Lessons in Love

‘Pity you didn’t take more notice of her then, accepting drinks from strange men. Anything could have happened.’

‘Rather naïvely I didn’t think Ray was a stranger,’ Jane snapped right back, slipping the robe on and tying it tight. It was warm as well as being thick and velvety.

‘In my experience they don’t come much stranger than Ray Jacobson.’

‘Now you tell me,’ she said, padding out through the bubbly water. ‘He’s Jayne’s right-hand man. She said so.’

Gary rolled his eyes heavenwards. ‘Um, yes—Jayne’s got a blind spot when it comes to certain people, Ray being one of them.’

‘I’ve got to work with him.’

‘You should work from here. That way I can keep an eye on you.’

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence. Have you told Jayne about Ray?’

‘She thinks it’s just sibling rivalry. They’ve been together for so long that they finish each other’s sentences. Years. Too many years for her to have any sense of perspective.’

‘Romantically?’

‘Good God no, he likes his meat young and tender.’ As he spoke Gary lifted an eyebrow.

‘That is disgusting.’

‘He doesn’t seem to think so. His last serious girlfriend was nineteen.’

‘Yuck. Because…?’ said Jane, taking the towel Gary handed her for drying her hair.

‘Because any woman over thirty-five can see straight through him. He’s all slime, style and no substance.’

‘And you’re telling me this because?

Gary shrugged. ‘Because Jayne won’t listen to me. And besides, he’s more likely to jump you.’

Jane groaned. ‘Oh, please, don’t. I’m feeling delicate enough as it is.’

‘Although actually you’re probably a little long in the tooth for him,’ Gary continued, looking her up and down.

Jane glowered at him, or at least would have done if it hadn’t made her headache worse.

‘Then why did he get me drunk?’

‘He probably pulls the wings off flies as well. Food is in fifteen minutes,’ said Gary, on his way out of the door.

‘I’ve already eaten.’

He pulled a face.

‘What?’ asked Jane, gently towelling around her hangover.

‘You don’t remember being sick?’

Jane groaned. ‘Oh, no, don’t.’

When she had finished getting dressed Jane headed downstairs. As she crossed the landing she hesitated. Jayne’s office door was ajar.

Jane opened the door wider still, stepped inside and looked around. The room was awash with mellow starlight.

Although she had seen it the previous week it felt different now—calmer, more peaceful. So this was where Jayne worked; this was where Jane could work and live if she wanted to. She switched on a lamp, the room instantly warmed by its soft golden glow, and then gently ran her fingertips over the broad slate desktop. The room was painted the softest cream, with a natural coir carpet and matching linen full-length curtains, pulled back wide to reveal as much of the view out over the park as possible.

Beyond the picture windows in the moonlight, the herd of deer were gathering around the lakeside, the rippling water backed by a stand of trees picked out in silhouette against the skyline. It was an image that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a painting.

Around the room there were cupboards to waist height along one wall, neatly arranged with books and stationery, and box files neatly labelled. Above them hung a Tabitha Salmon painting of gondolas on the lagoon in Venice and a whole gallery of photographs.

Along the other two sides of the room on the slate desktops stood plants, books and catalogues, and Jayne’s Apple Mac. The final wall, with its two large picture windows, was empty, although the deep windowsills were upholstered and had a scatter of gold, blue and red cushions picking up the colours in the painting. Jane looked around, drinking it all in. Working here just had to be better than driving into town every day by about a million miles.

She switched on the lamps above Jayne’s workstation. On the pin board above the desk, between a couple of postcards and some theatre tickets, was a faded black-and-white photo with curled edges; it was of a good-looking guy with shoulder-length blond hair and a smile that lit up his face like a spotlight. It was impossible not to smile back. Without thinking Jane reached out and took the photo down. On the back someone had written, ‘Andy Turner, Beach-Bum of the Year 1982’. Jane’s smile broadened. So this was the man Jayne had run away from. Hard to see why. He was beautiful in a rugged way, and had the kindest eyes.

‘So there you are,’ said Gary, making Jane jump. ‘What do you think then?’ he said, indicating the room.

‘It’s beautiful.’