The Look of Love (18 page)

‘Ugh, genuine!’ Bella squeaked, stroking the back of a growling cheetah.

‘All genuine,’ Saul told her. ‘Amazing, isn’t it? Imagine working here and it being just an everyday thing to be asked for a dozen stuffed penguins. But anyway – on to what we’re here for. We need to go back down these stairs …’

The floor below was stocked almost entirely with chairs and sofas, rows and rows of them. High on a shelf were stacks of every shape and shade of Philippe Starck’s transparent Ghost chairs. Along a wall were leather Barcelona chairs in every available colour and Bella
recognized iconic designs of Arad, Eames, van de Rohe and so many others.

‘Wow … this is …’

‘This is
not
your average permanent-sale furniture warehouse!’ Saul laughed, finishing her sentence for her.

‘Understatement! It’s more like being in a fantastic museum of contemporary design. And hey, look!’ A bit overexcited, she got hold of Saul’s hand and pulled him across to a scarlet sofa shaped like a pout. ‘Here’s that famous lips sofa – Kiss, is it called?’

They sat on it side by side and she suddenly felt rather silly and shy and horribly conscious not only of the name of the sofa, but that she’d grabbed his hand and practically forced him on to it with her, a bit like dragging a reluctant victim under the mistletoe at an office party. She so hoped he hadn’t assumed she wanted to test the sofa out as a literal kissing venue, because she didn’t. Absolutely not. Admittedly Saul was attractive, but post-Rick the very idea of becoming romantically entangled with someone again was miles from her mind. It must be like getting a cold, she thought suddenly – for quite a while after, you have absolute immunity from reinfection. Long might it last – being content to be single was very restful.

‘Er, sorry – just got a bit carried away there,’ she said, getting up again. ‘I just so love it that this place has such
unexpectedly amazing stuff in it. I mean, DFS it
isn’t
.’

‘They’ve got a lot of ordinary household items as well, but with the really rock-bottom-end furnishings it’s often as cheap just to buy it as to rent. There’s always someone on the crew who’ll take it off your hands. Seen anything you fancy?’

Was he teasing her? Possibly. His blue eyes were quite glinty. Staying resolutely businesslike, Bella looked along the length of the warehouse. ‘I quite like that pink one, but I think I’ve seen it somewhere before.’ She pointed out a rather elegant low velvet button-back sofa, simple and sleek.

‘Jonathan Ross’s show, two seasons ago,’ Saul told her. ‘This place is a retirement home for chat-show sofas.’

‘Ah, of course it must be. And look, there are the Designers Guild chairs from the interview area at Live 8 a few years back! I remember because I liked them so much at the time – love the madly vivid fabrics.’

‘Sadly we need to keep it plain so as not to distract from the clothes, otherwise I’d go for something from Squint, all crazy bright patchwork on fairly traditional framing. A couple of mad overpatterned chesterfields would look great in your place.’

‘They would, wouldn’t they?’ she agreed. ‘But shouldn’t we look for something puce? To cheer up Fliss?’

Saul shook his head. ‘Bless her, but
not
puce. Sorry Fliss!’

A deep lavender shade turned out to be a good compromise, though – the two of them agreed on a sofa that resembled a long curved row of tyres, if such a thing were possible in light-purple velvet. Saul made Bella sit on it for a while to check it was low enough so that Jules (the smallest of them) would not be left with her feet dangling in mid-air, and that it wasn’t so deep that they couldn’t actually lean back on it without falling awkwardly against the cushions. It worked – Saul made arrangements with the Apple Mac girl, and the business side of the outing was over.

‘I hope Fliss approves,’ Bella teased Saul as they got back into the car.

‘Oh she probably won’t. And Daisy will have a moan about it as well, no doubt.’ He switched on the engine and pulled away from the building, turning to smile at her. ‘Everyone thinks they can have a pop at the art choices,’ he said. ‘It’s such a broad target. The clients never have a go at the heavy-duty technical stuff, they don’t know enough to say, “Are you sure about tungsten lighting? We’d prefer HMI’s” or “Do you think a 9/8 lens is really appropriate for this shot?” or “Why don’t you use a Western dolly?” because they wouldn’t have a clue. But when it comes to choosing from paint charts, or whether to have blinds or curtains, they’ve all got an
opinion! Next time you look at a contemporary TV show or even just an ad, see how much beige there is, because when everyone’s taken a shot at the art director, that’s what you’re left with. Bland, murky, boring. Hey,’ he suddenly perked up, ‘it’s gone one, shall we go to a pub for a bit of lunch? You must be starving by now.’

