Leo slowly spins me around, reaches forward and nicks the sunglasses from where they’re resting on the top of my head. He props them onto his face. They look ridiculous.
‘Lucille, do I look hot in these?’ he asks casually. ‘I feel like I look hot.’
‘You look very hot,’ I say wryly.
‘I knew it.’ He walks a little down the street, doing an exaggeratedly masculine ‘T-bird’-type strut in the big winged Chanel sunglasses. A middle-aged tourist couple walk by. ‘Evening,’ Leo says in his deep, plummy voice. ‘Lovely night for it.’
The couple scurry away, muttering about London and deviants.
I giggle. I really don’t intend to genuinely laugh at anything Leo does, but . . . I must admit he’s kind of funny. And it’s such a bloody relief to laugh after the sad-sack tone upstairs in the Da Vinci room.
Taking the sunglasses off, Leo hands them back and stands right in front of me.
‘I like you,’ he says matter-of-factly as a red bus whizzes past behind him.
‘Oh, Leo, I like you too!’ I return immediately in the wimpy breathy voice.
He grins, green eyes narrowed. ‘You’re different. I mean . . . different from anyone else I’ve ever . . . ’
Screwed over?
‘ . . . dated. I love how comfortable you are with yourself. You’re unique and, and, alternative.’
Alternative. There’s that word again. Shit, he thinks because I’m dressed in vintage clothing and acting delicate and old-fashioned that I’m some kind of manic pixie dream-girl. A sweet Zooey Deschanel-type in quirky dresses and hats. If it wasn’t so off-kilter it would be hilarious.
I gaze up at him, feigning modesty. ‘Thank you. That’s very sweet of you.’
He steps closer to me, tucking one of my curls behind my ear. ‘I mean it, Lucille. I like how . . . how real you are. There are so many phoneys in this town, people who only care about money and status, where they can be seen with you and who your bloody father is. You’re . . . not like that. You’re just you. Do you know how refreshing that is?’
Oh God.
‘And I don’t want to get all Tom Cruise on the sofa right now,’ Leo goes on, shoving his hands deep into his chino pockets, ‘especially when we’ve only met each other three times, but . . . I thought I ought to tell you, just, you know, how much I like you. And, well, I don’t feel that way a lot. Or . . . ever. That’s it, really.’
Taking his hands back out of his pockets, he grabs one of mine and moves his forefinger back and forth across my palm. Then he shrugs slightly and gives me a bashful look. ‘Do you think that’s absurd?’
Either Leo Frost is the world’s greatest actor or . . . is he nervous right now? He seems sort of nervous.
I get a weird feeling in my chest. A fluttering. Like acid reflux, but not entirely unpleasant.
Leaning forward tentatively, Leo moves his head towards mine. His mischievous eyes flicker to my lips and he half grins. I look at his lips, arrogant and full, red and . . . annoyingly inviting. He wraps his arm around my lower back, swiftly and confidently pulls me in so that we’re waist to waist, and with his other hand tilts my chin upwards. I move my face towards his, closer, closer and then . . . right at the last minute, I turn my head so that his kiss lands squarely on my cheek.
Just in time. Phew.
Phew. Definitely phew. Right?
My back stiffens as I realize that I don’t feel entirely ‘phew’ about halting his kiss.
Did I want to kiss him? No. Of course not. He’s a moron. A sexist pig. Mean slow-clap starter. Breaker of Valentina’s heart.
Leo recovers from my rejection admirably, taking out his phone and checking on the whereabouts of the town car.
I look at his mouth again as he talks on his mobile.
It’s a nice mouth. Arrogant, yes, but also kind of, well, gorgeous.
Fuck.
Why can’t I stop looking at Leo Frost’s mouth?
Don’t be a dick, Jess. It’s just smoke and mirrors. He’s handsome in his blue polo shirt, there’s a heatwave, you’ve had champagne, maybe he’s not quite as terrible as you thought he’d be and maybe he’s got a bit more depth to him than you expected but that does not mean you fancy him. It fucking does not.
Leo catches me staring at his mouth and grins widely. I quickly look away under the guise of searching my purse for some non-existent thing.
