by Clare Ashton
She’d hoped to amuse Cate, but her expression remained unmoved, her mouth parting as if about to respond. Their eyes remained locked and Pia’s insides chilled with the fear that she’d been impertinent.
Cate’s mobile buzzed on the table. She scrabbled for it and tapped it silent. A flicker of regret disturbed her features and Pia wondered where Cate should be in her elegant evening dress.
Pia expected her to make excuses but her hesitancy hung heavy around them. Pia thought she should make it easy and stood up. ‘I’m feeling fine now. I can make my way home. Please don’t hang around for my sake.’
Cate looked up, her expression still serious. ‘Would you stay? Have one more drink with me?’
Chapter 4.
‘This is bonkers.’ Pia leaned on the white railing of the art deco terrace, a second cool glass of Champagne in her hand. Below, spread across the roof of the old department store, was an English woodland garden, lush and incongruous. It glowed warm in the low evening sun.
‘I knew there were gardens up here, but I didn’t expect trees.’
Cate smiled and pointed across the lawns and treetops to a pool. ‘They have one or two flamingos in the pond.’
‘Mad,’ Pia said grinning. ‘Wonderful and barking mad.’
Pia scanned around, trying to find her bearings. ‘The square’s that way isn’t it? You’re just a stone’s throw away.’ She was conscious of being a virtual stranger but knowing Cate’s address. She added. ‘I live over in Brixton. Great place to live but there’s nothing quite like this.’
‘But there’s a price to pay for the privilege of living here,’ Cate said, still staring over the gardens.
‘It’s expensive enough in Brixton.’ Pia tutted. ‘I still live with my mum. I don’t think either of us could afford to do anything else.’
Cate looked surprised. ‘Do you get on? Is it all right living at home?’
‘Oh Mama’s great. I’m very lucky. She’s like a best friend to me, and she’s always been supportive of who I am. I’ve some gay friends whose parents have been terrible. Oh. I’m gay by the way,’ Pia said, struck by the way she talked to Cate as if she’d known her far longer than the hour they’d shared.
Cate smiled indulgently. ‘I know. It’s written all over you.’
‘Is it? Oh.’ Pia shook her head. ‘I have no gaydar at all, so I assume people don’t spot me. I’m always surprised by the people who leap out of the closet. I pride myself on capturing people’s intimate moments on camera and spotting the emotions they hide, but I’m buggered if I can tell they’re gay.’
Cate raised an amused eyebrow.
Pia opened her mouth to speak, but stopped. She’d been on the verge of asking about Cate’s sexuality. But it seemed rude about someone who was clearly more private than Pia. She also didn’t want to appear presumptuous, as if Cate’s sexuality had a bearing on their interaction.
‘Yes Mama’s brilliant,’ Pia said, instead returning to safe ground. ‘Although she is always telling me to get a proper job.’ She pursed her lips and squinted at Cate. ‘Maybe she does want me to move my sorry arse out after all.’
Cate laughed and Pia beamed, lifted by the euphoria of causing Cate’s happiness.
‘I think it’s natural for a mother to worry about her daughter,’ Cate said, her joy still brightening her face.
‘She wants me to get a normal job though, something boring and predictable. She thinks photojournalism doesn’t pay enough and it’s too risky.’
Cate’s face creased deeper with amusement. ‘Your run in with a squirrel and near miss with the ground might prove her point. And a member of the paparazzi with scruples might not be the highest earner, no matter how talented and enchanting.’
Pia’s insides fluttered, exhilarated by Cate’s words, but were light with fear that she’d misheard. She blinked and tried to appear unmoved while her mind raced with the idea that Cate found her enchanting. She floundered for a moment and gulped her Champagne, before attempting to gloss over the pause.
‘Yeah. I understand why Mama worries. About me in particular.’ She calmed her nerves and turned to Cate. ‘You know the phrase “thick as thieves”. Well that’s my dad and brother. Both as bloody stupid as each other.’
Cate frowned in a question.
‘They are both currently detained at Her Majesty’s pleasure.’ Pia tutted. ‘Silly buggers.’
‘They’re in prison?’
