Love Nest (19 page)

‘Crazy existence? You were an up-and-coming star, as I recall.’

Karen shook her head. ‘I’d been living alone since I was seventeen. I’d been in all these awful squats. I just felt so grateful to Phil. It was so nice having someone reliable in my life. Knowing that if the boiler broke down I wouldn’t have to deal with a plumber who’d rip me off. That he’d check the car tyre pressures. Make sure the roof was mended. I felt I had to marry him. Had to show him how much I appreciated what he’d done for me. I still feel that.’ She took a sip of her Evian, suddenly shaky at how much she’d just said.

‘So that’s why you’re moving to the sticks?’

‘That’s part of it. The other part is Phil nearly died. After what he went through I don’t see how I can say no.’

‘You went through it all too.’ Max wasn’t looking at her; he seemed annoyed somehow. He finished his sandwich hastily, then gestured apologetically at the clock on the wall. ‘We’d better get back. But I’ve enjoyed this, Karen. Can we do it again soon? No, no, I’ll get this.’

‘Thank you.’ She couldn’t see his expression as he stood at the cash desk, handing over a twenty-pound note. Suddenly she felt a complete fool. She’d confided all this stuff in Max, but he clearly had no idea how close to her heart it was. Why on earth should he? She meant nothing to him; she was just a dull, older woman from his past whom he was being polite to, whom he probably couldn’t wait to get away from.

They walked back to the office in awkward silence. Swiped their cards through the turnstiles. Waited for the lift.

‘Looks like we might be in for a good summer,’ Max said.

‘Fingers crossed.’

They stepped into the lift. At the first floor Max stepped out.

‘It’s been good to catch up,’ he said through the closing doors.

‘Absolutely.’ The lift carried Karen upwards. She was furious with herself. Irrationally disappointed, as if she’d gone to sleep on Christmas Eve and woken up to find it was Boxing Day.

19

Two days after the Shepherd’s Bush gig, the three non-hospitalized members of the Vertical Blinds were sitting in Andrew’s tiny flat in Chiswick, arguing about whose fault it was that things had gone so wrong.

‘The reviews have been shite, the fans are all blogging away saying we’re a joke,’ Paul said. ‘Why did you do it, Andrew? Why did you let him go on stage when he was smacked out of his head?’

‘Ah, c’mon,’ protested Ian. ‘It’s not like he hadn’t done it a million times before. How was Andrew to know?’

‘It’s not like we’ve ever seen Jack do a gig sober,’ Andrew said defensively. But he looked worried. And rightly so. Andrew was in his early fifties. He’d managed various one-hit wonders in the Nineties, but when he’d ‘discovered’ the Blinds he’d been on the verge of bankruptcy. He had an elderly mother in a nursing home and a load of debt. If the Blinds went tits up, he was going to be selling the
Big Issue
.

Ian yawned. ‘Whatever. We obviously ain’t doing anything for the next few weeks until he’s been in and out of rehab. Better see what parties are going on.’

And sort out buying the flat, Nick thought. And concentrate on seducing Lucinda Gresham. He’d felt her eyes on him that night, and when he’d looked at her he’d known she was gagging for it. He’d shag her and then he’d do his best to fall in love with her. He didn’t feel it yet, but it could come.

He needed to call her anyway – she’d been leaving him message after message about his offer and how the Meehans had finally declined it ‘but they’re still happy to come to some arrangement’.

He did it the following morning, just after Kylie had gone to work. His heart thudded in a way he wasn’t accustomed to as he dialled.

‘Lucinda Gresham?’

‘It’s Nick Crex.’

There was just the tiniest pause and then she said, ‘Mr Crex, glad to hear from you. I enjoyed the other night by the way.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Yes. I mean, things obviously didn’t turn out quite as intended but you were excellent. Really good. So have you an answer for the Meehans?’

‘I want to go back to the flat. For another viewing.’

There was another brief hesitation. Then she said, ‘Okaaaay. When?’

‘Today?’

‘How about… three? Obviously I’ll just have to check with the vendor if that’s OK?’

‘No worries,’ he said. ‘If I don’t hear from you I’ll see you there at three.’