When he’s put the phone down, he asks, ‘Are you free tomorrow evening, Lucille? Tonight has been very me-centric and I’d love a chance to find out more about you.’
‘Yes, I’m free,’ I say at once.
But as Lucille or as Jess, I’m not entirely sure.
Suddenly, I feel nervous too.
I ride the town car back to Bonham Square with a very niggly feeling indeed. It feels like butterflies, but not in the nice way. To be fair, I did drink loads of champagne and maybe just need to do a massive burp. I hope so.
I flashback to Leo Frost looking sad about his mum in the gallery, making me laugh by the fountain, leaning in to kiss me. Then I think about what it would have been like to kiss him. I bet Leo Frost is dead good at kissing . . .
No.
I do not like Leo Frost.
I pull a face at my treacherous brain. Stoppit, brain.
I try to get a grip of myself. Maybe Leo Frost releases a higher than average amount of testosterony, pheromoney-type chemicals, and I’m sniffing them out and my body and brain are simply reacting to that in a normal human way. There’s no other reason for almost kissing him. Or . . . maybe, without even realizing it, I’m falling victim to the Leo Frost power? To the magnetic power that Valentina and Summer were talking about at the David Arthur Montblanc party? Maybe this is Leo Frost’s magic – confident and charismatic twat on the outside, sensitive and pained soul of an artist on the inside. Maybe this is his thing, how he captures his hearts before he chews them up and spits them out.
I make a mental note to call Valentina again in the morning and find out more about what he was like with her. I need back-up.
When the car reaches Grandma’s building, I thank the driver and get out. Lifting my head, I walk determinedly across the street.
As I approach the door, I see the downstairs lights are on. Jamie is at the clinic.
See. That’s what I do. I like Jamie. I have casual sex with Jamie. I don’t get bizarre nervous sensations about Jamie and that’s the best way to be. The safest way to be.
Ugh. I feel all kinds of weird. My heart is racing. I do not like it. This feeling needs to do one and fast.
There’s only one thing for it.
I hurry up the steps of the building, storm into the lobby and knock hard on the clinic door. Jamie answers immediately, almost as if he was waiting for me.
‘Hullo, Jess,’ he starts with a warm smile. ‘How was your ni—’
‘Let’s have all the sex,’ I interrupt, pushing him back inside the clinic and slamming the door behind us. ‘Now.’
There. That’s better. I can breathe again. Lovely, casual fun sexy times with Jamie and no horrible overthinking things and fancying the wrong people. As I’m pulling my sundress back on, Jamie says, ‘You want to go for a walk?’
I shrug. ‘Why not?’
Doing a circuit of the park will be a good way to wind down. I’ve not managed to get a run in today; besides, I don’t quite feel up to relaying tonight’s date to Grandma and Peach right away. I’d rather not think about it at all, if possible.
Jamie and I mosey around Bonham Square’s leafy private park, the welcome breeze cooling down our hot and sweaty bodies. I probably look a right state, pin curls messed up, mascara down face, dress buttoned up haphazardly. That’s the cool thing about hanging around someone casual like Jamie – I don’t care what I look like. He’s my buddy. My sex buddy.
‘I got asked out today,’ Jamie chuckles as we amble past a rose bush in full bloom. ‘By a patient!’
See? He got asked out and he’s comfortable e
nough to tell me. Cool, casual sex pals. That’s what it’s all about.
‘Wit woo!’ I tease, elbowing him. ‘Is she nice?’
He shoves his hands in his pockets. ‘She’s nice. Her name is Kiko.’
‘Cool name.’
‘She’s Japanese. She comes for a check-up about her mild arrhythmia every few months. I couldn’t believe it when she asked me if I wanted to go out for a drink. Right in reception, in front of the other patients!’
I laugh with him. ‘So . . . what did you say?’
‘Um, no. I said no.’
‘Aw, that’s a shame. Did you not fancy her then?’ I ask.
‘I told her I was already seeing somebody.’
‘Huh?’ I scrunch my face up. Jamie stops walking, pausing by a huge old oak tree rustling gently. ‘What are you doing, you plonker, why have you stopped walk—’
‘I said no to Kiko because . . . I’m seeing you.’
I snort. ‘You used me as an excuse? Well played, my friend.’
