by Jenny Colgan
“Are you investigating me on behalf of MI6?”
“No,” said Will, smiling. “Sorry. Just making conversation.”
Penny took a swig of her drink.
“I didn’t go to school. I had, you know, a governess, nanny-type thing.” Penny hoped they still existed. “She came from Chelmsford.”
Will nodded. That explained the accent then. “You’re lucky,” he said. “I hated school.”
“Were they always beating you up and calling you gay and that because you liked art?”
Will frowned. “Um, no. I was head of the art club actually. Used to organize gallery tours and stuff.”
“Ooh, head of the art club. Oooh,” said Penny sarcastically, unable to help herself, until she remembered she wasn’t meant to have been to school at all and thus would have no view.
“That sounds really interesting,” she added quickly. “Sometimes I feel I missed out, I really do.”
Will smiled. “I’m not sure about that. Another drink?”
Penny realized hers was finished while Will was only half-way through his. Whoops. She must try to remember to be ladylike in a Chelsea manner, not swig like someone who might later on misbehave with a wine bottle on national television. She looked at his long lean back as he went to the bar. Nice. She just had to get him to stop talking about schools before she got herself found out completely. Anything about the local turf in fact was probably best avoided.
“So tell me about your paintings.”
The amazing thing, as Penny explained to Lizzie later, was that it wasn’t dead boring at all. “Most blokes, right,” she explained to Lizzie as if Lizzie had never had a date before, “most blokes, you ask them about their job, and they can bore the crap out of you for ages. And they’ll start talking about some bloke that you don’t know who’s their boss and who’s a complete prick for some reason, and they’ll go on and on about them, and who really knows best and how they showed them and how if they weren’t in an office they’d give them an arse-kicking they’d never forget.”
Lizzie nodded.
“And you just have to listen and nod and go, like, ‘Wow, you’re really brave’ and “What a bastard.’”
“They must see right through that though,” said Lizzie.
“You’d think,” said Penny. “Anyway, the thing is, when Will was talking about his pictures, it wasn’t boring at all. He was interesting. And he didn’t hate his boss because he didn’t even have a boss. He just did what he liked.”
She lapsed into a reverie again. Lizzie looked at her sharply. This wasn’t like her sister. Usually Penny wanted a credit check and a cost/benefit analysis.
“So has he got tons of money, then?” asked Lizzie.
“Well, he must have, mustn’t he?” said Penny. “He’s an artist and he went to nob school. But we didn’t really talk about money.”
This was a first.
“We just talked about the countryside and our lives and pictures and things. It was lovely.”
Penny threw back her head and cackled heartily at a well-timed crack Will made about Sloan. At the table next to them, very well-dressed people who looked on their way out to a stultifyingly boring dinner, tutted to themselves and one of the women rolled her eyes. Will made up his mind.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Uh, where?” said Penny. She’d been having a good time—a surprisingly good time—sitting here with Will. She hadn’t had to feign interest or anything, and he seemed genuinely interested in talking to her rather than, for example, talking about how much money he was making and how powerful and respected he was at work while simultaneously trying to fondle her kneecaps.
“It’s a surprise,” said Will. Penny’s super-thin eyebrows twitched. Surprise? What did he mean? She thought longingly of The Thomas Crown Affair. Maybe he was going to whip her into his helicopter and they were going to go to the Bahamas for a drink. She smiled happily.
“OK!”
But when they were outside he didn’t immediately summon a chauffeur or nod her over to the back of a big shiny motorbike. Instead, he led her down a maze of back lanes toward the Embankment.
“Is this where you live?” she asked curiously. Will sounded like he was suppressing a giggle. “Uh, no. I live in east London. Where the artists live,” he said, seeing her inquiring look. “Round Hoxton.”
“Oh,” said Penny. “So where are we going then?”
“Are you always this impatient?”
“Yes,” said Penny. “I’ve found it speeds things up.”
