One Summer Night At the Ritz (5 page)

Will raised a brow as if that was quite obvious.

‘You know, actually…’ Jane was aghast. She was upset with herself now for making this such a big deal – the glimpse she caught of her new hair in the mirror behind the bar exacerbating the fact – she was furious with his calm, insincere apology that seemed perfected to appeal to stupid women caught by his good looks, she felt annoyed that she had thought him someone worthy of meeting with, she felt vulnerable in her outfit and out of her comfort zone and he seemed so relaxed and in his, but most of all she felt suddenly like the precious life of a woman who had given Jane so much was being bandied about like it was worthless.

‘You’re unbelievable. I should never have met you,’ she said suddenly, which took both of them a bit by surprise. ‘Sorry, that was rude,’ she added. ‘I don’t want to be rude, I’m not a rude person. But let’s just forget all about this. I’ll take these back.’ She leant over and folded up the diary pages that he could easily just print out again but she didn’t care. ‘And I will leave you to finish your drink.’ She slid off her stool and glanced at her watch. ‘Seeing as you still have three minutes, I think, before your next appointment,’ she added, and saw the slight smirk on the barman’s lips. ‘Good evening, Mr Blackwell,’ she said, before turning around and leaving the bar.

She worried that her legs might not walk her out the room. She feared that she might wobble to the ground, but she kept going. Kept walking. Kept holding her breath till she got half way down the corridor to the lift and had to take a small pause on the Louis XV chair.

‘Jesus,’ she whispered to herself. ‘Go Jane.’ Adrenaline was surging through her and making her hands shake. She had never done or said anything like that in her life. The last five years she’d mainly said, ‘Does anyone fancy a cup of tea and a custard cream?’ while Enid and her mum played cards on the boat.

She took a deep breath and then stood up and walked to the lift, keen to get out the way in case he came either out to look for her – unlikely – or out in search of the exit.

Upstairs in her room she pulled off Emily’s designer dress and rummaged through her bag for an outfit that she would feel herself in. Not back to her broken Birkenstocks-self, but to something in between that would allow her to forget all this William Blackwell nonsense and head out into this big city and be comfortable enough to blend in. She settled on a pair of old blue skinny jeans that she wore rolled up to mid-calf and a white tank top that did up down the back with little red buttons that she’d only worn a couple of times because she didn’t want to get it stained. She kept Annie’s sandals on her feet and swapped Emily’s fancy clutch bag for a little leather satchel of her mum’s. Just as she was leaving, she turned back and rummaged through her make-up bag for a hair clip, gripping the annoying flicky fringe back from her face and tying her hair up in a carefree, haphazard bun on top of her head, like how Emily wore hers. She was in the mood to go out and enjoy the world, to completely forget about the last quarter of an hour and the expectations that preceded it, and Emily seemed like the perfect role model for that.

Chapter Eight

He watched her leave through the revolving doors as he was getting into his taxi. Watched her hair bouncing on top of her head, watched her arms swing as she walked, watched the little wiggle of her bum as she put one foot in front of the other. How was it possible that she was leaving with a massive smile on her face and he was leaving annoyed that he was leaving. Annoyed that he was off to some new lobster and champagne bar in Soho with Heidi who had a really irritating habit of laughing at everything he said even if it wasn’t funny.

The look on her face as she’d walked out the bar had resembled, infuriatingly, the one on his father’s face when Will had told him the company was effectively a worthless shambles. Like someone expecting from the world awe and delight and having their dreams ground into the mud.

Will’s words had snapped in his father a gentle, child-like core of optimism and enthusiasm. A core Will couldn’t mend even by working ten times harder, by pushing and pushing. He had slowly turned the great drifting tanker of a business round with his bare hands, setting it back on course so they started to see a tiny, slow drip of profit, yet his dad always knew he wasn’t doing it out of love for his cherished company, but out of guilt for suggesting they sell it off and leave.

‘Wait!’ Will found himself saying to the taxi driver who was just indicating to turn onto Piccadilly. ‘Wait one second.’

‘Holding up the traffic, mate,’ the cab driver said over his shoulder.

