‘About what?’ Someone spoke and I realised it was me, my mouth and brain had reunited.
‘About us of course.’ He was so matter of fact. His smile was slow and sexy.
‘Us?’ I dragged myself back from the mist-filled place I was falling into as I registered what he’d said. Was there an ‘us’? He seemed a bit sure of himself, I thought. Flipping nerve.
He grinned. ‘We do need to sort this out.’
‘Sort what out?’ I was more than mystified and intrigued.
‘Us, of course. You’re going to Germany in August, so we need to sort stuff out,’ he said earnestly. ‘All this…’
He put his hands on my shaking shoulders and drew me close to him so that I could feel his hot breath on my cheek. My knees were about to let me down so it was just as well he took me in his arms and almost lifted me off my feet, as his lovely soft lips brushed mine. Keith Moon played another deafening solo in my ears. I could feel the whole length of his body pressing against mine, almost willing me to pass through and into him.
His heart hammered against my chest and the smell of his aftershave filled my senses, his cheek was soft and his hair fell over my face, soft and feather-like. I really had died and was in heaven. Scott Walker and Peter Frampton began to fade from my memory as Scott what’s-his-name took over.
I vaguely wondered what his surname was. I was being kissed by a total stranger I’d only met an hour ago. Mrs Digby would love this, I thought, as he pulled away from me and sighed.
I stood, eyes closed, hanging on to him in case I fell over. It seemed as if he was kissing me forever, but it was just the briefest touch of his lips on mine. I seriously believe I won’t survive a proper full on kiss. Gordon Bennett! I felt like Doris Day in That Touch of Mink, when Cary Grant kissed her for the first time. Trouble is, she broke out in a rash every time he came near her.
We carried on up the road towards my house in silence. He put his left arm around my shoulders and took my left hand in his right. I was lost for words. It was all a bit much, but I still managed to keep an eye out in case anyone who knew Mum was around.
As we turned into the drive Mum’s bedroom window shot open and she stuck her head out and hissed, ‘what time do you call this?’ It echoed in the silence of the late evening.
‘Sorry Mrs Rossi, we forgot the time as we chatted.’ Scott looked suitably repentant. ‘I’m so sorry, but there are some lovely houses around and I was telling Renza about my father being in the estate agency business, so we were just trying to guess the prices – got a bit carried away.’ He gave her his most charming smile.
‘Since when have you been incapable of walking unassisted?’ She glared at me and I moved away from Scott’s protective arm.
‘Just keeping her safe,’ Scott told her, grinning broadly.
‘Say goodnight and get in here now.’ Mother shut the window and the curtain closed.
I watched the window as I said lamely, ‘ Err, well, thank you for taking me out. It was lovely,’ and I turned towards the front door. I felt so miserable. Mum said go out with him once and he wouldn’t want to see me again. I waited for the brush off.
Before I reached the door he grabbed my arm, pulled me round and leaned towards me, kissed my forehead and squeezed my arm. Winking, he said, ‘We’ll do this again, seriously. I’ll call round tomorrow, tell your mum.’
And he was gone.
I closed the door and leaned against the cool glass, completely blown away. I still didn’t know his full name but it didn’t matter.
Scott Whatshisname wanted to see me again.
Renza’s Diary
16th June 1968
Of course Scott didn’t show up yesterday. I knew he wouldn’t and I knew Mum was right. I felt confused and disappointed and so unhappy. Goodness knows what I did wrong. What’s wrong with me? I mean, I’d spent hardly three hours in his company and now all I could do was think about him, dream about him. And he wasn’t interested. My heart was broken.
Luckily Mum didn’t have time to shine the light in my face and give me a good grilling because Dad’s cousin Gideon turned up out of the blue, and wanted to take me for a spin in his car. I tried my best to get out of it. Not that I didn’t enjoy his company, I did, but I wanted to keep an eye on the stairs to the flat to see if Scott would appear.
By midday I had run out of excuses and with no sign of Scott decided, well, gave in, and reluctantly agreed to go and see an exhibition of Gideon’s art in a leading London gallery.
