I mount the steps and enter the gallery as quietly as I can. The Steves are out for the afternoon, choosing a camper van, and Lucy must be downstairs. For the time being, we’re alone, and thank God for that. Approaching her silently, I register the fact that her shoulders stiffen. She knows I’m here, but she doesn’t turn. As I move in front of her, dumping the sandwiches onto the coffee table, she watches me out of the corner of her eye, her lips curling upwards, just a little.
‘You need to leave,’ I open.
‘I’m a customer.’
‘Bollocks.’
‘Nice language.’
‘Fuck off, Claudine.’
‘I’m not going anywhere.’
Slipping an arm across the back of the sofa, she makes herself comfy. And despite my best intentions, curiosity gets the better of me.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Didn’t your little friend tell you?’
‘She passed on your bullshit. What’s the real reason?’
‘I’d like you to paint something for me.’
As if.
‘Ian’s sent you.’
‘What makes you think that?’ Her eyes glint like gem stones, hard and unforgiving even when they’re filled with light.
‘He set up the ambush at The Savoy,’ I remind her. ‘You were clearly in on that. You’re in contact with him.’
‘Haven’t seen him for a while.’
‘He’s sent you. I know it.’
‘You’re wrong. The fact is, I asked Isaac to find out where to contact you. He’s good like that, Isaac. Looking after my every need. In fact …’ She waves at the window. ‘He’s coming to fetch me in a while.’
‘I haven’t got time for this. Get out.’
‘It’s not your gallery. As I understand it, a certain Mr Finn’s in the process of buying it.’
She’s digging for information, I know it, and I’m about to give her none. In an instant, I make my decision: if she’s not going to leave, then I certainly will. Swivelling on my heels, I make for the door and before I know it, I’m back out in the bitter air, walking fast down Frith Street, pushing my way past meandering tourists … and Claudine’s voice is following me.
‘Haven’t you seen the pictures?’
I keep going.
‘Don’t you want to know what Dan’s been up to?’
I quicken my pace. Of course I want to know, but not from her.
‘I’ve got them here.’
And that does it. Sodding curiosity. It always wins the day. I turn to face her, ignoring the obvious fact that this can’t end well. I’ve been starved of information for weeks and I’m feeling reckless. Like an addict desperate for a hit, no matter where it comes from, I crack.
‘What pictures?’
She pulls a magazine out of her handbag.
‘They’re in here.’ Dangling the bag on one arm, she fingers through the pages. ‘At the back. Society section. I’m surprised you haven’t seen them.’
‘I don’t read magazines,’ I lie.
‘Well, you should. All sorts of interesting things. Like this.’ She thrusts the magazine at me, opened at the desired page. ‘An article about one of London’s most eligible bachelors,’ she explains quickly. ‘Daniel Foster. Apparently, he’s made a good recovery from his little accident, and now he’s back at work.’ She pauses, examining my face before she drops her bombshell. ‘He went out last Friday night. He’s dating again.’
I knew this would happen. He warned me it would. Fighting back the urge to scream, I snatch the magazine out of her hands. Slowly, I focus on the page in front of me, a mass of writing accompanied by two photographs. Nausea rises in the pit of my stomach.
‘In fact, he’s dating that woman.’
A perfectly manicured index finger lands on the first picture, moving slightly to reveal him. Dressed in one of his black suits, he’s smiling straight into the camera, an arm curled protectively around a woman’s waist, holding her close, too close for comfort. She’s slim, petite, brunette. Nothing like me. I don’t recognise her, but according to the caption, she’s an actress. The finger moves to a second picture. This time he’s laughing, both arms around her now, facing her full on, eye to eye. And she’s touching his cheek … lovingly, tenderly. ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ The words rumble at the back of my head, threatening to spill out into the open. ‘Get your fucking hands off my man.’
‘She’s a stunner, isn’t she?’ Claudine asks.
Yes, she is. I can’t deny it. And I’d love to slap her stunning little face into the middle of next week.
‘Looks like he’s moved on.’ She studies me closely. ‘A friend of mine was at the same party. Apparently, he was all over this woman, barely able to control himself. But then again, I suppose it’s to be expected. He’s gone a while without a shag.’
Don’t believe it, I tell myself.
Breathing quickly, on the verge of panic, I examine the photographs one more time, deciding that they’re just too convincing.
Whatever you see. Whatever you hear about me. Don’t believe it.
‘Now you know how I felt. I always thought he’d come back to me, but he didn’t.’
‘Don’t even think you’re on the same level,’ I sneer, shifting my attention to the opening of the article. My vision’s already blurred with tears and shock. I can’t read a word of it. ‘You were never in a relationship with him.’
‘Not the way you’d define it. But to have him, and then to have him reject you, well, that’s painful, isn’t it?’
I need to get away from here. I need some time to think, and I can’t do that with Claudine’s words digging into my brain.
‘They’re quite a match. Very much in love.’
Whatever
