by Jessica Ayre
Jennie gave him a scathing look. 'It's not for sale. I don't sell unfinished work. Your grandmother,' she added, suddenly finding a mocking tone, 'will just have to be satisfied with another present.'
Colin eyed them both quizzically for a moment. 'I'll leave the two of you to sort this out.' He gave Jennie's shoulder a light pat. Then laughing, he added, 'Shout for help if your model—or is it your patron?—turns nasty!'
Jennie tried to still the quiver of her hands as she felt Derek's now suspicious gaze on her.
'I guess my grandmother will have to wait until the drawing is finished,' he said at last. 'But my patience isn't quite so well developed. How about having that drink with me? Or a spot of lunch?
Jennie tried to think calmly. There really was no way of extricating herself gracefully from the situation. And she did after all have to work with Derek. She would somehow have to be friendly, but assert her distance. She steeled herself to it.
'Yes, why not?' She raised her dark, thickly-lashed eyes and tried to meet the blue of his gaze evenly.
Derek smiled his pleasure. 'You don't know what this does for my dwindling ego! I'd all but given up hope. And another "no" after this morning's trek from Battersea would have all but ruined me.' There was a mocking tilt to his lips.
Jennie felt the blood ringing in her ears. 'You mean you followed me here?'
He chuckled, 'The studio didn't seem to have a telephone number for you, only an address. So I turned up and…'
'You followed me,' Jennie finished abruptly. A shudder ran through her as the idea of being followed unknowingly through the streets came home to her.
'Mmm. I quite fancy myself as the hero of a thriller. Brazen detective follows mysterious lady through tangle of London streets. Mysterious lady, who by all known reports refuses castles in Spain, invitations to the Savoy, tantalising diamonds. And says "no" with conviction.' Derek laughed, but catching the troubled look on Jennie's face, he stopped.
'I'm sorry if that upsets you,' he said in a low voice. 'But it's not only that I'm insatiably curious. I did want to see you.'
Jennie shook off the warmth of his glance and bent to gather chairs and sketches. Derek took them from her and followed her towards Colin.
'I'll be back in a little while, Colin,' Jennie said, feeling somehow embarrassed.
Colin glanced up from his drawing, nodded and waved her off. Beneath his breath she thought she heard him say, 'Take care of yourself, little one.'
And so I will, Jennie remarked to herself. But as she felt the warmth of Derek's fingers on her arm, guiding her through the crowd, a tremor of doubt passed through her. Perhaps it had been a mistake to diverge from her ritualised no. She shook herself mentally and braced her nerve.
'What shall it be, my mysterious dark lady? A glass of white wine and some smoked salmon to welcome the spring? Something a little more substantial?'
Jennie shrugged and looked down at the old jeans she had tucked into her high boots in preparation for cycling through the city; her loose white smock shirt. 'As long as it's not the Connaught Hotel. I didn't think to bring my tie.'
Derek grinned and straightened an imaginary knot at his throat. 'My attire, on the other hand, is impeccable,' he drawled.
Jennie noticed that the jeans, stretched smoothly over his long muscular legs, were as worn as hers, his sky-blue shirt was open at the neck. Unwillingly too, she took in the tautness of his stomach, the curly gold-brown hair which escaped from the open button of his shirt, the strong tendons of his surprisingly bronzed neck. A disturbing thought flashed through her mind. What a wonderful nude study he would make! The flush crept into her cheeks as she tried to put the idea aside. But it persisted.
Of course, that was it, Jennie suddenly determined. Attack was the best line of defence. She would treat him as the subject for a painting. Coolly detached interest; a clinical distance. The strategy appealed to her. It was the only possible one with a man who wouldn't take no for an answer.
They crossed over Piccadilly and he led her through a small shop-clustered lane, down a few stairs to a wine bar. As Jennie's eyes grew accustomed to the interior dimness, she made out comfortable wicker chairs and tables with glass tops, couples engaged in a low hum of intimate chatter. Derek pointed out a back table by what appeared to be a small glassed-in courtyard. Potted palms framed a tiny sunken pond.