Gideon was a talented artist, so clever, but sadly he suffered with his nerves, badly, since being bombed in his submarine in world war two. He had what the family called ‘funny turns’ and there was never any warning when he was going to have one.
He wasn’t violent or anything like that, he just sort of went off to another place in his head for a while and sometimes he didn’t come back for days and had to go into a special hospital.
He still lived with his widowed mother, Fenella, who tried hard to care for him, but she was getting quite old and you could see what a strain it was on her.
She’s our favourite great aunt. You can hear her coming a mile away, with all the jangling charms on her bracelet. And whatever the weather, she had something fur on, either a big fur coat, or a stole, or a hat. She was like a model, tall, elegant and very beautiful, without a hair out of place. But she was only too happy to roll up her sleeves and bath one of the little ones if she got the chance.
Great Aunt Fenella had lived a wonderfully exciting life and had travelled all over the world, she had many stories to share. She’d even lived in Borneo. I loved it when she told us about her life there. Especially the story of her going up a river in the jungle in a small canoe, with natives taking her to join her husband, whom she hadn’t seen in a while – he was an engineer inventor. She had on her best Bond Street outfit, complete with huge picture hat (this was in the 1920s), and suddenly a huge gust of wind took her hat off and she had to content herself watching it floating down the river, much to the amusement of her oarsmen.
I could always imagine it. The big white memsahib looking ridiculous.
Gideon and I were just getting in the car when I saw Scott walking towards us. I silently cursed Gideon and his flaming art, and then I cursed Scott for leaving it too late to visit me.
Taking a deep breath, I prepared myself for the brush off, my heart feeling like a lump of concrete as Scott said hello to Gideon and smiled at me.
Scott beckoned me to one side and I gave Gideon a huge smile, following Scott behind the car. I saw Mum twitching the curtains upstairs, her eyes boring into us.
‘Just thought I’d pop round and let you know we are doing a gig in Luton and might not be back until late tomorrow. If we get back at a decent time, I’ll come round then, OK?’
Those beautiful eyes held mine totally and utterly and I think I muttered, ‘OK, then, see you tomorrow,’ but I can’t be sure.
He smiled at me again and patted my arm, and then he was gone.
Mother opened the bedroom window and shouted, ‘what the hell are you playing at keeping Gideon waiting? Get in the car, now!’
Still in a bit of a dream, I got in the car. Gideon smiled at me and put the radio on. Flipping classical music. Oh boy, the trip into London was going to be so unreal. His car was ancient and it back-fired all the way up the London Road, it was so embarrassing, people stared at us and I felt a right twit.
Gideon wasn’t the talkative type, thankfully, so I leaned back in the cracked leather seat and shut my eyes, re-living the last few minutes with Scott. He’d looked so sexy in his purple cords and tight black top which ended just under his ribs. He was so muscular and brown – just like a rock star. I wish I’d asked him more about his band the other evening, instead of acting like a dim-wit, all starry-eyed and gormless. I could kick myself. Closing my eyes, I felt his lips on mine, his arms around me for the millionth time. I just kept re-living every second of it, unable to believe what had happened
. Actually I wasn’t sure just what had happened. Was this like falling in love? I tried not to think about it and concentrated on this impromptu trip to London instead. One thing I was pleased about was that I’d dressed nicely for a change, thinking Scott and I might spend some time together. I’d decided to wear my black midi skirt and Mum’s 1950s platform heels which tied across my ankles. I wore my white lace blouse with the high collar and a cameo broach at the throat, finished off with my black waistcoat – I thought I looked like a trendy cowgirl.
Going into London I didn’t want to look like a country bumpkin. I hoped that Scott had liked what he saw. I just couldn’t tell.
‘Was that your boyfriend?’ Gideon spoke at last, his eyes never leaving the road.
‘Err, no, well, not really,’ I stuttered, ‘we’ve only just met – sort of.’
‘Good looking chap, bit of a heartthrob I suppose.’