‘Yeah. They got caught up in an illegal financial scheme, the gullible pair. The guy who conned them got away scot free.’
‘Is that what your dad does for a living. Finance?’ Cate was surprised.
‘No.’ Pia shook her head. ‘That’s not him at all. Which was part of the problem. He used to be in the army. He met Mama when he was stationed in Gibraltar.’ Pia grinned at Cate. She itched with excitement, wanting to tell her favourite story. ‘They fell in love with a single look across a café.’
‘Oh really.’ Cate sounded amused and disbelieving.
‘Really.’ Pia nodded. ‘It was where Mama worked, a small café in the hills. Dad always told me he’d been out walking and stopped for water. But their eyes met when he walked through the door. He stayed all afternoon and spent his week’s money hoping she would talk to him.’
‘And did she fall for him as quickly?’
‘Oh yes. Much to the consternation of Mama’s family.’ Pia laughed. ‘My grandparents tried to keep them apart; sent Mama to live with an aunt in Andalucia. I think they wanted her to marry one of her cousins. A respectable well-paid lawyer in Madrid. But Dad couldn’t forget her. He spent months trying to find her between tours and, when he did, he whisked her back to England and never let her go.’
‘They eloped?’ Cate said, her lips lingering open in surprise.
‘Yes.’ Pia beamed.
‘That is very romantic.’ Cate’s cheer faded. ‘And now? All these years later?’
‘It’s still a true romance. But it has been difficult.’ Pia shuffled, a little uncomfortable. ‘Dad had trouble finding work when he left the forces. Couldn’t settle into anything. He’s a very gifted artist in fact. It’s a shame he couldn’t find anything creative.’
‘That must be where you get your good eye from.’
Pia blushed at the compliment. ‘I hope so. But he’s very good. I try to capture people’s genuine personalities on camera, but he gets them better with a brushstroke.’ She ran her fingers through her short hair, fidgeting at an uncomfortable memory. ‘I was in my parents’ bedroom once, when I was about twelve,’ she said, feeling shy. ‘I found one of his paintings of Mama at the back of their wardrobe. She was posed in bed with rosy cheeks and the sheets pulled up over her chest. He’d caught such an intense look of love and lust on her face. It was shocking. I still find it a bit embarrassing to think of it.’
‘They sound like they adore each other.’ Cate’s plain tone verged on regret.
‘They do. I love that they didn’t let anything get in their way. Just how it should be for a true love.’
Cate gave her a sad smile. ‘I can see even more why your mum would like you to have a secure job though.’
Pia sighed, thinking she knew what Cate meant. ‘Yes, I know. But Dad says I should try to make a career out of photography first, even if I have to scrape by on the wage. He says that you have to follow your heart, otherwise hearts have a habit of breaking.’
Pia didn’t know if Cate had heard her. She gazed over the rooftops towards Hyde Park and Pia sensed that she needed a moment to herself. Pia sipped at her Champagne, which had lubricated her tongue, and fidgeted with all the patience of a hungry dog shown its dinner.
‘What about you?’ Pia said, after all of thirty seconds.
Cate turned back looking amused. ‘What about me?’
‘Love or money?’
Cate’s eyes flicked between the distance and Pia. Her cheeks coloured. ‘I don’t think it’s as simple as that.’
Pia remained qui
et but waited, anticipating Cate’s elaboration.
‘My mother wasn’t well off,’ Cate said. ‘She had expensive taste, which made her very unhappy, and I think I take after her.’
‘Do you?’ Pia failed to keep quiet. ‘I had you down as a posh girl. You speak proper and all,’ she said, putting on a strong East End accent. ‘And you live in Kensington.’
‘I was lucky. I went to a good school. I had a scholarship. And again, of sorts, to go to Cambridge.’
‘Wow. What did you study? Politics? Law? Something high-powered like that?’
Cate’s face lightened. ‘English.’
Pia chuckled. ‘That’s what all the mercenary types choose.’
‘Yes, perhaps I should have chosen law,’ Cate admitted, staring past Pia as she thought. ‘But reading great literature on the college lawns of the Cambridge Backs, that’s one of life’s rare privileges.’ She switched her focus back to Pia, the love from remembering those days still soft in her expression.
