‘Laura,’ he said, ‘when did you get here?’
‘About an hour ago. Marge called me this morning. Dad’s just gone off to sleep.’
‘Well, the rest’ll do him good. Come on up to the studio for a cuppa. I don’t think there’s much in your Da’s fridge.’
She hesitated. She thought about Luke again. If she slipped out now and got a taxi on St. Paul’s Road, she could be at the Barbican in fifteen minutes.
As if reading her thoughts, Ken said, ‘You’re not thinking of rushing off again, are you?’
‘I just thought I might pop down to my flat while he’s asleep,’ she said, trying to sound casual. ‘You know? Check if there’s any post, see if everything’s OK.’
‘Can’t that wait? I haven’t seen you for months.’
Disguising her reluctance, she began up the stairs towards him.
‘Anyway, I thought you were going to get tenants while you were in Paris,’ he said.
‘Oh, it didn’t seem worth it in the end. All that hassle. It’s only a few months.’
‘Lucky to have the choice,’ he said. ‘Your Da tells me you’re earning a massive salary now. Plus bonuses, he says.’
‘He does exaggerate,’ she protested, laughing. ‘I’m always overdrawn anyway, whatever I earn.’
He winked and pecked her on the cheek as she reached the top of the stairs.
‘Only joking, lassie. I’ve no interest in material wealth as you well know. Only it would help if you could introduce me to some of your well-heeled clients or yuppie friends. Someone who might have a passion for modern art? I could do with a patron. Or perhaps you could buy one of my pieces?’
‘I don’t need to, do I?’ she joked back. ‘I can always come up here to look at your art.’
They reached the next landing and Ken held open the door to his studio. She walked into the familiar smells of oil paint and turpentine, mingled with that of the town gas from the leaky fire that flickered on the far wall. The big room was as untidy as ever; discarded tubes of paint, crumpled clothes, newspapers and books littered the floor. The walls were randomly decorated with posters and newspaper cuttings.
Between the windows leaned an enormous canvas, a giant nude crudely executed in brush strokes.
‘Oh, that’s just Betty,’ Ken said, following her gaze. ‘Don’t mind her. She’s nearly finished. Have a seat.’
Laura moved a pile of dirty washing and sunk onto a battered chaise longue. She could feel the broken springs through the worn fabric. She watched Ken boil a kettle on the little gas stove in the corner. He made her a cup of tea in a tin mug and poured a generous measure of whisky into his own cup.
‘It must have been dreadful when Dad had his fall,’ she said. ‘You were with him, weren’t you?’
‘Well, I was just coming up the road. We’d arranged to meet at the library in Hackney, and I was a few minutes late. We were going to go for a pint. But when I came along he was standing at the top of the steps talking to someone. As I got closer I realised they were arguing.’
‘Arguing? Who was it?’ Laura sat forward in her chair.
‘It was some shabby old guy. Could have been a tramp. Your Da was shaking his fist at him and got so agitated he picked up his stick and started waving it at the man. Then he lost his balance and went crashing down the steps. I rushed to help him. He’d bashed his head and I couldn’t get any sense out of him. When I looked round for the old guy, he’d buggered off.’
‘Did you ask Dad who it was?’
‘I tried when he was at the hospital. But he was so confused and in so much pain that I just decided to leave it. I figured that he’d tell me sometime if he wanted to.’
‘There was an old man watching the house when I got here today, Ken,’ she said. ‘He looked like a tramp as well. I asked Dad about it, and he went as white as a sheet. It was really weird. I’ve never seen him like that. Eventually he admitted that it was someone he’d known in the war. Someone from his camp.’
‘That’s very odd,’ Ken frowned. ‘After all these years. Did he say what the man wanted?’
‘No. He wouldn’t talk about it. Completely clammed up.’
‘Well, he’s never spoken to me about the war. And I’ve known him for over thirty years.’
Laura fell silent, staring into her cup. The image of the young woman in the photograph came back to her. Something must have prompted Dad to dig it out after all these years. Was it the encounter with Leech that had brought back her father’s memories?
She toyed with these thoughts, turning them over and over in her mind, searching for answers, but after a while her niggling worries about Luke resurfaced. Was he in a hospital somewhere, or in a police cell? If she went to the flat, she would be able to use the phone to make enquiries.
‘I’ll have to go in a minute, Ken,’ she said. ‘I really do need to go to the flat.’
‘I should be careful. There are a lot of undesirables out there on the streets this evening. Rent-a-mob militants. Violent bunch.’
‘It’s OK. I’ll get a taxi.’
‘Well, finish your tea first. Tell me what you’ve been up to in gaie Paris.’
‘Oh, nothing much. I have to work really long hours. It’s just like London really.’
‘No time for art galleries?’
‘Well, sometimes. I went to the Jeu de Paume last weekend.’
‘And what about boyfriends? It’s a while since you split up with that banker chappie, isn’t it? What was his name? I forget.’
‘Matthew. Yes, we split up a few months ago, just before I went to Paris. You’re being quite nosey, Ken.’
‘What about that guy I saw you with last time you were home? In the Island Queen.’
She stared.
‘I don’t remember that,’ she said, playing for time.
‘Oh, I don’t think you saw me. You