Gideon surprised me as it was generally thought that he was in such a world of his own he never saw or heard what the rest of us mere mortals did.
‘He’s in a group,’ I said, sitting up and gazing out of the windscreen as we came into the Cromwell Road in London.
‘An artistic soul then, that’s nice.’ Gideon slowed down and turned off into a side street. ‘I like that.’
We parked the car and I followed Gideon along the street full of hippies and really hip people wearing the latest fashions and hair styles – it was so exciting and I felt as if my eyes would pop. I made a mental note of what they were all wearing so I could find similar clothes next time I had some spare cash.
We went into a large white Georgian building, decorated richly with a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The walls were lined with Gideon’s paintings, most of which I recognised from the studio in his home.
‘I wanted you to see them before the exhibition opens. I know you appreciate the creative side of people, Renza, so you’re having your own private showing with me, before the opening next week. I hope you like what you see.’ Gideon peered intensely at me with a look of hope in his dark grey eyes.
‘They’re amazing, wonderful, you’re so talented. I hope you sell bucket loads and make millions just like Dali and Picasso.’ I’m not a fan of Picasso or Dali; at least you can recognise what Gideon has painted.
Gideon went off to see someone about his exhibition and I found a seat and went back to thinking about Scott.
He seemed to be all I could think about since we had our date.
Date! Wishful thinking! Our walk.
Renza’s Diary
16th June 1968 – early evening
Amazingly we headed to the Dorchester on Park Lane for dinner. Gideon said he’d told Mum he’d feed me, so we might be late back. We took a black cab because Gideon didn’t want the hassle of finding a parking space and dealing with parking meters.
The Dorchester was amazing, glittering and very posh. Everyone was dressed in evening clothes or really way out fashions with the wildest hair-styles and jewellery. The women looked just like models and the men looked like film stars. My eyes almost popped. A man in a bow tie played music I didn’t recognise, seated at a grand piano, whilst waiters flitted about like black penguins smiling and serving drinks and meals. I felt so sophisticated when we walked in, although I could see people watching us, no doubt wondering what a middle aged man was doing with such a young girl. I wasn’t fussed. I know I can pass for older than sixteen. I felt like Lady Muck.
A few months ago I’d been out with Phillip Swartz whose family own the grocers and Post Office not far from Nan’s. His mum was friends with mine and he apparently ‘fancied me’ and wanted to take me out, so between them they arranged for him to take me to a discotheque. I didn’t have a choice and I felt really stupid going out with someone of twenty-five, but he was nice.
We had a good time, but he was shocked when I said I was only just sixteen, no one had told him. He thought I was twenty. I reckoned Mum thought she would marry me off to a rich bloke and get me off her hands. He said he loved taking me out and he really liked me, but I was just too young for him. I’ve never been so relieved in my life. I spent all night worrying in case he wanted to kiss me goodnight. He kissed my hand instead. He was rather dishy though, a bit like Dave Clark from The Dave Clark Five, but really, he was almost an old man!
Gideon ordered for us. I looked at the menu but it all seemed a bit posh and expensive to me and so when he said he would order I was really relieved. We had oysters in their shells and something called garlic bread which I’d never had before but I really liked it, even though it hummed a bit. Then we had pheasant and some sort of sauce with lots of vegetables and roast potatoes. The oysters and pheasant were ‘out of season’ according to Gideon, but apparently posh chefs can get them from overseas. Well, that’s a relief then.
I’m not much of a meat eater, I’d rather have just had the vegetables, but at home if I say I don’t want to eat any of it Mum says I’m trying to be different and being awkward, so I just ate what I was given. Besides, I wouldn’t have upset Gideon for the world. I even drank the claret which was poured for me when we’d finished our citrus torte, and afterwards we were served the cheese board and coffee. I thought I was going to pop.
Gideon was interested in my writing career, or rather my fading hopes of one, and he said he’d try and get Mum and Dad to think again, but I told him it was far too late. He asked me about Scott and his band as well, but I was at a loss what to tell him really – what was there to tell?
