I texted back: “I’ll be at Mount Street Gardens, 5.30.”
That was only a stone’s throw from the Connaught. It would not be a good idea to go the hotel again, especially if Belinda was really on my trail, but I wanted to reconnect with Lucy close to where I had last seen her.
I also liked the idea of her coming to meet me, this time.
I was there well before half-past five. Mount Street Gardens is a small park, not much more than a short cut from Mount Street to Audley Street South, past the Farm Street Catholic church. The trees were in autumn splendour. A few foot-passengers strolled through, lulled by the tranquil setting into slowing their pace. After all, the journey is more important, sometimes, than the destination.
Lucy kept me waiting for about five minutes, and I saw her first. That gave me a moment to watch her unobserved. She walked with a light, confident step, satchel slung over her shoulder, skirt swirling, hair ruffled in the breeze.
Then she caught sight of me and turned in my direction. I hoped the heightened glow on her cheek was not my imagination.
“What a clever idea for a place to meet!” she said. “That is the exact same church where Graham Greene was received into the Catholic faith. Let’s sit here for a while.”
We spent a companionable fifteen minutes on a park bench, talking about the books and places we loved.
“What will be the next chapter of our story?” she asked, after we had been quiet for a minute or two. Despite the disappointment of the night before and her lustful text message, neither of us wanted a hotel room to be the place where we consummated our love.
“There’s nothing like sex to fuck up a good friendship,” she laughed.
“So they say. And there’s nothing like celibacy to ruin a promising affair.”
“Agreed. None of that Platonic stuff for me. But for now, let’s go see a play.”
Shaftesbury Avenue is only a block away from Soho. I hoped no-one from the hostess bar would hail me as we mingled with the theatre crowds walking up from Picadilly.
“What takes your fancy?” I asked. So many to choose from.
“Hey, here’s The Mirror and the Light.”
“More Hilary Mantel? Okay.”
We walked into the lobby, bought tickets for the first circle and stopped in the bar for a drink. We stood close together, like a couple in love, even though there was always the chance that someone I knew would see us.
Sure enough, one of my former clients made his way over.
“Hello, Fred,” I said, pre-empting him. “May I introduce my friend Professor Lucy Robson, from North Carolina?”
“Pleased to meet you, professor,” he replied. Was there a hint of irony? “How do you like our country? Staying long?”
She was up for this. “I love London; I’m here every summer into autumn.”
“And you even speak our language! How did you meet Ivan? You’re not in trouble with the law, I hope.”
“O no; I’m squeaky clean,” protested the potential sinner. “We happened both to be dining at Paolo’s the other night; you know, in Southampton Row — and we got talking.”
“Of course. I’ve met him there once or twice, too. But I don’t eat veal.”
“One shouldn’t. Anyway, it turns out he’s an avid reader of the Wolf Hall novels so here we are.”
“Good choice. Don’t lose your heads, now. Toodle-oo, Ivan. Cheerio, Lucy, how good to meet you. Enjoy the show.” He winked at me. “Belinda couldn’t come?”
His question required no answer. He knew what was what, but he would keep it to himself.
“We’ll have to get used to this kind of thing, both here and back at home,” she said, “unless we’re going to hide away.”
“This is not just a fling, then?”
“No. I have a feeling it’s my grand passion.”
“And it only happens once in a lifetime.”
It was reassuring to say these things before we ever got into bed together. Seducers make promises. Lovers make plans.
I remember little of the production. The darkened theatre enhanced our intimacy, silently sharing the pleasure of watching flawless acting. My hand rested in her lap.
At interval, she said. “It’s terrific, but I’ve had enough now. Being so close to you is like drinking strong wine. I feel light-headed.”
“Where shall we go, then?”
“A walk will clear my head. Come, let’s walk to the top of Shaftesbury Avenue and down Charing Cross Road. We can look at the second-hand bookshops.”
“Maybe we’ll see something you like, and I’ll come down and buy it for you in the morning.”
“I’d like that. Isn’t this grand?” She took my hand and we went out into the street. There were fewer pedestrians now that the shows had all started. I felt very close to her. There was no urgency, no desperation. I wondered, should the start of an affair feel so comfortable, so right?