‘OK, well just pull up where you can.’ Will rubbed his forehead with his hand.

When Jane had left him at The Rivoli Bar, both him and the barman watching bemused as she stalked away, a piece of paper had floated to the floor from the sheaf of diary entries she had stuffed in her too-small bag.

He’d jumped off his stool to get it before the passing waiter picked it up.

‘You want another?’ the barman had asked as he’d sat back on the stool. ‘You’ve got three minutes,’ he had joked and Will had sighed.

‘I have three minutes, you’re right,’ he’d said, and finishing what was left in his glass, he’d flattened out the piece of paper and had a read to see which page it was.

I made Fred borrow his dad’s car. We drove out to the address I’ve been sending the letters. I saw James. I stood on some boxes by the wall and I looked over the fence and I saw him. He was in the garden. It’s cold and he was there with a blanket over his legs in a wheelchair just staring into nothing. Fred kept telling me to hurry up but I couldn’t look away. I didn’t want to shout because I could see people in the distance but I didn’t want to not shout because it was my chance. He was just staring. And all I could think was let me in, let me talk to him because I think I could talk to him. I think I could make him hear me. But maybe I couldn’t.

He looked so awful. And then this woman came along, about my age looking perfect – it seems years since I’ve seen someone look perfect – and she sat next to him and she handed him a glass which he lifted to his mouth as if he was doing it without thinking. I watched but I didn’t shout.

In the end Fred was making so much noise with his hissing for me to come on that we left. I was sick the whole drive home. I think it was the baby saying I should have tried harder.

I told Bernard and he said that we had to go again. (Without Fred this time). Bernard’s driver took us. This time we went to the front gate and rang the bell. The butler came out, told me to wait where I was. I was all ready to make my case. To tell them to just let me have five minutes with James. Not for me but for him. Because I know I can help. I know I can. I was ready to say that it wasn’t for me but it was for him. I would sit for five minutes and then I would leave. And they wouldn’t have to see me again if he didn’t want to. They would never have to see the baby, just five minutes.

But then his dad came down the path with two huge dobermans and said if I didn’t leave immediately he’d set the dogs on me.

I didn’t get to say anything.

28th November 1944

Everything just gets worse. One of Hitler’s rockets hit in New Cross. Fred was there to see his grandfather. He goes every week to take him food. It was awful. He hadn’t told his parents he was going because they don’t approve of the grandfather and only I knew he was there. I had to go and tell them and his mum can’t even look at me because of the baby. The whole thing was awful. Fred came back just shaking. Couldn’t stop. He came and slept on the boat with me because his parents had been so angry that he’d gone in the first place. What’s wrong with people? As I was just dozing off I heard him tell me that he loved me. That the fear of death had made him realise that we must say what we feel. He loved me and had since we were kids. God damn it. That’s the last thing I need. I pretended I was asleep. Just lay rigid and then did a couple of snores which he could probably tell were fake.

29th November 1944

Today the wedding of James Blackwell and Miss Prudence Reese had two lines in the newspaper.

I’m shattered.

For the second time that day Will had thought of that summer with his grandmother, Prudence. The dark, bleak house that James Blackwell had almost escaped. The life his grandfather had lost with this Enid who made him laugh.

‘Your three minutes is up, mate,’ the barman had said with a nod at the clock.

‘Shit.’ Will had folded up the paper and tucked it into his top pocket, then searched for his wallet and handed the barman his credit card.

Minutes later, he was in the cab that had now pulled over on Piccadilly pissing off the passing traffic as it blocked one lane.

Every day of Will’s iPhone diary had a dot on it to mark it busy. Every single day. He was looking at it as the taxi driver was asking him what he should do. There were too many images in his head. His father so disappointed in his office. Prudence’s cold stare from the window. Heidi laughing as she drank champagne and ate lobster rolls. Jane leaning back and forcing him to read the pages, telling him what to do – that hadn’t happened for a while. Nor, for that matter, had being walked out on in a bar.

He watched her disappearing up the street, a carefree bounce in her step. How was she suddenly so happy?

He looked back down at the dots on his phone.

‘Mate, I’m going to have to move on,’ the cabbie said.