He doesn’t respond. Just looks at me intensely, a bit of breeze ruffling his curls.
He’s not kidding.
I shake my head. ‘But we’re only hooking up, right? No strings, etcetera. Remember? You’re free to go on a date with whoever you choose. It’s totally, totally cool with me.’
Of course it’ll be a bummer not to have access to his man parts whenever I need them but . . . I can live with that. Definitely.
Jamie takes hold of my hand. ‘Surely you don’t really think that, Jess? That this is still just “hooking up”.’
I take my hand back, confused. ‘What you talkin’ ’bout, Willis?’
Jamie frowns – it doesn’t suit him. ‘You said no strings two weeks ago, Jess, but we’ve seen each other pretty much every day since then. Ergo seeing each other. This is, um, clearly more than just sex. I know you know that. I know you feel that.’
What the fuck is happening? I peer at Jamie to see if he’s telling a joke, if he’s going to reveal that this is some ridiculous prank for shits and giggles. But he looks serious. Very serious indeed.
Oh, balls.
He’s only gone and attached.
Jamie Abernathy has sodding emotionally attached to me like a foolish, feeling leech. I thought I’d made things super clear to him? I definitely did.
With an exasperated tut, I whirl around and start power-walking back through the park, past a bed full of gawky-looking daffodils and in the direction of Grandma’s building.
‘Where are you going now?’ he asks, following me.
‘Doc, when I said I wanted something with no strings, I meant it. I still mean it.’ I huff out through my cheeks. ‘Nothing has changed. Sex is ace, we have a giggle, but nothing more.’
‘Why nothing more? More would basically be what we’re doing now but with a little more, I don’t know, conversation. I don’t get why you don’t—’
‘I’m – I’m busy. Really busy right now.’
Jamie catches up with my power-walk, stumbling slightly on a grid. ‘With your project? You don’t want to even try to take things more seriously with me because of that guy you’re hanging out with for your project. Frost? Was that his name? The guy you’re tricking?’
I stop again and put my hands on my hips. ‘No, it’s nothing to do with that! And even if it was – which it isn’t – that’s none of your bloody business.’
We reach the door. Jamie goes to get it for me, but I dart in front of him and yank it open furiously. I spin round to face him.
‘Say yes to Kiki,’ I sigh. ‘Maybe she can give you what you need.’
‘Kiko.’
‘Kiko then. Look, I like you, Jamie. I really like having sex with you, but this – ’ I indicate the pair of us – ‘is . . . is nothing more . . . and it never will be. It’s time to cool things off.’
Jamie stands there in the lobby. He doesn’t say a thing. Just glows with anger? Embarrassment? High blood pressure? I don’t know.
I can’t bear to be there with him any longer, witnessing this unasked-for change of heart. It makes me feel horrible and guilty and, well, really fucking confused.
‘You – you didn’t stick to the rules, you turd,’ I spit, my voice breaking unexpectedly.
Then I run up the stairs two at a time, tripping over twice in my heels, and let myself into Grandma’s, leaving Jamie staring forlornly after me.
What’s happening? First I get weird attractions to Leo and then Jamie gets weird feels for me.
It must be a full moon tonight. Maybe all this odd behaviour has something to do with the tides and the stars or some shit. I hurry over to the upstairs hall window and peer out into the night sky desperately. But the moon is not full. It’s just a boring old crescent moon.
I creep down the hallway of doom, which is now completely empty of junk and no longer doom-like, up the stairs and into my room. Angrily stripping off my clothes and underwear, I have a quick shower, towel-dry my hair and climb into bed beside Mr Belding. The sooner I can get to sleep, the sooner these unsettling feelings will bugger off.
But sleep doesn’t come for ages. I even go back downstairs and make myself some lightly warmed milk, but it doesn’t work. Then I listen to some gentle sounds of the ocean on my iPhone, but that doesn’t work either. I end up lying awake, tossing, turning, thinking, stewing and wondering until the early hours of the morning.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Falling in love with your chosen chap can feel like flying – enjoy this sensation, you have certainly earned it. But do be careful not to lose your head. A Good Woman must remain focused on the goal.