Jennie sat down and waited. Within a few moments she saw Derek coming towards her carrying a bottle of white wine and two glasses. He moved through the crowd with a cat's grace. No, Jennie corrected herself, more like a tiger waiting to pounce. A smile came to her lips as she remembered her resolve.
He caught it. 'I see I've earned myself momentary grace,' he said as he eased himself into the chair beside her.
Jennie attacked, 'I was just thinking what a delicious subject you would make for a nude study.'
She saw him visibly stiffen. Then he met her, his eyes suddenly fiercely black beneath his rugged brow. 'I might offer my services,' his voice was light in contradiction to his gaze, 'if I thought the artist were good. Have you done a lot of male nudes?'
Jennie blanched. 'Not very many,' she lied, knowing she had done none from the life, terrified that he might take up her offer.
'I don't know how Grannie would respond to a present like that,' he reflected, the mockery coming back to his voice.
Jennie was saved from replying by the appearance of the waitress carrying plates of smoked salmon and brown bread.
'I'd better wash my hands,' she said, grimacing at her charcoal-smudged fingers. She walked quickly to the ladies' room, washed and looked at herself in the mirror. Did she look different, she wondered, now that, as Daniela might have said, she had been touched by the eyes of a man? The same straight nose, slightly too wide mouth, thickly-lashed brown eyes beneath well-defined arches. Yes, there was a strange sparkle in their brown depths. Jennie bent her head and let her hair fall over her face as she combed its length savagely. Why on earth this ludicrous self-examination just because a rather arrogant man had followed her through the streets? She threw her head back and let the waves of her hair fall where they would over her shoulders. Determining that she would end this meeting soon, she walked back towards the table.
Derek's eyes were insistently on her as she moved across the room, and she felt her skin tingle as if caressed. It was a new sensation and she lowered her eyes, unwilling to meet his.
He filled her glass and lifted his to her. 'To our first drink, no mean achievement in this case.'
Jennie bit back her, 'To our last,' and took a large gulp of the chilled wine.
'Do you paint as a hobby?' Derek asked.
'Do you write as a hobby?' Jennie countered before she could stop herself.
'Touché!' He looked at her with interest. 'But I don't hide it. Why the secrecy? No one on the team has mentioned it to me.'
Jennie shrugged. 'It's no one's business but mine, is it?' The hostility in her voice was a little too evident. She tried to steer the conversation back towards safer ground, but with those eyes fixed on her, her mind was a blank.
'No,' he chuckled, 'you're quite right. There's your work and there's your life. And you want me to stop interfering in the latter, right?'
Jennie nodded, still avoiding his eyes.
'But writers are curious animals, Miss Jennifer Lewis. They have to know. It's an incurable urge, and in this case it's directed at you. So tell me something about yourself, or I'll just have to keep on following you.'
Jennie shuddered, forcing herself to meet his eyes. They were in deadly earnest, unlike the playful tone of his voice. The air between them was so charged, it was difficult to keep her voice steady.
'Jennifer Lewis, born Leeds, age twenty-two, height five foot six, weight, somewhere around eight stone; profession, make-up girl; aspiration: painter. Will that do, Mr Writer-Detective? Or would you like my National Health number as well?'
He laughed and a twinkle appeared in his eye. 'I would
have thought seven stone was more like it. But I see I'll have to take up your modelling offer if I'm to find out any more.'
Jennie could feel her knees turning to water, but she managed a reply. 'Given the way our director is working us, I'm afraid I won't be able to use you until some time in the future. Why not leave your number with me and I'll get in touch.' She rose to go, but he put out a hand to stop her.
'There's still some wine in the bottle. Why not finish it?'
'I should get back to work, or should I say, to my hobby?' she said coolly.
'In the trade I think this is what they call the brush-off,' he looked at her intently, forcing her to meet his gaze. 'Or am I wrong?'
Jennie felt a glimmering regret rising in her, combined with a stronger impulse to flee. Her voice was thick when she found it. 'I don't know,' she said honestly. 'But I do know I have to go.' She attempted a polite nod, a thank you, and all but ran through the wine bar.
At the corner of the street she paused to catch her breath. Her heart was pounding as if she'd just experienced a narrow escape. I've gone quite barmy, she thought to herself. Sitting having a drink with a man, and I act as if my life were at stake!
