shook hands with her formally instead.
‘Until next week, then,’ said Saul, standing.
‘Next week,’ Thea confirmed, making to move off.
‘By the way, where do you live?’ he asked.
‘Crouch End,’ she replied, walking off a step or two. ‘You?’
‘The West End, actually,’ he said, heading down the hill. ‘And what do you do?’
‘I'm a masseuse,’ she said, over her shoulder. ‘You?’
‘I write.’
Saul spent Monday against a deadline for an article on the new generation iPods whilst trying not to be interrupted by engaging images of Thea. On Tuesday with no deadlines looming, Saul searched ‘massage north london’ on Google but was led to questionable sites he didn't dare enter for fear of jinxing his PC with a sexually transmitted computer virus. By Wednesday, Saul thought sod it, it's only a jacket and it was a freebie anyway. Thursday came and he strolled to Armani to check prices on leather jackets. Jesus, that Thea better show up with it. He filed his column for the Observer and accepted a commission from the Express magazine. Saul spent Friday daytime avoiding thinking about jackets and Thea and Primrose Hill, and wrote all day. He went out in the evening with friends and confided to one that he'd met a girl in a park who looked cold and sad and said she had a hangover so he'd lent her his Armani jacket.
‘The brown leather one?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You twat!’
On Saturday night, Ian Ashford invited Saul to meet Karen. And Karen had invited her friend Jo to meet Ian's friend Saul. And Ian and Karen had also invited Angus and Anna so that Saul and Jo wouldn't feel it was all a bit of a set-up. And dinner had been fun and Saul reckoned that if Fate was Friend not Foe, Thea would fit in well with his circle. AndJo was smitten and hoped Saul would phone her within the next few days.
Thea felt somewhat at a loss without Alice. Sally Stonehill was a close friend but Thea longed for Alice's take on the situation, for the dozen scenarios good, bad and downright fanciful she'd hatch. Thea was appalled at herself for daring to quietly resent Alice – or Mark rather – for their inconveniently timed honeymoon. However, Sally delighted in Thea's challenge and told her to return to Primrose Hill as arranged, but to hide behind a tree early and double-check Saul was worth handing back the gorgeous jacket. ‘But if he's wearing black leather gloves – run,’ said Sally seriously. ‘Psycho.’
Sally's husband Richard thought Saul sounded shady, with or without black leather gloves, and told Thea not to go. Richard reckoned Thea should give the jacket to him instead and put a lonely-hearts in Time Out if she was that desperate.
‘Or my mate Josh,’ Richard suggested, ‘he's still single.’
‘I'm not that desperate,’ Thea declined, while Sally made throwing-up faces behind Richard.
On the Tuesday, Mark's American cousin emailed Thea politely suggesting dinner when he was next over on business. Thea was still unable to conjure a memory of him but replied accidentally-on-purpose forgetting to give her phone number as requested. The next day, she went to Prospero's Books in Crouch End on the off chance that a book by a bloke called Saul might catch her eye. There appeared to be none on the shelves.
‘Sally,’ said Thea, ‘have you heard of a writer called Saul someone?’
‘Bellow?’ Sally said. ‘But your Saul may have a nom de plume, of course.’
‘Say he's an axe-wielding homicidal maniac,’ said Thea,‘and the police find bits of me all over Primrose Hill on Monday morning?’
‘Well, as I said, steer clear of black leather gloves.’
‘Maybe I won't go,’ Thea said gloomily.
‘Say he's not a book writer,’ Sally mooted, because she liked the sound of Saul and his sweets, ‘perhaps he's a journalist.’
‘Maybe I'll go,’ Thea said, non-committally.
On Thursday, Thea phoned her mother in Chippenham and suggested lunch on Sunday.
‘Darling, I'm going to the
‘Until next week, then,’ said Saul, standing.
‘Next week,’ Thea confirmed, making to move off.
‘By the way, where do you live?’ he asked.
‘Crouch End,’ she replied, walking off a step or two. ‘You?’
‘The West End, actually,’ he said, heading down the hill. ‘And what do you do?’
‘I'm a masseuse,’ she said, over her shoulder. ‘You?’
‘I write.’
Saul spent Monday against a deadline for an article on the new generation iPods whilst trying not to be interrupted by engaging images of Thea. On Tuesday with no deadlines looming, Saul searched ‘massage north london’ on Google but was led to questionable sites he didn't dare enter for fear of jinxing his PC with a sexually transmitted computer virus. By Wednesday, Saul thought sod it, it's only a jacket and it was a freebie anyway. Thursday came and he strolled to Armani to check prices on leather jackets. Jesus, that Thea better show up with it. He filed his column for the Observer and accepted a commission from the Express magazine. Saul spent Friday daytime avoiding thinking about jackets and Thea and Primrose Hill, and wrote all day. He went out in the evening with friends and confided to one that he'd met a girl in a park who looked cold and sad and said she had a hangover so he'd lent her his Armani jacket.
‘The brown leather one?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You twat!’
On Saturday night, Ian Ashford invited Saul to meet Karen. And Karen had invited her friend Jo to meet Ian's friend Saul. And Ian and Karen had also invited Angus and Anna so that Saul and Jo wouldn't feel it was all a bit of a set-up. And dinner had been fun and Saul reckoned that if Fate was Friend not Foe, Thea would fit in well with his circle. AndJo was smitten and hoped Saul would phone her within the next few days.
Thea felt somewhat at a loss without Alice. Sally Stonehill was a close friend but Thea longed for Alice's take on the situation, for the dozen scenarios good, bad and downright fanciful she'd hatch. Thea was appalled at herself for daring to quietly resent Alice – or Mark rather – for their inconveniently timed honeymoon. However, Sally delighted in Thea's challenge and told her to return to Primrose Hill as arranged, but to hide behind a tree early and double-check Saul was worth handing back the gorgeous jacket. ‘But if he's wearing black leather gloves – run,’ said Sally seriously. ‘Psycho.’
Sally's husband Richard thought Saul sounded shady, with or without black leather gloves, and told Thea not to go. Richard reckoned Thea should give the jacket to him instead and put a lonely-hearts in Time Out if she was that desperate.
‘Or my mate Josh,’ Richard suggested, ‘he's still single.’
‘I'm not that desperate,’ Thea declined, while Sally made throwing-up faces behind Richard.
On the Tuesday, Mark's American cousin emailed Thea politely suggesting dinner when he was next over on business. Thea was still unable to conjure a memory of him but replied accidentally-on-purpose forgetting to give her phone number as requested. The next day, she went to Prospero's Books in Crouch End on the off chance that a book by a bloke called Saul might catch her eye. There appeared to be none on the shelves.
‘Sally,’ said Thea, ‘have you heard of a writer called Saul someone?’
‘Bellow?’ Sally said. ‘But your Saul may have a nom de plume, of course.’
‘Say he's an axe-wielding homicidal maniac,’ said Thea,‘and the police find bits of me all over Primrose Hill on Monday morning?’
‘Well, as I said, steer clear of black leather gloves.’
‘Maybe I won't go,’ Thea said gloomily.
‘Say he's not a book writer,’ Sally mooted, because she liked the sound of Saul and his sweets, ‘perhaps he's a journalist.’
‘Maybe I'll go,’ Thea said, non-committally.
On Thursday, Thea phoned her mother in Chippenham and suggested lunch on Sunday.
‘Darling, I'm going to the
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