Pia tilted her head. ‘See. You are a romantic.’
Cate laughed and turned to her with that wonderful smile. Her eyes glistened and her face shone with unguarded joy. Cate reached out to squeeze Pia’s arm with those long, elegant fingers and Pia’s gaze followed the pleasing curve of her naked arm all the way to her shoulders, slim neck and exquisite face. Its beauty made her ache inside.
‘I think you’re an incurable romantic, Ms Benitez-Smith,’ Cate said with unrestrained warmth.
Pia’s skin thrilled at the encounter. Her body hummed with pleasure radiating out from where they touched. Her limbs felt weak and beyond her control. Without thinking she lifted her arm, its intent to wrap around Cate’s slim waist and pull her close.
‘Excuse me,’ Cate said distracted. She searched her bag and took out a phone that buzzed.
Pia breathed out and tried to shake off her body’s irresistible attraction to Cate, in case she should lose control and reach out again.
Cate didn’t answer her phone. She stared at it, dejected, and stroked the screen to reject the call. She lifted her gaze to Pia, her face heavy with regret.
‘I’m very late,’ Cate said.
‘Somewhere you don’t want to be?’
‘Actually a party. A hen party.’
‘No wonder you don’t want to go.’ Pia giggled. She wondered at the event Cate must be missing for it to warrant the dress she wore with such elegance. Not a pub crawl with learner plates she imagined, but still not an evening she’d enjoy. ‘I feel like such a tortured fish out of water at those things,’ she added.
Cate smiled and looked at her, her eyes dark and betraying longing.
‘One more drink?’ Pia whispered. ‘Please.’
-
They sat side by side on recliners, gazing out to the crimson sky, the deep red orb of the sun about to extinguish beneath the skyline. They lounged, relaxed after more Champagne, although Cate managed it with rather more elegance than Pia.
Pia didn’t care. She was bathed in the setting sun and the gentle dim lights of the restaurant. The conversation from diners murmured and sparkled around them and the sound of London’s Friday night traffic below seemed far away.
Buoyed by the alcohol, Pia stole a not too subtle glance at Cate in profile. She had an intelligent face, high forehead and perfect straight nose. Pia lingered on her full red lips, licking her own, and returned her attention to the long eyelashes that blinked lazy and relaxed.
Cate took a slow sip of Champagne and peeked at Pia, her lips twitching in the corners. ‘I know you’re watching me.’
‘I can’t tell the colour of your eyes,’ Pia said.
‘They change.’ Cate turned towards Pia, tucking up her knees and resting her head on her arm. ‘It depends on what I’m wearing and the light. If I wear blue, it tends to bring out a slate grey, if green then a pale green.’
Pia was unable to hide her admiration. ‘They’re amazing. Mine are boring. Just hazel.’
‘Honest eyes,’ Cate said with a serious tone, and then: ‘But I wouldn’t call deep hypnotic hazel boring. Not with those long inky eyelashes.’
The words made Pia warm inside. She peered across to the skyline. ‘This is perfect. Champagne on a summer’s evening, a beautiful view and beautiful company. What more could you ask for?’
A thrill of fear shot through her. She’d uttered the words without thinking, with that fluidity that Champagne brings.
Cate regarded her. ‘You’re easy to please.’
‘It’s that expensive taste again isn’t it?’ Pia said grinning.
‘Perfect evenings do tend to be expensive. Champagne for instance.’ Cate raised her glass and an eyebrow.
Pia giggled. ‘True. Although it would be just as good with Prosecco.’ She shrugged. ‘But I don’t think perfect evenings have to be expensive. Although, a night at the Savoy wouldn’t be too shabby. I’ve always had a daydream of staying at the Savoy. Champagne, a view of the river, lying in bed with a woman I adore in my arms.’
Cate’s expression was unreadable. ‘That’s a lovely daydream and not all that expensive. I think you have a wonderful attitude.’
Pia swung her legs off the recliner and sat up. ‘Come on. What’s your idea of a perfect evening?’