“What things?” asked Will.
“Important things,” said Penny. “Getting served in bars, getting the best of the sale bargains.”
“Ah. Important things,” said Will. “You’re a very urban creature, aren’t you?”
“A what?”
“A city girl.”
“Yeah. Compared to what, cows?”
“A bit of natural beauty.”
“I don’t see what’s so brilliant about natural beauty,” said Penny, critically checking out her nails as she clopped along in her high shoes, trying to keep up with Will. “I think it’s overrated.”
“Can you climb in those shoes?”
Will had come to a full stop in front of a high, pink brick wall that stretched on for a long way.
“I can do anything in these shoes.”
“Excellent. Hup! It’s a soft landing.”
And with that, Will, half pushed, half lifted her up onto the top of the wall.
“Wh-aa!” screeched Penny.
“Shh,” said Will. “Just jump. Trust me.”
“Trust you? I just met you . . . ahhh.”
Penny found herself on the top of a large compost heap, the setting sun reflected in her eyes from the river. She looked around, completely confused and shocked, until, with a scrabbling noise, Will made it up and over the wall, and bounced down past her.
“Come on,” he said, holding out a hand.
“What the hell are we doing?”
“Just . . . just get down, then you’ll see.”
Penny worried about her ruined shoes as she tentatively clambered down the hill of manure.
“What the hell . . .”
“Shh,” said Will. “I bet you’ve never been here at this time of day, have you?”
“I’ve never been here at all. Where the hell are we?”
Will looked at her, confused. “This is the Chelsea Physic Garden.”
“Oh, yeah,” said Penny rapidly, trying to cover her mistake. “Course it is. I’ve never been here though.”
“Why not?”
“Uh, my sister . . . gets hay fever and that.”
“Oh. Well . . .”
Penny looked around, and gasped. She was in a huge, beautiful garden. The trees were in full blossom, and the evening sun caught their delicate petals as they shimmered to the soft green grass. There wasn’t another soul there.
“Oh my God,” she said. Will looked at her undeniable delight and grinned.
“I can’t believe you’ve never been here. Come on, let me show you around. I’ve spent hours drawing the botanics.”
Penny didn’t know what he meant, but she followed him anyway as he motioned her down the wide gravel path.
“That’s when I found out about the manure thing,” he said. “Not very romantic, I know.”
“It’s not bad,” said Penny, looking at the long rows of perfectly labeled plants and flowers. It was extraordinarily beautiful.
“They used to train doctors here,” said Will. “That’s why it’s called the Physic Garden.”
“So do you bring all your girls here?”
“No,” said Will. “I come here a lot on my own. I prefer it when there’s nobody else here at all, just me. But I thought . . . I thought you might like it.”
She smiled at him, and he thought again how gorgeous she was.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go look at the cornflowers.�
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“Why?”
“I don’t know. I just like them.”
Will had liberated a bottle of wine from the wine bar and, with the aid of his palette knife, they eventually got it open and, as the sky darkened into a deep blue, they sat, then lay down, on the grass by the cornflowers, talking about—well, almost everything, thought Penny later. She told him about her sister and her mum. But perhaps she had implied that the family was wealthier than it was—he did ask lots of questions about them, and, emboldened by the attention, she had embroidered them so far that they had spent too many summers in France and winters in the Caribbean to have ever heard of the Physic Garden, and she was only working for the fun of it.
But he laughed when she told him about the restaurant (contracting eight years to a week), and she laughed when he told her about his terrible school, and by the time he reached over to kiss her gently in the deserted garden, she realized she’d forgotten even to find out how many paintings he sold and what kind of car he drove, and even more weirdly, she didn’t even care. When he walked her to the door of the flat (at which point she panicked about asking him in and having her cover blown completely), he merely told her he loved her street, kissed her again—rather spectacularly this time—took her number, and walked off down the road.
