three-thirtyfive,
five minutes late.
Mr Lawrence believed that punctuality marked the man – and the
woman.
“What about the specs? I think I'll take them off.”
“As you like,” he said, still smarting.
“I'm long-sighted. They're bifocals. People wouldn't recognize me
without them. What do you think?”
“I think I'd recognize you without them. But perhaps I don't know
you well enough not to recognize you.”
Her glance was quick and questioning.
“Off for now,” he added, softening a little. It was difficult to
maintain severity before such an engaging face. “We can always
change our minds later.”
Carefully she removed her spectacles, folded them and slipped
them away. In the rich brown of her eyes was a challenge. Taking off
the spectacles had removed the innocence. The bridge of her nose was
slightly marked, as though she wasn’t used to wearing them.
The thick green drapes behind her were going to lend their value to
her skin tone. Her brown dress was loose; the pleats and folds
presented a pleasing contrast.
She spoke from the side of her mouth. There was no need to keep
still. When discomfort had set in maybe he would tell her.
“Have you painted for long?”
“Since before you were born.”
“You used to teach?”
“Ah! Mrs Harrison told you that.”
“Yes.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“You taught art?”
“Among other things.”
“What other things?”
“Biology.”
“I didn't know that.”
“Why should you?”
“Why did you stop?”
“To concentrate on art. I still take small classes here. I find it more
satisfying. And of course, working for myself, and shutting up
whenever I feel like it, the holidays compare, although the teachers do
edge it.”
“You take classes in here?”
“There's room for five or six, eight at a push.”
“Is there a particular age group?”
“Yes, indeed. We don’t cater for children. They find it difficult to
concentrate.”
“It sounds interesting.”
“Yes, it does.”
“How much do your lessons cost?”
“There is no charge. It's more of a club. The members buy their
materials from me but there's no obligation. They get them at cost in
any case. The club charges a small annual subscription but you'd have
to ask the treasurer about that. I am not a member. The subscription
goes toward outings and transport. This summer, for instance, they
spent a day in Essex discovering Constable, that sort of thing. Some of
their work hangs in the gallery. It's not very good, really, but I show
willing.”
“When we are through you'll have to show me.”
“Yes, I'll have to.”
“You used to teach in school?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you give up teaching?”
“I told you, to spend more time painting. And I discovered that I
didn't like children. Do you have children?”
“No. I have a Labrador.”
“Do you work?”
“In personnel or, rather, HR. BOC.”
“I know it. In Wembley. How long have you been there?”
“Since school. Over ten years now.”
“And have you been married long?”
“Three years.”
“Is your husband in the same line of business?”
“No. He's in marketing. In the city.”
“Do you have hobbies?”
“I play badminton.”
“That's good. It's good to have a sport.”
“Do you have a sport?”
“No.”
“My husband's a runner. Weekends. Sometimes, I go to watch him
run. Cheer him on.”
“I bet he likes that. I don't know any runners. I've been out,
painting, and they've run past. But they never stopped. Do you live far
from here?”
“The Ridgeway.”
“Of course, near Mrs Harrison.”
“Well, Mrs Harrison isn't there at the moment. She's gone off
somewhere. Mr Harrison is quite worried.”
“My goodness, I bet he is. I hope she's not another missing woman.
We've got enough of those. Hope we don't see her picture up in the bus
shelters.”
“How long have you lived here? Do you live here?”
“I moved here in the mid-eighties. There's a small flat
five minutes late.
Mr Lawrence believed that punctuality marked the man – and the
woman.
“What about the specs? I think I'll take them off.”
“As you like,” he said, still smarting.
“I'm long-sighted. They're bifocals. People wouldn't recognize me
without them. What do you think?”
“I think I'd recognize you without them. But perhaps I don't know
you well enough not to recognize you.”
Her glance was quick and questioning.
“Off for now,” he added, softening a little. It was difficult to
maintain severity before such an engaging face. “We can always
change our minds later.”
Carefully she removed her spectacles, folded them and slipped
them away. In the rich brown of her eyes was a challenge. Taking off
the spectacles had removed the innocence. The bridge of her nose was
slightly marked, as though she wasn’t used to wearing them.
The thick green drapes behind her were going to lend their value to
her skin tone. Her brown dress was loose; the pleats and folds
presented a pleasing contrast.
She spoke from the side of her mouth. There was no need to keep
still. When discomfort had set in maybe he would tell her.
“Have you painted for long?”
“Since before you were born.”
“You used to teach?”
“Ah! Mrs Harrison told you that.”
“Yes.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“You taught art?”
“Among other things.”
“What other things?”
“Biology.”
“I didn't know that.”
“Why should you?”
“Why did you stop?”
“To concentrate on art. I still take small classes here. I find it more
satisfying. And of course, working for myself, and shutting up
whenever I feel like it, the holidays compare, although the teachers do
edge it.”
“You take classes in here?”
“There's room for five or six, eight at a push.”
“Is there a particular age group?”
“Yes, indeed. We don’t cater for children. They find it difficult to
concentrate.”
“It sounds interesting.”
“Yes, it does.”
“How much do your lessons cost?”
“There is no charge. It's more of a club. The members buy their
materials from me but there's no obligation. They get them at cost in
any case. The club charges a small annual subscription but you'd have
to ask the treasurer about that. I am not a member. The subscription
goes toward outings and transport. This summer, for instance, they
spent a day in Essex discovering Constable, that sort of thing. Some of
their work hangs in the gallery. It's not very good, really, but I show
willing.”
“When we are through you'll have to show me.”
“Yes, I'll have to.”
“You used to teach in school?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you give up teaching?”
“I told you, to spend more time painting. And I discovered that I
didn't like children. Do you have children?”
“No. I have a Labrador.”
“Do you work?”
“In personnel or, rather, HR. BOC.”
“I know it. In Wembley. How long have you been there?”
“Since school. Over ten years now.”
“And have you been married long?”
“Three years.”
“Is your husband in the same line of business?”
“No. He's in marketing. In the city.”
“Do you have hobbies?”
“I play badminton.”
“That's good. It's good to have a sport.”
“Do you have a sport?”
“No.”
“My husband's a runner. Weekends. Sometimes, I go to watch him
run. Cheer him on.”
“I bet he likes that. I don't know any runners. I've been out,
painting, and they've run past. But they never stopped. Do you live far
from here?”
“The Ridgeway.”
“Of course, near Mrs Harrison.”
“Well, Mrs Harrison isn't there at the moment. She's gone off
somewhere. Mr Harrison is quite worried.”
“My goodness, I bet he is. I hope she's not another missing woman.
We've got enough of those. Hope we don't see her picture up in the bus
shelters.”
“How long have you lived here? Do you live here?”
“I moved here in the mid-eighties. There's a small flat
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