Energized, he spent the next couple of hours writing and actually managed to get a new song down. He played it back a couple of times, getting more and more excited. This was what he’d been looking for, something like ‘Mercury River’ that would be played on radio stations across the world and be an anthem. He strummed the opening chords again and, tentatively, started singing.

‘
Green-eyed princess. In your castle. Watching down on me
.’

He decided to walk to the flat. So he got dressed in his favourite black jeans and Bob Dylan T-shirt and set off down the hill through Camden Town. Yesterday’s clouds had parted, revealing a turquoise sky, and for the first time in months the sun’s rays warmed Nick’s skin. Strains of Bebel Gilberto drifted down from a balcony, people were sitting outside pubs. Spring had arrived – even if it was just for today – and Nick felt the happiest he had in a long time.

He felt even happier when he arrived at the flat. Lucinda was standing outside, her hair twisted up in a chignon and wearing a tight-fitting grey suit and very high black heels. Nick was sure she’d made an effort for him.

‘Hello, Mr Crex.’

‘Please. Call me Nick.’

‘Nick.’ She smiled. ‘And I’m Lucinda.’

‘I know.’

She gestured at the door. ‘Shall we?’

In the lift, he could feel tension throbbing between them. She let him into the flat. He looked around in silence.

‘I do like it,’ he said after a long pause. ‘I’ll meet them halfway, twenty-five grand off the original figure.’

‘Fine,’ Lucinda said. ‘I’ll put it to them later. If I can get hold of them, that is. It turns out they’ve gone to Belfast for the weekend. Some family party.’

‘Have they now?’ Nick suddenly turned and began studying the display of swords on the wall. Carefully, he ran his hand along one of them and picked it off its brackets. He looked at Lucinda defiantly, then, when she didn’t tell him off for meddling, said: ‘Beautiful.’

‘Of course. You know about swordsmanship.’ The word made her blush. Excellent. ‘You did it at school, didn’t you?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Let’s see then,’ she challenged.

For a second, he was thrown. ‘Here? Suppose they come back.’

‘I told you. They’re on the way to Belfast.’

She was gabbling, she was nervous. He considered grabbing and kissing her in a grand romantic gesture. But instead he held up the sword so it glinted in the sun that was slanting in through the huge windows. He slashed it downwards.

‘It’s all about cutting and thrusting,’ he said, glancing sideways at her, enjoying the innuendo. ‘Of course this is much heavier than a fencing sword. But basically you cut like this.’ He jumped forward. ‘And thrust like that.’

The sword whooshed down through the air, and stopped just inches from her chest. She screamed and jumped backwards.

‘If you were my opponent we’d challenge each other like this.’

‘You’re a maniac.’ Her eyes were shining.

‘Just showing you what I learned.’ He inhaled. ‘I could show you some proper loose play now. You can be my adversary, except I don’t think you should use a sword. So I’ll just play around you. You’ve just got to promise to stand absolutely still.’

‘OK,’ she said coolly.

He pointed to a spot about a yard in front of them. ‘Stand there. Like I said. Do not move.’

She stood stock still in front of him, grinning. Nick flourished the sword. The next thing Lucinda knew was its point darting to her left side, just above her hip. Then suddenly it was on her right side as if it had passed through her body. And then the sword – clean and blood-free – was back vertically in Nick’s hands. The whole thing had been quicker than Benjie’s response to the question ‘Is Tom Cruise gay?’

‘How did you do that?’ she laughed, running her hands down her body.

‘I didn’t touch you,’ Nick said softly. ‘It’s like a magic trick. The sword passed behind you. Now, you’re not afraid, are you? Because I promise you I won’t hurt you. I won’t even touch you.’

‘You really promise?’ She didn’t look scared. She looked excited. Nick felt a flicker of admiration for her.

‘I really promise.’

‘Then I’m not afraid.’ She jutted her chin in the air, but then – just as he was about to move – added, ‘Is the sword really sharp?’

‘It’s blunt. But still, don’t move.’

The blade whirled through the air, reflecting the afternoon sun. Lucinda watched, hypnotized. A dragon tattoo twisted round Nick’s arm. He stood mainly facing her, sometimes turned sideways on, lips closed tight with concentration as he eyed the outline of her body. His movements grew slower and slower, until she could appreciate each one. The only sounds were her breathing growing shallower and shallower, and, somewhere, the buzzing of a fly, swatting the hot glass of the windows. He stopped.