‘OK.’ Will nodded and put his phone in his pocket.

He was jealous he realised then, turning back around for one last glimpse of Jane bobbing through the crowds. He was jealous of her freedom.

‘Actually no, pull over again,’cWill said and the taxi driver did a big show of raising his hands and sighing but cut back across to the kerb.

Jealous. He hadn’t been jealous for a while.

He’d also strangely enjoyed their back and forth banter. She’d amused him, which happened very rarely nowadays, and he did feel slightly guilty for misjudging the situation. The least he could do, he supposed, was show her around London – impress her with his hidden gem knowledge of the city – make her trip up here worthwhile.

His rational side said
don’t be so ridiculous
, his voice said, ‘Do you know what? I’m actually going to get out here. Sorry. Here’s a tenner and my card. If you get a ticket for stopping here, forward it to my office. Thanks. Sorry again.’

It was like the thoughts of being trapped, of losing something that might be interesting, overtook him and suddenly Will was back on the street outside The Ritz, but now he was jogging because he needed to catch up with Jane and she was already almost at Fortnum and Mason.

Chapter Nine

‘Wait!’ the voice was out of breath. ‘Wait! Just one second, wait!’

Jane didn’t turn around. That was what they wanted you to do, wasn’t it? Get caught off-guard and then they forced you to a cash machine to withdraw all your money.

‘Wait.’ She felt a hand on her shoulder.

She jumped. ‘Please don’t—lOh, it’s you.’

‘Who did you think it was?’

‘No one.’

Will laughed. ‘Did you think I was about to rob you?’

‘Maybe.’

‘It’s practically broad daylight.’

‘People get robbed in broad daylight. What do you want, why are you following me?’

Will waved his hand, getting his breath back. ‘I’m not following you, I promise. Well technically I am, but in a good way.’

Jane gave him a look.

‘OK fine, admittedly you might not think it’s in a good way, but I just sort of hoped maybe…’ He paused, like he was unused to saying anything similar to this. ‘You might give me another chance.’

‘What about your next appointment?’ Jane asked.

‘Oh shit, Heidi. Hang on, can you wait while I just call her?’

‘You want me to wait while you stand someone else up? You really aren’t my kind of person, you know that?’

‘No seriously, seriously I am.’ Will held up a hand for her to wait as he got his phone out his pocket. ‘Heidi won’t mind, it’s a casual thing…’

‘Yeah, you’re getting no better.’ Jane crossed her arms across her chest.

‘Look, by the time you’ve had a quick browse of Fortnum’s, I’ll have dealt with this,’ Will said as he pointed towards the tower of jams just inside the shop doors as he held the phone up to his ear.

Jane just shook her head thinking what a patronising idiot he was as she walked straight past the entrance of Fortnum’s and then, when she saw a break in the traffic, nipped across the road away from him.

He caught up with her in the Royal Academy.

‘What was wrong with Fortnum and Mason’s?’ he whispered into the quiet.

‘You wanted me to go in there.’

Will laughed and a couple of people turned round from where they were browsing the Summer Exhibition.

‘So where are you going next?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know,’ she said, keeping her eyes on an abstract oil painting that wasn’t her thing at all rather than look at him.

‘I was thinking I could show you around,’ he said.

‘No thank you,’ she said, slowly shaking her head as she peered forward to study the lines of the picture.

‘Do you know what that is?’ he asked.

‘No,’ she said again, shaking her head again. And then she moved to the next picture and spent an equal amount of time looking at it.

She could feel Will getting antsy next to her. ‘You don’t have to stay you know?’ she said.

‘Oh come on, look, I’ve said I’m sorry—’

‘No you haven’t,’ she said, peering into the cabinet of a bronze sculpture.

‘What?’ He frowned.

‘You haven’t said you’re sorry.’

‘Oh.’ Will raked a hand through his hair. ‘Well…’

Jane waited. It was clear he rarely apologised.

‘I’m sorry, all right?’ he said after a moment.

She laughed. ‘Alright.’

‘So can I show you around?’

Jane frowned. ‘I’m not really sure I need showing around? I have places I want to go.’

Will scoffed. ‘They’ll all be tourist traps.’