“And he paid for all the drinks?” said Lizzie, lost in admiration.
“Well, duh,” said Penny. She examined her newly perfect nails, no longer bright cerise, but a delicate shell pink. A smile kept tugging away at her mouth. “He’s minted, isn’t he? He’s an artist, with stuff in a gallery and that.”
“So there’s just one question left,” said Lizzie, looking at the microwave lasagne she’d taken out of the freezer and, for some reason, not feeling like it just at the moment. “Why are you here and not in his swish flat, knobbing his brains out?”
Penny blew on her nails and a most uncharacteristically shy smile crept across her face. “Oh, Lizzie,” she said. “Us Chelsea girls, we just don’t behave like that.”
Chapter Six
“Let me see you,” Georges commanded Lizzie the second she walked in. She jumped a little, flustered, as he stared at her. Just like yesterday, his Mediterranean sense of personal space meant he crept in closer than she was used to.
“What?” she demanded.
“I want to look into your eyes.”
Lizzie couldn’t help it: her heart fluttered. Oh, for goodness’ sake. What a daft pushover she was. She’d probably be like this if a traffic warden said something nice to her. Had anyone ever been more susceptible to a bit of male attention?
“Why?” she said, conscious of her pulse speeding up.
Georges crouched down gravely. His huge arms against his legs were like hocks of ham.
“They’re clear,” he said, with some surprise. “Yesterday they were red like tiny tomato pips.”
Lizzie backed away. “Well, that’s because I didn’t go out clubbing last night. In fact I never go out clubbing. That was a complete aberration.”
Georges nodded.
“In fact, I was visiting my sick grandmother.”
Georges let out a guffaw.
“Ah, Lizzie, so close was I to believing you!”
“It’s true!” maintained Lizzie. “I promise!”
“Could you start on the peppers and mushroom? I’m planning something good with chickenses.”
“Chickens,” said Lizzie.
“And I don’t want to tire you out too much for tonight, when you have to go and tend orphans.”
“Shh.”
“Or for tomorrow, when you have to go and put bandages on the feet of small, slightly wounded ducks.”
Lizzie picked up her knife and set to work.
Three hours later the café was a smoothly running machine of organized chaos, full of contented-looking punters, and Georges was wiping sweat off his brow as Lizzie’s phone rang. It was Penny.
“I just got into work,” she squeaked.
“Glad to hear it,” said Lizzie, wiping some sweat off her forehead too.
“Two wonderful things have happened!”
“Only two?” said Lizzie crossly. She could almost hear Penny smiling down the line.
“So, first thing this morning I run into Brooke in the hallway . . .”
“First thing, eh?”
“Well, ten-ish, you know.”
“Mmm hmm.”
“And she says”—at this point, Penny attempted to launch into an imitation of Brooke’s amused drawl, not entirely successfully—“‘Darling, we’re having a little party on Saturday night—do join us!’”
“Why are you putting on a Welsh accent?” said Lizzie.
“So, we’re going to be really good friends now.”
“Well, that’s great,” said Lizzie. “You can tell me all about it when you get back. Or maybe I’ll just lie on the carpet with a glass to my ear.”
“Oh, you’re invited, you idiot.”
“Really?” said Lizzie, annoyed to feel her heart leaping, despite herself.
“Well, I asked her how she defined ‘little’ and she said, ‘Oh, darling, bring everyone you know.’”
“I suppose the fact that she didn’t then say, ‘Except for your chunky sister’ means I should take that as her begging me to attend,’ said Lizzie.
“Don’t be so chippy,” said Penny. “I think they’re really nice and good fun.”
“I think they’re evil and quite frightening,” said Lizzie. “But I’m willing to be a bit more open-minded about women with scary gaps between the tops of their legs, and white jeans.”
“Fabulous,” said Penny. “We’ll find you a lovely Chelsea boy yet. Yes, Sloan, ten-thirty is time for a cocktail. Everyone knows that.”
