He didn’t answer immediately, just a microsecond’s delay, while he looked at her with what amounted to undisguised lust. She was a little taken aback. She wasn’t used to such non-verbal directness after a total acquaintance of about twenty-five seconds. “Would you like to get a coffee?” he asked. “Unless of course you have a husband and twins at home waiting for you.”
“Um, yes. I mean, coffee would be nice, and no, there are no husbands or twins.” This was the second time she had burbled, but there was obviously no point in being coy, because she had started this, after all.
So they went off for a coffee, which became a casual meal, which didn’t end up in sex, that night anyway, in case you’re imagining this raunchy pair to be completely lost to all propriety. Richard had to go home because Eliza would be waiting, and being winter it was dark. She was eight and quite grown up for her age, but she was still a little girl. He bought some dinner for her, and an éclair to soften her mood at his being late. He would have been surprised to know how much she had already guessed from his elated manner, since she had been putting two and two together in that way for a few years now. “Dad, I need a new violin,” she told him, her timing excellent.
“A whole new violin, my cherub?” he asked, with the air of one who would have to sell something, possibly his grandmother’s pince-nez, or even his grandmother, to finance this expenditure. In fact he probably had twice the price of the instrument stuffed, forgotten, in his sock drawer, and he had to exercise considerable restraint in order to deny her anything she had her heart set on. Eliza knew all this, but went along with it.
“Yup. My baby one is very small. We can sell it to a baby for half price,” she added. She demonstrated the difficulties of having outgrown her violin, by holding the imaginary tiny bow between finger and thumb and sawing away on a teeny instrument apparently about six inches long, making sound effects appropriate to a pygmy fiddle.
A few days later, Richard arranged for Eliza to stay overnight at a friend’s house, and took Linda out on a real first date, to dinner and a play. Luckily she enjoyed the theatre; too bad if she didn’t. One assumes she had her revenge by hauling him off to an exhibition of abstract sculpture at the earliest opportunity. He took her home to her tiny flat in Camden and kissed her goodnight. He had already told himself he wasn’t going to push his luck so early in the piece, but throughout the evening neither of them had been making much effort to hide their desire for each other, so one chaste kiss led to another, less chaste, kiss and then to another passionate kiss. This naturally led each of them to explore the other’s skin without the inconvenience of clothing and they both chose to lose control. If Linda had known about his track record she probably would have made him wait three months before letting him into her bed, but she didn’t. And if Richard had known how hard he would fall for Linda, he may have run very fast in the opposite direction.
They had an idyllic twelve months together until one day, without warning, Richard made an announcement and an offer: “I have some work in Australia for the next year or so, and Eliza and I are flying out in a few weeks.”
“What?” she said, suspending a hissy fit until she had the whole story.
“And I’d like it very much if you would come with us,” he added.
“You know I’ve just accepted a job offer as a Specialist in the National Gallery. I will never get this chance again. I can’t possibly go anywhere at present.” Her heart was sinking down to her shoes, and fear made her voice sharp.
Richard was somewhat chauvinistic at times, and no more than at present, when he was taken aback by his beloved’s refusal to throw in her career to accompany him to Australia. He had trouble appreciating why other people, especially the women in his life, regarded their work as important. Perhaps if she had been an actress offered the lead role in a Broadway production he would have understood. He was a thrown a little off balance, so he blundered on with less panache. “I would also like it very much if you would marry me,” he said, casually, without commenting on what she had just said. To his surprise this did not have the object of his affection clasping her hands and swooning in delight.
“Bloody hell, Richard,” she said. “I’m not going to give up my career to travel with you, so why do you think I would do it to marry you?” He couldn’t see the logic in this, in fact she seemed to have it the wrong way around. So they proceeded in this way for the next hour or so, resulting in a fight in which things were said and not taken back, and they managed to break up and each blame the other for it.
Richard’s feathers were sorely ruffled; worse than that, his heart was broken. Naturally, instead of trying to stay in touch with her and working things out, which would have been the emotionally intelligent thing to do, he spent the first few months in Australia trying to forget her with work and a variety of romantic interests. Although the feelings were remarkably similar to those attending his break with Maureen, he did not think of drowning himself this time. His insight, perhaps, had improved by a minuscule amount.
Eliza experienced her father as a little distant, emotionally unavailable, for those months. She survived, but was more than usually convinced that no matter what happened, she was going to have to sort it herself. When the unfortunate fight with Angie occurred and notes were sent home, Richard had an epiphany, of the sort our grandparents used to precipitate by slapping us around the head and telling us to stop being self-indulgent.
Linda, after several months of anguish over Richard, decided to cut her losses. She had written letters, as had Richard, and neither had sent them, so each assumed the other was getting on with life. So she started going out with her boss, a Senior Departmental Head, fifteen years her senior, and within a few months they were married. And a few months after that, it all started to go pear-shaped, because she didn’t love her new husband. She had married him because she had lost her belief in love, although the poor bastard was, of course, madly in love with her. She stayed with him because she felt she couldn’t possibly screw up another relationship. So she drank a bit, and thought about having an affair. Both of which, as we all know, helps enormously to solve such a problem.
Fate, having perused the television guide and found nothing worth watching, decided to intervene.
* * *
Linda was in the mood for a bit of noise and a bit of weird, and was having drinks with a couple of girlfriends in the Dev, when a group of three young men arrived. One of them caught her attention immediately. He was tall and slim, with broad shoulders, and he was fashionably unshaven. His beard was dark and with a one-day growth it was difficult to guess at his age, but she thought early twenties. He was dressed in a carefully scruffy way, with rings which looked suspiciously like decorative knuckle-dusters, and boots, jeans and leather, all in black. Girls’ necks swivelled on their shoulders when he came in. He ignored them, but he looked over at Linda, glancing away when she caught his eye. A couple of extra years of experience would correct that small sign of gaucheness.
Linda wouldn’t have called him pretty, however he had that gaunt, big-eyed look, which, with the fair skin, was perfect for his current surroundings. A fact well-known in this part of town was that, although his Goth affectation sometimes tempted unenlightened males to try to pick fights with him in the rutting season, a closer look would have informed them he was well able to take care of himself. Linda saw that toughness in him and she found it attractive enough to begin the process of cancelling out the age difference. He was, in short, very sexy for a youngster, and our ancient crone of thirty-one was extremely taken with him, deciding that a toy boy might just make up for the rather average sex she had been having lately, well, since Richard left, actually.
She was wearing a clinging black number, down to her ankles in some parts and nearly up to her knickers in others. The neckline was revealing, her auburn hair sweeping her shoulders,