‘You’ve got a piece of hair loose,’ he said, nodding at a strand escaping from her chignon. ‘Wait, I’ll fix it.’

She felt a flash of silver on her left – the sword had descended. A chunk of her hair fell to the ground. Lucinda shrieked, her hand flying to her head.

‘You cut it off.’

‘You were great. Didn’t move a muscle.’

‘I had no idea you’d do that,’ she laughed.

‘Just one more time.’

‘No way! You’re a lunatic.’ But her tone was far from discouraging.

‘I won’t touch you. But there’s a fly on your shoulder. I need to kill it.’

She saw the point aim towards her breasts and – she thought – pierce her flesh. Lucinda shut her eyes tight, inhaling sharply. Then, slowly, she opened them again.

‘Look,’ Nick said, holding the sword before her eyes. A fat fly was impaled on its tip.

‘It
is
magic!’ She laughed.

‘No. Skill. I ran the fly through and stopped about a millimetre before your skin.’

Lucinda wrinkled her nose in confusion. ‘But how could you cut off my hair and spear a fly if the sword was blunt?’

‘I lied about that. The important thing was to get you to stand still.’

Lucinda sat down on the zebra-striped sofa.

‘I could have been killed and I didn’t realize.’

‘You could have been killed one hundred and eighty-six times.’ He replaced the sword on the wall. ‘But you weren’t because I know what I’m doing.’ He stepped back from her. ‘I’d better get going. I’ll be in touch tomorrow. About my offer.’

‘Oh.’ His businesslike manner threw her. ‘All right then.’

He stepped closer to her. Bent over her. Kissed her on the lips, fully and firmly, for about five seconds.

‘You’re beautiful,’ he muttered. Then he backed away and repeated: ‘I’ll be in touch.’

He was out the door, running along the corridor to the lift, which was waiting for him. As it carried him downstairs, he exhaled triumphantly. He could never have planned for as brilliant a prop as those swords.

In the lobby, he collected himself. Slowly, he pushed open the huge plate-glass door and walked briskly – but not too fast – along the street. Like a man who’d just been to a viewing and now had other places to go, certainly not a man who’d pulled off a coup he’d been planning for weeks. He willed himself not to look round, but he could feel Lucinda’s eyes burning into his back. He took his phone out of his pocket and – pretending to study a text – saw that she was leaning out of the window, watching him. Wondering why he’d kissed her and then run off. Hoping it would happen again.

20

Lucinda could barely get herself back to the office. As she walked along the familiar cobbled streets, she could feel her lungs reacclimatizing themselves to air, her jellied limbs solidifying again. She kept replaying the events of a few minutes ago. Nick Crex had kissed her with warm, firm lips. She’d felt his hard body against her, inhaled his faintly salty smell.

He’d called her beautiful.

Re-entering the office, she found it hard to believe she was the same Lucinda who’d left less than an hour previously, for the third viewing. The same auburn hair. The same grey Carolina Herrera suit. The same Cartier pearls on her wrist. But everything was different. She felt beautiful. Invincible. She looked at her colleagues talking on the phone, going through paperwork, from what seemed almost like a position of power.

‘How did the viewing go?’ asked Gareth casually, as if it was just another afternoon.

‘Uh?’

‘With Mr Vertical Blinds. Isn’t that where you were? At Flat 15?’

‘Oh. Yes.’

‘And?’

Did Gareth know what had gone on? She stared at him for a second before she realized what he was actually asking.

‘He’s going to meet them halfway. Which I’m pretty sure they’ll be cool with.’

‘Did he say anything about that junkie lead singer? What a knob.’

‘Third viewings always spell disaster,’ Joanne interrupted, as Lucinda tried to collect herself. ‘He’s obviously not happy about something or he wouldn’t keep coming back.’

‘I know they usually do.’ Lucinda turned on her computer, trying to stop her voice from shaking. ‘But there’s always an exception to the rule, isn’t there?’

A pile of emails had come in while she’d been out. But Lucinda couldn’t concentrate on them. Instead she called up Google and bashed in ‘Nick Crex’. She’d been doing this ever since the Shepherd’s Bush gig. Studying the online gallery of him on stage wearing sunglasses, outside a stadium in a football shirt, which presumably indicated he supported some team – she’d never understood the British obsession with football.