She took a deep gulp of air and walked slowly towards the Park to retrieve her things from Colin. He eyed her astutely. 'Decided against him, have you, Jennie?'
'I'm afraid so.' She tried to sound casual.
'Well, it's back to the old easel. Shall we have a painterly chat tonight over a bottle of wine to quiet your nerves?'
Jennie shook her head. 'I'd like to, but I'd better get back home now and do some more work. There isn't much time left until I'm off to Italy.'
'Rain check until you get back then. Buck up, girl. That was a good drawing you did of your Derek.'
'Hardly my Derek, or my idea,' Jennie shrugged, 'but thanks.' She smiled warmly into Colin's dark eyes. 'I'll see you in a few weeks.'
She watched for a while as Colin tossed off a sketch of a young Chinese woman and then proceeded slowly through the Park.
'Do you mind if I walk with you rather than behind you?'
Jennie almost jumped out of her skin at the sound of the deep voice at her side. Derek was matching his long paces to hers.
She shrugged.
'I left my car in front of your flat,' he offered by way of explanation.
'The pavements are free,' she muttered ungraciously. 'And I can't very well stop you.'
A note of anger came into his voice. 'Perhaps I'd better tail behind you after all. The view seems to be better than the company.'
She shrugged again. 'The choice is yours.'
He said nothing, but he stayed beside her, his gait rhythmically linked to hers. Jennie looked blindly straight ahead. All pleasure in the fresh spring day had left her. Her mind was a jumble of irrational fears which fused into only one clear thought: how would she rid herself of Derek once they had reached her flat? His arrogance seemed to be such that a straightforward no made no impact whatever, and she couldn't, just couldn't chance the possibility of that all over again. She felt dizzy with the pressure of it.
A hand on her shoulder made her flinch.
'Let's stop a minute, Jennie,' Derek said, making her turn towards him. They were on the Embankment and he guided her towards the river's edge. 'Are you living with someone? Is that it?'
'No,' she blurted out honestly, and instantly wished she'd said yes. It would have solved everything.
'Well, what is it, then? I don't repel you, do I? Attraction, I've learnt over the years, is usually a two-way street.'
She looked up at him, taken aback by his straightforwardness. No, he was hardly repulsive; too attractive if anything, with those wide-set deep blue eyes in that rugged bronzed face. Her look must have betrayed her thoughts, for a mocking gleam came into his eye.
She shrugged, finding an odd high-pitched voice somewhere in herself: 'I simply want to be left alone.'
A low rumbling laugh emerged from him. 'I've hardly asked you to share my life with me; a drink, a little friendly conversation, perhaps something else.'
Jennie caught his eyes roving over her face and across her body. She turned away abruptly, slinging her sketch pad across her chest and holding it there firmly with both arms crossed over it as she strode away, head held high.
He was beside her again in a moment and continued as if there had been no interruption to their talk. Only the note of mockery was stronger in his tone now.
'The funny thing is you don't strike me as a man-hater, nor an ardent feminist. God knows, I've met plenty of those—and of the most virulent kind—in California. There are two sorts, I decided. The first simply want to be men—why, I haven't quite been able to figure out; we're hardly wonderful. They want to be men not only in their relation to the world of power, but in their sexual habits. Love them and leave them. It seems to agree with them even less than with men of that kind.'
He paused, waiting for some kind of response. When Jennie said nothing, he shrugged. 'Well, I don't think you're like that. Then there's the other kind. Full of plans for social reform. Women's equality, equal opportunity. I'm all for it, even help where I can. It's the humourlessness for the approach which is so stultifying. Though inevitable, I suppose. I haven't met too many social campaigners of either sex who are particularly endowed with wit. Still, when the earnestness intrudes into everyday relations, I groan. I can't really see why it's necessary.'
'If you'd listen to yourself for two minutes, you'd see why in a flash,' Jennie lunged out, surprised at her own vehemence. 'You're patronising beyond belief.'
He chuckled wryly, 'A response at last. I'd almost lost hope.'
Jennie flushed and kept a tight grip on her hands. She felt she would like to give him a good hard slap. Instead she quickened her pace.
