she was talking just for the sake of it, she skidded to an abrupt stop.
Magnus Ashthorpe surveyed her coolly before stating, ‘I think I’ll be able to scrape my share together.’ Which, despite his good clothes, gave her the impression that he was in pretty much the same financial state that she was. Her clothes, limited though they were, were of good quality too.
‘Er—what sort of work do you do?’ she asked, but as he reached for his coffee she noticed a smear of paint on his index finger: the sort of smudgy mark one got when touching paintwork to see if it was dry.
She saw his eyes follow hers, saw him examine the paint smudge himself. ‘I’m an artist,’ he revealed, looking across at her.
‘Magnus Ashthorpe,’ she murmured half to herself. She had never heard of him, but it might embarrass him were she to say so, and she had no wish to hurt his feelings. ‘You’re—um—quite successful?’ she asked instead.
‘I get by,’ he replied modestly.
‘You wouldn’t be able to paint here,’ she said swiftly, latching on to a tailor-made excuse to turn him down. ‘The landlord wouldn’t care to—’
‘I’m allowed the attic where I’m now living. That serves well as a studio,’ Magnus Ashthorpe interrupted her.
‘Ah,’ she murmured. And, feeling desperate to take charge again, ‘Where are you living at present?’ she asked.
‘With a friend,’ he answered promptly.
‘You’re—um…’ Heavens, this interviewing business was all uphill. ‘You’re—er—in a—relationship that—er…’ She couldn’t finish. By the sound of it he was in a relationship that was falling apart. But she just could not ask about it.
Grey eyes continued to appraise her, but briefly his hard expression seemed to soften marginally, as if he had gleaned something of her sensitivity. But any impression she had of a warmer side to the man was gone in an instant. And his voice was cool when he let her know she could not be more wrong if she thought he would tie himself down to any sort of one-to-one relationship.
‘Nick Knight and I have been friends for years. He let me move in a year back, but now he wants to move his girlfriend in.’ He shrugged. ‘While I prefer not to play gooseberry, Nick prefers to have his spare room back.’
‘But you’ll continue to work from his attic?’
He nodded, and Taye started to feel better. While she had no intention of offering the flat-share to him, if he had a studio—be it just an attic—then at least he had somewhere he could use as a base if this Nick Knight wanted him to leave sooner rather than later.
Magnus Ashthorpe had finished his coffee, Taye noticed. She got to her feet. ‘I’m not awfully sure…’ she began, to let him down gently.
‘You’ll want to see other applicants, of course,’ he butted in smoothly.
‘Well, I have arranged for the flat-share to be advertised all next week and to include next weekend,’ she replied. ‘And—um—there will be a question of references,’ she brought out from an unthought nowhere.
For answer Magnus Ashthorpe went over to the telephone notepad and in a speedy hand wrote down something and tore the sheet of paper from the pad. ‘My mobile number,’ he said, handing the paper to her. ‘I’ve also noted the name of my previous landlady. Should you want to take up a reference, I’m sure Mrs Sturgess will be pleased to answer any questions you may have about me.’
Since he was not going to be her co-tenant, Taye did not think she would need the piece of paper, but she took it from him anyhow. ‘I’ll—um—see you out,’ she said, and smiled. It cost nothing and she was unlikely to see him ever again. ‘Goodbye,’ she said. They shook hands.
She closed the door behind him and went swiftly to the dining room. Standing well back from the window, she saw him emerge from the building. But she need not have worried that he might look up and see her lurking near the dining room window—he was already busy in conversation with someone he had called on his mobile phone. No doubt telling his friend Nick Knight that he had found a place!
Taye went back to the sitting room, the feel of his hand on hers still there. He had a wonderful handshake. Still the same, she knew she would not be phoning this Mrs Sturgess for a reference.
Taye purposely stayed in all of that Saturday and the whole of Sunday, and frequently watched from the dining room window for callers. But callers there were none. She had thought there was a huge demand for accommodation to rent, but apparently no one was interested in renting at such a high rent.
And that was worrying. She had not lived in what was termed the ‘garden flat’ all that long herself, but already she loved it. She had moved to London three years ago after one gigantic fall-out with her mother. But only now was she in any sort of position to pay half of the rent herself. To find all of the rent would be an impossibility.
Taye had a good job, and was well paid, but she just had to keep something back for those calls from her mother. Despite her mother all but throwing her out, it had not stopped her parent from requiring financial assistance from time to time.
Worriedly, knowing that she did not want to go back to the bed-sit existence she had known before her promotion and pay rise, and prior to Paula Neale’s invite to move in and share expenses, Taye thought back to how her life had changed—for the better.
There had always been rows at home—even before her father had decided after one row too many that enough was enough and that they would all be happier, himself included, if he moved out.
His financial ability had made the move viable only when his father had died and he had come into a fund which he had been able to assign during her lifetime to his money-loving wife. The fact that Taye’s father had no illusions about her mother’s spendthrift ways was borne out by the fact that he had made sure that the fund was paid out to her monthly and not in the lump sum she had demanded.
Taye had been fourteen, her brother Hadleigh five years younger when, nine years ago now, their father had packed his bags and left. She loved him, she missed him, and she had been unhappy to see him go. But perhaps they would all be free of the daily rows and constant carping. Perhaps with him no longer there, the rows would stop.
Wrong! Without her father there for her mother to vent her spleen on, Taye had become her mother’s target. Though if being daily harangued by Greta Trafford for some over-exaggerated misdemeanour kept the sharpness of her tongue from Taye’s nine-year-old brother, then Taye had supposed she could put up with it. What would happen to Hadleigh, though, when she eventually went off to university Taye had not wanted to dwell on.
Then she had discovered that she need not have worried about it, because when she reached the age of sixteen she discovered that her mother had other plans for her.
‘University!’ she had exclaimed when Taye had begun talking of staying on at school, and of taking her ‘A’ levels. ‘You can forget that, young lady. You can leave school as soon as you can, get a job and start bringing some money in.’
‘But—it’s all planned!’ Taye remembered protesting.
‘I’ve just unplanned it!’ Greta Trafford had snapped viperously.
‘But