Lizzie rolled her eyes. “What was the other wonderful thing?”
“No, I don’t want one, thanks. I don’t know what preprandial means.”
“Penny?”
“What does preprandial mean?”
“I have no clue. Pregnant?”
“OK, got to go.”
“What was the other thing?”
Lizzie could hear Sloan squawk over the top of the telephone. “Could you move these bloody flowers, darling? They’re giving me hay fever. It’s like Kew fucking Gardens in here. Who sends cornflowers anyway?”
“I think I’m seeing Will again,” said Penny, with a little glow to her voice. “I think I might ask him to the party.”
Parties made Lizzie anxious, possibly even more anxious than nightclubs. At least in nightclubs there was usually a dark corner to hide in. And if you hid in the toilets in a nightclub nobody tried to bang the door down and accuse you of ruining everyone’s evening.
And a posh party. What was that going to be like? Maybe they’d have little cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off. Lizzie groaned to herself. And now Penny was going to fall madly in love with some gorgeous rich artist and they’d spend all evening cooing and being all cuddly-wuddly in the corner. And they’d get married and buy their grandmother’s flat and live in Chelsea and raise lovely posh Chelsea babies and she’d have to go back to Essex and look after their mother. She heaved a great sigh.
Georges popped his head around the door.
“What’s the matter with you? Are you worrying about all those koala bears you are going to save in Bosnia?”
“No,” said Lizzie.
“You look tragic.”
“I have to go to a party.”
“That is tragic. That is the saddest thing I have ever heard. Watch as I start crying immediately—boohoo, boohoo. When is this party? Is it tonight? Will you need someone to pick you up and carry you home?”
“No,” said Lizzie. “It’s Saturday. And it’s just downstairs from my grandmother’s . . . I mean, my flat.”
“So why don’t you want to go?”
“Because I won’t know anyone and my sister will have her new boyfriend.”
Georges squared himself around.
&n
bsp; “It’s OK,” he announced gravely. “I shall escort you to this party. No funny stuff. Just for friendliness. I am a very friendly person. I shall make some friends for you, then I shall go.”
Lizzie almost giggled. She could just see big fat foreign Georges walking into that immaculate snooty sitting room. Her and Georges, the gruesome twosome. They’d be the cabaret.
“No, it’s OK,” she said. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“But I don’t mind!” said Georges.
“Really, it’s all right,” said Lizzie.
Georges turned back to his chickenses and started chopping them up with unnecessary force.
“So, I feed you, employ you, save you from falling in the gutter, yes, but you are ashamed of me? I am, what, too fat to go to a party with you?”
“No!” said Lizzie plaintively.
“You are prejudiced, yes? Against foreign people?”
“I would love you to come,” said Lizzie, as more hungry customers started to march through the door.
“Hey.” Penny had been uncharacteristically nervous about calling Will to thank him for the flowers and ask him to the party. Normally she didn’t give a damn. But normally they weren’t quite as handsome as Will.
“Hey yourself,” he said, smiling. “Would it sound cheesy if I told you I was drawing cornflowers?”
“It would sound a lot less cheesy if you were drawing me among them.”
“Uh, would it?” said Will.
“Oh yeah. Umm, I called to ask you something.”
“Good. I like things. Ask away.”
“Would you like to come to a party with me?”
“I would like to do anything with you.”
“Really? I have a dental appointment next week.”
“I’ll hold the spitbowl.”
“I don’t really.” Penny hadn’t been to the dentist since school. She’d been lucky. So far.
“So, do you have a real party or was it just an excuse to phone me?”
“Yes. There’s a party.”
“Double date!” Penny was smugly doing her makeup in the bathroom mirror.
“It’s not a double date,” said Lizzie. “It’s more . . . he’s kind of escorting me. In case you and what’s his name want to sit in a corner all night playing suck face.”
“I would never behave like that,” said Penny.