‘Hmm, I am rather,’ she admitted. ‘I didn’t dare eat one of the chocolate brownies in case Dominic slapped my wrist.’

‘Oh he wouldn’t tell you off,’ Saul told her. ‘He likes you.’

‘Really? He should let his friendly side out a bit more often. Mind you, as we said, it must be tough, working with Daisy.’

‘Oh, tough hardly begins to cover it, believe me.’

There was an unexpectedly free parking space outside the London Apprentice by the river. The day was so warm and bright that most of the outside tables were still occupied, even though it was almost 2 p.m. Saul sent Bella to bag a table that was just being vacated by a group of suited young men and went inside to get drinks and see what was available, food-wise.

Bella gazed out over the sluggish Thames. The tide was low – if you weren’t afraid of mud, at the lowest tide you could probably just about walk to the little midstream island.

‘Spritzer for you and I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered us a couple of prawn-salad sandwiches in case they’re about to shut down the food service. I can change that to something else if you want me to?’

‘No – it’s fine! Sounds perfect. Cheers!’

‘Here’s to the programme.’ Saul chinked his glass against hers. ‘May you not hate the whole lot of us by the time it’s over.’ Bella laughed, but Saul didn’t.

‘No really,’ he said, looking serious, ‘it can get very tense, all this media rubbish. At its worst, everyone gets so wound up you’d think there was no other world outside the fizzing fishbowl of the shoot. I’d so hate it if you and I didn’t end up as still friends.’

Bella felt her heart rate notching up. He shouldn’t look at her like that. She was immune, or supposed to be, and besides – she would never again get caught in a married-man situation. She took herself back to the picture she’d had once before of his so-perfect home life, the gorgeous wife (mother of cute Fliss), the stylish house, none of which she knew about in reality. All the same, it was a useful device to keep her grounded. As would be what she was about to ask him; surely it came next in the being-chatty, being-friendly thing. And once it was out of the way she could get on to why Fliss claimed she
didn’t
know her stepfather.

‘So – your wife … is she in the business too?’

‘Er … actually, no …’ Saul was quiet, staring out
towards the island. He hesitated for a moment. Bella heard a duck squawking on the river, a sound like crazy old-lady laughter. Then Saul said, ‘No, she isn’t in the business. She died.’

Another half-dozen ducks joined in with the first one’s cackling. Bella wanted to tell them to shut up – this wasn’t the time for their frivolity.

‘Oh. Saul, I’m …’

‘Sorry.’ Saul supplied the word for her. ‘Yes, I know. Everyone is.’ His smile was a sad, half-sized one; he was doing that gentle, reassuring thing that people do when they’ve sprung the shock of death, as if it’s their responsibility to make the unaffected one feel better, rather than the other way round. ‘There’s nothing else you can say really, is there? We British don’t do death very well. It’s an embarrassment. So I’ll quickly tell you all the things that I’ll assume you’d want to ask, and get it over with.’

He took a deep breath. ‘It was a long time ago – coming up to six years. It’s just a depressingly ordinary
and sadly too-frequent tale. Lucy found a lump; after a lot of to-ing and fro-ing for tests and everyone saying how extremely unlikely it was to be serious, it turned out to be breast cancer. She had a mastectomy, chemo, plenty of state-of-the-art treatment and even more assurance that it would all be all right. Except … it wasn’t; when you’re young, if it takes hold it really does gallop through your body. So that’s it really. She was thirty-nine when she died. Back at the beginning of her illness she’d joked about whether it was true that life began at forty, and if so, that could be very handy for her – Lucy always did have a terrific sense of irony!’

‘So young.’ Bella hated herself for stating the obvious, but as Saul had pointed out, there just wasn’t a right phrase.

‘Too young,’ Saul agreed. ‘And too awful a way to go, at any age.’

‘So now you’re …?’

‘On my own, yes. I live over that office you came to in Soho. I’ve managed to buy the whole building, bit by bit, over the years, and I like being in the busy, noisy centre of things. There’s a roof garden to escape to when I feel too city-bound, and I love it up there with my plants and the birds. I found after a while, and after some not-great attempts at thinking I should settle with someone else, that I’m quite good at living by myself. I like the space, the peace, the being able to shut off from
a job that’s mostly waffling on about trivial and inconsequential things. Perhaps if I worked in news or current affairs I’d feel different, but often I’m faced with the certainty that the kind of programmes I’m making aren’t anything to do with a grown-up life. But, hey, OK I’ve told you about me, what about you?’ he asked her as the sandwiches arrived. ‘What happened to Mr Bella, or is he just away somewhere? Ah … was he the guy who’d upset you that first time we met?’ Something about the spark in Saul’s eyes told her that his opinion of James was somewhere on the ‘he’s a twat’ scale.