Matilda Beam’s Guide to Love and Romance, 1955
After approximately two hours of sleep, I wake up at six a.m. and immediately call Valentina.
‘Hello?’ comes a bleary voice. Valentina sounds half asleep. I thought all successful people woke up very early? That’s what Summer always said whenever I slept in past ten a.m.
‘Yo, Valentina. It’s Jess. Sorry to wake you, I’ll bell again later.’
‘Jess? I’m awake, stay right there.’ I hear some shuffling about and Valentina clearing her throat. ‘Jess Beam, you delicious kitten. Lovely to hear from you. How are things?’
‘I had another date with Leo last night.’
‘Great, did he take you somewhere fabulous this time? The Ivy? He’s very fond of the Ivy—’
‘No, we went to the National Gallery.’
‘Oh! Really? He always visited the gallery alone when we—’
‘Look, I wanted to ask you, Valentina, did Leo ever talk to you about his mum?’
‘No, no he didn’t. He rarely shared anything of his past, as I remember. Why do you ask – wait . . . did he . . . did he talk to you about his mother?’
‘Yup.’ I put the phone onto loudspeaker and place it on the duvet beside me.
There’s a gasp on the other end. ‘Gosh, that’s very unusual. He’s such a closed book of a man.’
‘Did he talk to you about his art?’
‘His art? What art? Do you mean his adverts?’
‘No, his sketches.’
‘Leo sketches? Sketches what?’
‘I don’t know, I only saw one. Of an old man in a boat.’
‘A man in a boat? Was it good?’
‘It was amazing.’
‘Gosh, Jess. Gosh. He never told me he liked to draw, not in six weeks. And he shared this with you? On your second date?’
I nod, even though she can’t see me. ‘We talked about it a bit, yes. And then he told me he liked me. That he found me refreshing. That he’s never, um, met a woman like me before. Is this normal?’
There’s a pause. And then, in a very excitable tone of voice, Valentina says, ‘It is not normal. This out-of-the-ordinary behaviour can only mean one thing.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Matilda Beam’s 1950s romance tips must be working. They must be working magic. I suspected they might, but this is beyond! Matilda mu
st be thrilled. Wow. Keep on doing what you’re doing, clever Jessica,’ Valentina continues happily. ‘The scoundrel Leo Frost deserves everything that’s coming to him.’
‘Does he? Does he definitely?’ I ask, a slight spike of guilt darting through my chest.
Valentina laughs knowingly, the sound of it blasting out of the loudspeaker and echoing through my room. ‘Oh, he might be showing you a different side now, Jessica, but think of all the women before you. The ones whom he cast aside, treated like trophies, did not show his sketches to. You’re doing this for them. For women all over London. Be strong. You are a warrior, Jessica. A warrior.’
I think about all those broken hearts. Broken hearts are dangerous things. I think about my mum’s broken heart.
‘OK,’ I say firmly, punching my fist down onto the duvet.
I am Jessica Beam – noble and true hunter of cruel, hard-hearted knobheads with really nice mouths.
‘And write,’ Valentina urges. ‘Write it all down for me. Everything. Write like the wind, my love!’
‘Yes. Will definitely write like the wind. Thanks, Valentina.’
‘It’s my pleasure. Keep me posted, duckling.’
‘Will do.’
‘And Jess?’
‘Yeah?’
Her voice goes kind of low and growly.
‘Annihilate that rat.’
‘Yep. Fo sho. I’ll do my best.’
Hanging up, I turn to Mr Belding, who’s languishing across the end of the bed.
‘What the fuck have I got myself into?’ I ask him, raising my hands to the air.
He answers by licking his own butt.
‘You are of no use,’ I grumble, and head to the bathroom for a wee.
The weird nervous feeling I had last night has settled back in and I really need to clear my head. Nothing like a good top-secret run to do that.
I change into my running gear and sneak downstairs as quietly as I can. I know where all the creaky floorboards are now, so I hop and step over each one like I’m doing an Irish jig.
In the downstairs hall I bump into Peach coming out of the kitchen, wearing a long pale yellow dressing gown, hands clasped around a mug of coffee, corner of toast hanging from her mouth. Damn. I thought everyone was still in bed.
The Vintage Guide to Love and Romance Page 22