Cate showed the pearls of her teeth in that perfect smile. She cast her gaze to the distance. ‘Oh gosh, where to begin? A perfect night. I suppose there would have to be music. I don’t think it matters what type. Something to move me. Whether to dance or to tears I don’t think it matters, but an exceptional performance of its kind.’
Pia nodded, ‘That doesn’t sound too unreasonable.’
‘Well, tickets to the Albert Hall to see top performers aren’t going to be cheap. And, of course, I would have to have a first-class seat.’
‘Jeeez,’ Pia said, ‘You’ll be expecting dinner too.’
‘Of course.’
‘And I suppose that would have to be a Michelin-starred restaurant?’
‘Not necessarily. They don’t cover some types of food well, but I would expect it to be the pinnacle of whichever cuisine was chosen.’
Pia nodded again. ‘Not unreasonable.’
‘And then a surprise. A little bit of magic that I didn’t expect to end the evening.’
‘Like a walk under the stars or dancing in the moonlight?’ Pia said, her excitement carrying her away.
‘Yes. Perhaps a swim in tropical seas under the stars.’
‘Oh,’ Pia said.
‘So you see.’ Cate tilted her head to the side. ‘Expensive.’
Pia considered Cate, and what she’d desired. She started to giggle. ‘I think I could show you an evening like that, perhaps all within a mile of here.’
‘Really? On a freelance photographer’s wage?’
‘I think I could,’ Pia said, a broad grin on her face. ‘For less than a hundred pounds, perhaps less than a tenner.’
Cate frowned at her, challenging her to explain.
But Pia’s enthusiasm and bubbles of Champagne got the better of her. She put out her hand to Cate. ‘Do you want to see?’
Cate stared at her, eyes wide. She glanced down to Pia’s hand and Pia’s stomach somersaulted as she watched her infectious enthusiasm lift Cate’s face with the thrill of conspiracy.
Pia trembled with nerves. ‘Come on.’
Cate stuck out her hand and Pia beamed. Dizzy with excitement, she led Cate from the exclusive Kensington rooftops to the London streets below and into the night.
Chapter 5.
They were buffeted by warm air as they stepped into the street, baked by the summer’s day. Pia squinted along the orange-lit road, loomed over by ornate brick buildings chequered with lights. Shops closing, flats returning to life.
‘Let’s go along the High Street,’ Pia said. She took Cate’s hand, soft fingers between hers. ‘Towards Hyde Park.’
Cate squeezed her hand and tugged her back. ‘You’re not going to tell me you have tickets for t
he Albert Hall?’ She had a suspicious look on her face.
Pia grinned. ‘No. Not up in the gods for you today. We’re going underground.’
They ducked off the main road down narrower residential streets with Georgian terraces five stories high. They passed small cobbled passageways and streets of old servants houses, now the property of the wealthy. They dashed across the tree-lined arterial road and cut around the gardens of the Natural History Museum. Cate’s heels chattered over the pavement as they hurried past the looming towers of the great gothic building.
‘Down here,’ Pia said, slowing as they turned the corner at the railings and descended the steps into the subway. They wandered along the wide brown tunnel that flickered in the harsh fluorescent lights. People flowed up and down and across in front of them: flagging tourists, city workers eager to get home and music lovers late for a concert at the Albert Hall.
Cate glanced at her, unsure, questioning why Pia had brought them here, but above the cacophony of short irritable exchanges, desperate pleas for directions and the footfall of hundreds, Pia heard familiar haunting notes.
She could see Cate wrinkle her eyebrows trying to peer ahead. She slowed and released Pia’s hand as the music became more distinct. At first, with only the odd phrase reaching them, it sounded like a woman singing a beautiful and mournful Jewish prayer. As they got closer, the sound seamlessly blended into the music of a violin, the long held notes soaring like a soprano before the more heart-breaking sequences cried out in perfectly wrought string notes.
The effect was enchanting and Pia could feel them both being lured through the busy crowd. The music sounded close, and all of a sudden the stream of people parted to reveal an old man playing a violin with inhuman flair and understanding.
He wore jeans and an old checked shirt, which had seen better decades, and a silk scarf around his neck, the threads pulled by the old man’s stubble which gleamed white against his black skin. His yellowing eyes were fixed in front of him, unblinking and unseeing.