‘Yes – that was James. But we’re long divorced.
Very
long,’ Bella told him. ‘He went off to live in Edinburgh with someone who matched his manic standards of domestic hygiene but, well, recently he’s come back to the area – or “relocated”, as he’d put it – and is sticking his oar into the murky waters of my life wherever he can. If it were down to him, I’d be moving into sheltered accommodation any day soon, and eking out my remaining years in a sterile wipe-clean cage. He …’ she hesitated. Would Saul want to know any more? Did he need to? Probably not, but as he’d shared something so personal it seemed only fair.

‘He wants to … what he calls “realize the liquidity in our joint property”.’ She tried out James’s phrase, finding it no less ludicrous this second time she’d heard it.

Saul looked both puzzled and amused. ‘And in English that is …?’

‘He wants to sell the house and take half the cash. He hasn’t lived there for ten years. Oh …!’ She put her hands over her face, feeling deep and sudden gloom. ‘Look, I’m sorry. You don’t need to hear this. It’s so superficial compared with what you’ve just told me.’

‘No, go on … you can tell me. I’m always interested in how crazily humans tick. But you said he left, and that you’re long divorced. Surely that means he can’t just …’

‘Ah, well we left it all a bit muddy when it came to the house, because it was where the children were growing up and we didn’t want them to lose their home as well as their father,’ she told him. ‘And now they’re older he’s back to cash in his share, a bit like the bad fairy coming to put her evil long-ago spell into action. You know, honestly, I’ve loved getting involved in all this TV stuff, because just for a little while I don’t have to think about my crap life.’ She laughed. ‘Just lately far too much has gone a bit wrong.’ Appalled, she felt her eyes fill with tears. So much for thinking the worries about money, her quarter of a job, her shaky future and (grrr) bloody James were on hold. Scratch the surface … And this was the second time Saul had seen her all weepy – it was where they’d come in. He must think she was like a leaky tap.

‘Come out with me,’ Saul suddenly said, reaching across and taking her hand. ‘For dinner, I mean. One night soon, later this week?’

Bella smudged the back of her spare hand across her eyes. The wobbly moment evaporated quickly. She’d have to watch that – she’d never been one for over-emotional episodes. It was to be hoped that was a one-off, and surely not unconnected with what Saul had told her about his wife. It certainly put the ridiculous defection of New York Rick into perspective.

‘I’m sorry, that was a bit unexpected! I’m really not the instant-tears sort.’ Her voice was shaky and she felt slightly silly. How sweet of him though, to take pity on her so quickly and ask her out. But what to say now? If she said no, he’d think she didn’t like him enough even to go on a no-strings date, when of course she did. After all, she was out with him now, wasn’t she? But if she said yes, he’d be stuck with his very kind spur-of-the-moment impulse and have to spend an evening being close and social with her. Did he
really
want that?

‘Look, you don’t have to …’

‘I know. Hey, it’s not a mercy date I’m offering, just two unattached people having a friendly evening together. I’d like to spend some time with you, without the prickly presence of Daisy, Dominic and everyone else,’ he said simply. ‘So it would be a pleasure. If
you’d
like to, that is. Oh – and if you
are
unattached …?’ He
looked serious, questioning. ‘Ah … my mistake, is it? You’re seeing someone. After all, why wouldn’t you be?’

Bella laughed. ‘Hell no. Quite the opposite, honestly. I’ve had a recent scalding in that department, so I think you could safely say I’m firmly out of the date market right now. So yes, yes I would love to have dinner with you. Thank you for asking me.’

It couldn’t have got round the sixth form faster if Aimee had stalked the corridors with a loudhailer or sprayed it in paint across the football pitch.

‘What did she do? Stick a poster up by the reception area? Write it in lippy on all the loo mirrors?’ Carly said to Molly as she drove the two of them home. ‘I mean, you’d think she’d want to keep it quiet, wouldn’t you, the mad, sad cow.
Everyone
knows. You can’t go past an open doorway without hearing “Ohmigod! Have you heard …?”’