overwhelming.
‘Don’t worry,’ Flick smiled. ‘It can be a bit much to get your head round at first. But pretty soon it will all be second nature.’
Just then Hughie became aware that three of the most handsome men he’d ever seen were making their way across the pub towards them.
‘Here are the boys.’ Valentine turned to to greet them. ‘I want you to meet the rest of the team.’
As they approached, Hughie recognized the man from the bus. ‘Good God!’
‘Well, fancy that!’ the man countered, with a smile.
‘You know each other?’ Valentine sounded irritated.
‘No,’ the man said, ‘not exactly. My name’s Henry,’ he held out his hand. ‘Henry Montifore.’
Hughie shook it. ‘I can’t tell you what a spot I was in! I really owe you one. We met on a bus,’ he explained to the others. ‘I didn’t have a ticket or rather I had one but couldn’t get at it and there was an inspector …’
Henry laughed. ‘Think nothing of it. Only I’d avoid that young man in future if I were you. Oh, and let me introduce you to Marco and Jez,’ he indicated the two men next to him: a slim, roughly handsome Italian, with long dark hair, green eyes, and the smile of a wicked cherub; and to his left, a tall, muscular black man, who showed off his Olympian physique in a simple white T-shirt and jeans. He had the classical chiselled features of a Greek statue, crowned by a close crop of white-blond hair.
‘Welcome aboard!’ Henry added.
They were all smiling, patting him on the back, laughing. A fresh pint appeared before him and Hughie experienced the rare and pleasant feeling that he’d arrived.
He wasn’t exactly sure where he’d arrived or for how long. But he determined to enjoy it while it lasted.
Leticia pressed the buzzer of Leo’s flat and readjusted the shopping bags she was carrying. She’d lugged them all the way from Goodge Street in heels.
No reply. She rang again, looking around at the enviable location. Leo lived in a small Edwardian mansion block tucked away in a narrow alley across from Covent Garden Opera House. He’d had the tremendous luck and insight to buy it back in the late seventies when living in town was still a novel idea. Now the flats above and below his were gutted, turned into sleek, loft-style apartments, and prices had soared. His, however, was still firmly rooted in all the mod cons of 1982. She teased him that if he hung on to it long enough, perhaps the avocado bathroom suite might actually come back into fashion.
‘Yes?’
‘I’m here!’
The door clicked open and she struggled up the three flights of stairs. Leo was standing in the doorway wearing a red silk dressing gown worthy of Noel Coward; cigarette in one hand, coffee cup in the other.
‘At last!’ he grinned.
‘What do you mean at last!’ She walked past him into the kitchen, dumping the bags onto the table. ‘I trot all over town doing your grocery shopping and that’s all the thanks I get?’ She planted a kiss on his cheek, then frowned. ‘You’ve lost weight, old man. You can’t afford to lose weight. This cold is taking its toll on you, which isn’t surprising. How long have you had it? Almost a month?’ She began unpacking the food. ‘Let’s get you something to eat.’
‘Actually, I think I look rather well,’ he said, striking a pose. ‘I tried a pair of trousers on the other day I haven’t been able to wear since 1983. They looked fabulous! Perry Ellis grey flannel with pleats like you wouldn’t believe! Of course you won’t remember Perry Ellis; you’re too young.’ He sat down. ‘Did you get the fish fingers? And the pickles?’
‘Yes. Since when do you eat fish fingers? Or pickles?’ She opened the fridge. ‘Tell me straight, are you pregnant?’
He laughed. ‘Not this month. Juan likes them. He thinks they’re exotic. They don’t have fish fingers in Brazil. But the sweet things are all for me. Ahh! You genius!’ He pulled out a tub of Belgian chocolate ice cream. ‘Pass me a spoon, will you? It’s at the ideal level of softness!’
She searched the draining board and handed him a teaspoon.
He took a bite. ‘Heaven! There go those Perry Ellis trousers for another twenty years!’
‘Juan, eh?’ Leticia shook her head. ‘You do realize you’re seventy? Thirty-five-year-old male nurses are dangerous for your health. Or has no one told you?’
‘Stay near the young and a little rubs off. Are you staying for lunch?’
‘What are we having? Pickles and fish fingers?’
‘Well, I’m having ice cream. But we could ring Bartolli’s around the corner and pick up an order of minestrone if you like. Or spaghetti.’
Leticia filled the sugar bowl. ‘That’s OK. It’s a little late for lunch; it’s gone three. God, Leo, when was the last time this floor was washed? That’s not like you.’ She peeled off her coat, throwing it on top of the radiator. ‘Where do you keep a bucket and some bleach?’
‘Under the sink, O She of the Hardened Heart.’ He spooned in another mouthful of chocolate ice cream. ‘I adore Juan for his mind. Which reminds me, how is your young man?’
‘Hughie?’ Leticia filled the bucket with hot water and detergent. The smell of lemons filled the kitchen.
‘Yes, Hughie.’
She smiled. ‘Oh, he’s all right.’
‘You’re blushing!’
‘No, I’m not!’
‘Yes, you are! Bright red!’
She pressed her hands to her cheeks. ‘It’s the steam from the water!’
‘Steam, my arse!’ Leo waved his spoon triumphantly. ‘You like him!’
‘Do not!’
‘Do too, you great big nanna! All I have to do is mention the boy’s name and you turn into a beetroot!’ He began to cough, then to choke, clutching the side of the table.
Leticia thumped him on the back.
‘Pardon me!’ he gasped.
‘Serves you right! Now out!’ She ushered him into the living room, ice cream in hand. ‘Feet up, on sofa while I scrub this floor, understand? And if that cough isn’t better by tomorrow, I think we should call the doctor. You could have a chest infection.’
‘Bollocks! This isn’t the last act of La Traviata. You’re changing the subject and you know it!’
‘So what if I