There was a Wikipedia entry, telling her about his tough upbringing in Burnley and how he was considered the brains behind the band. Lots of clips of him doing his stuff on stage that she watched surreptitiously with the sound turned down. Since the gig Lucinda had downloaded their album and been listening to it non-stop. Their music would never really be her thing, but she was getting used to it.

She’d also learned:

• The Vertical Blinds’ first gig was on 13 June 2005 at the Orange Tree in Burnley.
  
• Nick’s favourite colour is indigo.
  
• Nick Crex, the lead guitarist and songwriter, and the lead singer, Jack, were neighbours in Burnley and attended the same school.
  
• His hero is Bryan Ferry, the former lead singer of Roxy Music.
  

No mention of any significant other. But she knew she couldn’t let it rest at that, so she’d googled again: ‘Nick Crex girlfriend’. There were three thousand five hundred and ten results, but the first two were reprints of an article, with a line saying how one of Nick’s earliest songs was about losing his girlfriend to a boy in the year above at school. ‘And so the Blinds’ trademark wit and irony, reminiscent of Joe Jackson and Elvis Costello, was born.’ Yay! But then she read on. And number three on the list was an article from
The Times
, saying, ‘
Crex with his childhood sweetheart.’

Heart thudding, she’d clicked. The article was dated just a month earlier, and was about Jack’s problems and his fondness for model girlfriends. ‘Crex, on the other hand, is in a long-term relationship with his childhood sweetheart, Kylie, a hairdresser whom he met at school and who avoids the limelight.’

‘Lucinda,’ Niall had called. Hastily, she’d closed the webpage. She’d felt uneasy, but more than that she’d felt defiant. From the glimpse she’d had of this Kylie at the gig, she knew she was prettier than her. But even if Kylie had been Angelina Jolie’s long-lost twin, Lucinda wouldn’t have been that worried. Nick had never mentioned her to Lucinda, and if he was buying a flat you’d have thought the question of his long-term girlfriend would have come up. So it was obviously nothing serious.

Now she sat rerunning the events of less than an hour ago. It had been such a turn-on: him whizzing that sword around. Lucinda had been ready to have sex with him then and there on Alex and Gemma Meehan’s zebra-print sofa, but he’d dashed off. She’d watched him go. Disappointingly, he hadn’t looked back.

But he liked her. He must do. Or he wouldn’t have called her beautiful. No one had ever said that before, not in so many words. Not even Anton. For a second, she wondered about that. Perhaps if Anton had flattered her more directly she’d have more feelings for him. Lucinda’s ego was like a thirsty plant that needed constant watering.

But the more she thought about Nick, the more her confidence evaporated. Nick and his girlfriend were serious. He’d just kissed Lucinda on a whim and immediately regretted it. She was beginning to understand what it must be like to be Cassandra, how ambiguous this boy-girl stuff was, how exhausting it was having to decode signals like a cowboy watching Indian smoke rise over the desert. But he’d told her she was beautiful.

Lucinda wondered if she should call him – and if so, what should she say? Pretend it was business? Or be blatant? She chewed her lip in uncharacteristic indecision, then jumped as her desk phone rang.

‘Hello?’ she said, face on fire, sure it was him.

‘Lucinda? It’s me!’

Oh, shit. Anton. Anton whom she hadn’t given a second’s thought to.

‘I’m back. A bit earlier than I expected.’

‘Hi,’ she said guardedly.

‘So how are things?’ He sounded so warm and needy. Lucinda cringed. ‘I was wondering,’ he continued. ‘Do you fancy dinner tonight? There’s this little fish place I know called J. Sheekey’s.’

‘Oh!’ Lucinda said. She gnawed a cuticle as she looked at her computer clock. 5:59. She did not want to spend the evening at home, willing Nick to call.

‘I mean, if you’re free.’

‘I am free,’ she decided. ‘What time?’

‘Really! Are you sure?’

‘Yeah, I’m sure.’ She felt Gareth watching her. She dipped her head, ashamed. But what was wrong with having dinner with Anton? Just as friends.

To clear her head, she walked from the office to Sheekey’s, just off the hubbub of Charing Cross Road. The restaurant felt very clubby: wall-to-wall mahogany and black-and-white photos on the wall. Anton was waiting at a corner table. As soon as he saw her, he stood up. Her flesh crept at his eagerness.