'You're right, of course,' he said a few seconds later, his tone serious. 'I'm being insufferably smug, passing judgement. But, you know, we're all beginning to treat each other like walking specimens of a gender. It's the differences between men and women that are important to me, the differences between each single one of them that I'm curious about.'
Jennie suddenly laughed. 'Well, if you're following me because you're doing research on the nature of women, forget it. I'm not interesting enough. And I'm sure you've got quite enough candidates for a sociological survey without adding me to the list.'
'It's hardly sociology I was thinking of,' he muttered, his eyes searing into her.
They were nearing Jennie's door now and her sense of panic returned. She looked round furtively, trying at the same time to think of an appropriate goodbye. Derek noticed her discomfort.
'Don't worry, I won't force my attentions on you.' He looked at her questioningly and passed a finger lightly down her cheek. 'Too bad, though. We might have been good together.'
Jennie's cheek burned, holding the imprint of his touch. Impulsively she put out her hand. He took it and held it, his long fingers enveloping hers. 'No hard feelings,' she said, a question in her assertion, and then added inconsequentially, 'I think your script is marvellous.'
He laughed, still holding her hand, a sardonic gleam in his eye. 'I'm so very glad you approve of something about me.'
Jennie flushed. She tried to extricate her hand from his, but before she could do so, a voice called from behind her.
'Hello, Jennie, I thought I'd just come down for a breath of spring air.'
'Hello, Mrs Owen.' Jennie shook off Derek's hand. 'What a good idea. Shall we take a little stroll together?'
Mrs Owen looked at Jennie and at Derek, and a wide smile crinkled over her face. 'Oh yes, Jennie, but I wouldn't want to disrupt your plans.' A comic archness crept into her features. 'Aren't you going to introduce me to your young man?'
Jennie blanched and then controlled her voice. 'This is Derek Hunter, Mrs Owen. I think I mentioned to you that he wrote the script of the film we've been working on. Derek, this is my neighbour and friend, Mrs Owen.'
Derek took Mrs
Owen's hand. 'I'm pleased to meet a friend of Jennie's.' The irony of the comment was meant for Jennie alone. Mrs Owen was obviously impressed by the politeness of tone.
'I'm sorry if I intruded.'
'Oh no, on the contrary, it would be my pleasure if we could both accompany you on your walk.'
Mrs Owen beamed, and Jennie groaned inwardly. A sudden excuse occurred to her. 'Er—Mrs Owen, I quite forgot the shopping. Why don't you stroll with Derek while I do it, otherwise the shops will close.'
Derek intervened, 'We could take the car and all do it together.'
'That's really not necessary,' Jennie parried. 'The shops are just down the road.'
Mrs Owen's word was the final one. 'It would be rather nice to walk down together. Then Mr Hunter could help us bring the packages home.' Mrs Owen smiled sweetly and Derek returned her smile with warmth, giving her his arm.
They set off slowly down the street.
'This is very convenient, Jennie. We had wanted to get rather more supplies in than usual, since you'll be off for a while.'
Jennie conceded the point, nodding sweetly, but fuming inside. Mrs Owen would be sure to invite Derek in for tea, and somehow that would lead to an invasion of her territory. She trembled with apprehension.
Meanwhile Derek chatted pleasantly to Mrs Owen and gave her his arm. Jennie glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He seemed to be totally engaged in the conversation. Not a note of condescension was visible in his voice as he told Mrs Owen the story of the film. He met her glance for a moment and a flicker passed through his eyes, but then he seemed to lose interest in her altogether and gave his whole attention to Mrs Owen.
They walked into the local supermarket, and Derek casually reached for a trolley. 'Lead the way, ladies. I'm at your disposal.'
'How very kind,' Mrs Owen smiled her thanks, and she and Jennie busied themselves with selecting provisions. Jennie felt herself relax a little as Derek's attention strayed from her. He appeared quite content behind his trolley and Jennie wondered a little at the time he seemed to be willing to give to so ordinary a task. Catching her glancing at him, he gave her a long slow wink and a wide smile broke over his face, as if he'd read her mind. 'It makes a change from the typewriter!'