So we talked art and music and films, and then we talked about the Vietnam war and the unrest in France and in Eastern Europe, and how being in Germany might not be too safe, what with the Soviet Union and Berlin Wall.
It was almost worth not seeing Scott to be here at this time in this fantastic city. I really was having the best time.
We took another taxi after dinner, and stopped off at Carnaby Street. I couldn’t believe it. I was standing in the most trendy, fab and groovy place on the planet, and it was all so mind-blowingly exciting.
Everywhere I looked I could see Mods and Hippies and really cool looking people with the most far out clothes you could imagine. Girls were in minis with John Lennon caps and long over the knee boots; maxi and midi skirts were everywhere and in every colour and pattern you could think of. It was crowded with people shopping and tourists and people just like me.
‘I want to go into Lady Jane, and have a look round!’ I was almost squealing with excitement and anticipation. Not that I could afford anything, but just to go inside.
Gideon went into Lord John whilst waiting for me. I couldn’t imagine it was his type of place, but he kindly stayed in there for the twenty minutes I spent in heaven with the most grooviest gear ever.
Eventually I felt sorry for Gideon and fetched him out. Then we wandered into Pop.
When we came out I spotted a really famous band, The Mojos, who I recognised from the television, coming out of the really trendy hairdressers called John Stephen.
I could hardly believe that I was standing feet from The Mojos, in the most famous street in the world. There was a huge photo of Long John Baldry in the window and it seemed he had his hair done there too.
Suddenly a crowd of screaming crying girls came charging towards us as they also spotted The Mojos. Gideon grabbed my arm and we ducked into a music shop. The group were surrounded and ended up signing autographs and having their photos taken by the fans.
It was just like being at the Empire Pool Wembley after the pop concert I was allowed to go to. Amazing.
The record shop was full of kids looking through the records, standing in the booths, listening to songs with headphones on, and there was just this loud muddle of music – all sorts of songs bleeding through the booths and into the shop. Some girls were dancing to the music, swaying from side to side, eyes closed.
There were posters all around the shop for different bands and events. There was a fab poster of The Who, advertising their ‘Magic Bus Tour�
��, and another one for the West End musical called Hair, with Oliver Tobias on it, which, so I heard at school, had lots of naked people running around on stage. I tried not to imagine the gorgeous actor, Oliver Tobias naked.
I was knocked out by the atmosphere and the variety of people, the music and fashion – it was all so unreal, so far removed from my life at home. I’d seen a famous band and lots of trendy people. Unreal.
We popped into a coffee bar across from the record shop and ordered two espressos; “people watching” Gideon called it. Imagine if Twiggy or David Bailey went past – I’d just die.
After a while Gideon said, ‘We’d best get going or your mum will do her pieces if we’re too late back.’
So we took another taxi back to the car and set off home.
‘Gideon, I’ve had the best day ever, thanks so much for bringing me with you, it’s been the most wonderful day.’
‘My pleasure.’
He went to chat to Mum when we got home, and I went straight to bed so I could replay the fab day I’d had, over and over in my mind. But as I drifted off to sleep it was Scott who filled my mind. I couldn’t stop thinking about Scott and tomorrow.
Renza’s Diary
June 17th 1968 – early afternoon
Scott stood at the front door smiling broadly and looking out of this world. His hair was caught by the sun over his shoulder, glossy and falling over his eyes, which seemed even more turquoise than I recalled.
‘Hello, want to go for a walk with me?’ he asked, one hand resting on the door jamb.
‘Oh, err, I’m not sure,’ I stammered, glancing over my shoulder nervously. ‘I’d have to ask Mum first.’
‘Ask her then,’ he said, reaching out to touch my hair. My knees nearly buckled.
‘Please wait here, she doesn’t like people coming inside uninvited,’ I told him, feeling really stupid. He must think I’m such a little kid.
‘No sweat,’ he winked at me. ‘We can go to that big park place down the other end of the village if you like.’
Only One Woman Page 4