‘Lucinda. What a treat. Would you like oysters? I’ve already ordered champagne.’

‘Lovely,’ she said, sitting down. He was so old, whole Everest expeditions could get lost in the crevices round his eyes. She thought of Nick and his smooth, hard body and shivered. She shouldn’t have come. She was wasting Anton’s time and hers.

‘Oysters for the lady?’ Anton enquired, as the waiter hovered into view. She nodded dumbly. But her silence didn’t seem to matter. Anton talked about his travels and some new building projects he was embarking on, and how he’d just seen the new programme for the Opera House and he really hoped Lucinda would be able to join him at
Turandot
.

‘Mmm,’ she nodded. ‘Yes. Could be nice.’ After all, she was never going to hear from Nick again, so why not? She might as well enjoy some opera. But then she felt her phone, buzzing in her inside jacket pocket. She whipped it out. Nick’s number.

‘Excuse me, but I have to take this.’

‘I don’t think phones are allowed in here…’

But she’d already answered. ‘Hello? Hi… Oh.’ She held up a hand to Anton and to a waiter who’d rushed in to protest. ‘It’s OK, I’ll take this outside. Sorry,’ she mouthed to Anton, but she wasn’t really, she just wanted to be alone, talking to Nick.

‘Where are you?’ he said, once she was outside in the little courtyard at the back of some theatre.

‘In a restaurant,’ she said.

‘Oh yeah. Who with?’ He didn’t sound jealous, merely amused.

‘A client.’

‘Well, leave him at once. You need to come and see me.’

‘Excuse me,’ she said, grinning so widely she thought her face might snap. ‘But I told you I’m busy.’

‘I need to see you now.’

‘Where?’

‘At yours?’

That wouldn’t work – Benjie was in tonight, revising. ‘Sorry, that’s not possible. How about yours?’

‘No.’ No explanation. She knew why. Her mind contorted like a Cirque du Soleil acrobat as she tried to think of an alternative. And then it came. The Meehans. Away in Belfast. She’d just have dinner with Anton, then nip back to the office and collect the keys.

‘I can see you later. Maybe in a couple of hours.’

‘But I want to see you now.’

‘I’m busy.’ She knew she should play harder to get but it was so difficult. ‘An hour and a half? Back at the flat?’

‘Now!’

Anton stuck his head round the door of the restaurant. ‘Lucinda! Are you OK?’

She waved at him apologetically. ‘Be there in an hour,’ Nick said. ‘Or I’ll be gone.’ And he hung up.

‘All done now,’ Anton said eagerly. ‘Those oysters are waiting for you.’

‘Actually,’ she said. ‘I’m really sorry but I’m not feeling well. I’m going to have to go.’

Anton frowned. ‘Are you sure? You look fine.’

‘No, honestly, Anton… it’s women’s troubles.’ She knew that would have him backing right off. ‘I really think I need to get home. I’m so sorry, I thought I’d be OK but I’m not.’

Anton’s face contorted with concern. ‘Oh dear. Let’s get you a taxi.’ He turned to the top-hatted doorman, who was watching the scene with an ‘I’ve-seen-it-all-before’ expression. ‘Here’s my card,’ he said, pulling his Amex out of his wallet. ‘I’ll be back in a minute. I just need to find this young lady a cab.’

‘Really. I’ll be fine on my own,’ Lucinda protested. ‘You go back in. Finish the oysters.’

‘I’m hardly going to enjoy them without you.’ He took her arm and led her towards Charing Cross Road, pushing through a crowd of babbling theatregoers. Fortunately, they saw a cab straight away. Anton flagged it down and helped her in.

‘South Kensington,’ he told the driver in his usual abrupt fashion. She climbed in.

‘Will you call me tomorrow? Let me know you’re OK?’

‘Of course,’ she assured him. The cab pulled away and she turned round to see him staring after her mournfully. For a second she felt horribly guilty, but then she thought of Nick waiting for her at the flat. It was if her nerves had been replaced by electric wires. She leaned forward and tapped on the glass.

‘We’re not going to South Kensington,’ she told the driver. ‘We’re going to Clerkenwell.’