies along the rim. “
Make a wish
,” it said.

She stared at it.

Turning, she crumpled the note into a tight little ball and threw it into the bin.

Sam pulled up in his van and got out.

He checked the address on the water-bill envelope he had found in her workroom. This was the place; it must be her home.

He rang the bell.

No answer.

“Well, of course, you pillock!” he berated himself. “She can’t be inside—you’ve got her bloody keys!”

Now what?

Turning, he scanned the empty garden square. Maybe she was headed back to the shop. Had he passed her and not noticed?

“Fuck!” This was all more trouble than it was worth. He was about to climb back in his van when he saw someone in the far corner of the square, running out of the garden.

It was her.

“Leticia!” he shouted.

She turned.

The big black Bentley roared out of nowhere.

It never even stopped; knocking her sideways onto the pavement before speeding away.