‘I work in the city. I’m one of the loathed investment bankers you hear so much of. I work for Herrill Tanley. You’ve probably heard of them. One of the world’s top ten investment banks.’

  He’d passed the test. Not cowed then, or embarrassed by his ambition. He was strong and proud, and she liked that.

  ‘And what does your day entail?’

  Of course he said it was too boring to go into. All bankers said that but she couldn’t agree. It had to be fascinating, didn’t it? Moving all that money around; making more money or losing it. Thrilling. Just because she spent her days in a drop-in centre full of the old and vulnerable, none of whom had two pennies to rub together, it didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate extreme wealth. She resisted stereotypes. She did not despise the wealthy just because she chose to do a job that exposed how much poverty there was in the city. She didn’t blame individuals; she didn’t even blame the system. She didn’t think there was much point in blaming at all. She preferred to just get things done. She told him so and persuaded him to go into more detail.

  ‘What does an investment banker do, exactly? Go on, educate me.’

  ‘You went to Yale; I doubt I’m qualified to educate you.’

  He’d clocked her brief reference to her university, and he was obviously impressed by it. That was a nice change. Many men were overawed when they heard where she’d studied. Still, to be on the safe side, she’d chosen to flatter him. She didn’t want to make him anxious.

  ‘I did a liberal arts degree. I’m pretty useless when it comes to economics.’

  He’d launched into an explanation. ‘Well, corporate investment bankers provide a range of financial services to companies, institutions and governments. They manage corporate, strategic and financial opportunities. You know, such as mergers, acquisitions, bonds and shares, lending, privatizations, IPOs?’ He’d paused and looked at her hopefully, clearly wondering if she was keeping up.

  ‘IPOs being initial public offerings?’

  ‘Yes.’ He looked surprised.

  She nodded encouragingly.

  He’d plunged on, ‘Corporate investment bankers also advise and lead management buyouts, raise capital, provide strategic advice to clients, and identify and secure new deals.’

  She really had wanted to get it, but discovered she didn’t care that much after all. It was a teeny, tiny bit boring. Not as interesting as working with people. Money was simply money at the end of the day. It was never broken, it never needed to be fixed. Maybe that was the attraction. Still, she’d shown willing. ‘And what area are you in?’ she asked vaguely. They had to specialize, didn’t they?

  ‘I’m in equity capital markets. I advise clients on how much capital to raise, from where and when, through research and analysis of products and markets.’

  ‘Oh.’ Whatever made him happy. That was her philosophy in life.

  Besides work, they talked about their friends, holidays, movies they’d seen or missed, books they loved or loathed. They both enjoyed music, although she was keen on classical concerts and he was more of a festival fan. They talked about their exercise regimes, agreeing they could do more, it was a matter of time. All the usual things.

  Except for families.

  It was Anna’s experience that men rarely talked about their siblings unless probed, which she had no intention of doing. They sometimes spoke of their parents in passing but most working men who’d moved out of the family home focused on their careers or social life for conversational fodder. This was fine by Anna. Indubitably, if she and Nick dated and became serious about one another, she’d have to introduce Zoe one day, but she was reluctant to give her room at such a convivial table. Zoe always soured things. She didn’t mean to. She just couldn’t help herself. It was also tricky to mention her parents without mentioning Zoe. Her relationship with them (which was strained) was coloured by their relationship with Zoe. Anna had been having such a lovely evening, she just didn’t want to get into any of that.

  He was handsome and funny. Few men could really own the adjective handsome. He could. Dark-eyed, rugged, masculine. He’d held his knife and fork properly, closed his mouth to chew. He didn’t get drunk or make sexist or racist jokes. She did not believe that the fact he had not pounced on her in the taxi was because he wasn’t into her, she thought it was because he respected her. He’d said he’d call in the morning. He was that specific. She decided not to mention as much to Zoe now. She’d only spoil things. Find fault with him, sow doubt into Anna’s mind.

  ‘I’m tired. I need to go to bed. What time is it for you?’ Anna never could keep the time difference in her head.

  ‘Seven.’

  ‘Did you work today?’ It was never a given.

  ‘Yep, I did some work for a glossy brochure.’

  ‘What sort of brochure?’ Anna asked, unsure whether she wanted to hear the answer. Work was work but sometimes Zoe took on modelling jobs that Anna felt were a little racy. Swimwear was one thing. Underwear another. Adult novelty toys altogether a different story.

  ‘For a high-end furniture store.’

  ‘That’s great!’

  Zoe made a sound that communicated she thought the work was anything but great. She wanted to be an actress, not a model at all, if she had to model (and she did if she wanted to pay the rent) then she felt catalogue or brochure shoots were not where it was at. She thought she should be a face. Zoe was nothing, if not confident.

  Anna was impressed with Zoe’s modelling job, even if she was just in the background of some marketing literature for a furniture store. She knew that the chances of Zoe becoming the face of a skincare product or a luxury label were practically zilch, considering their age. If that was ever going to happen for Zoe, it would have by now. There had been a period of time when it had been possible, but Zoe self-sabotaged. Burned her contacts, damaged her looks. Anna thought Zoe was lucky to get any work at all now. Especially work where she kept all her clothes on. This was exciting! Anna could never get over the fact that Zoe was a model, actually paid hard cash just because people wanted to look at her. It was a weird enough concept if you thought about it in relation to a stranger and all the weirder because Zoe and Anna were identical twins. Anna had never said so, but logically, if people thought Zoe was beautiful enough to be a model, then she must be too. They had the same big brown eyes, the same broad forehead, high cheekbones and cute, pointy chin. They even wore their hair the same length at the moment, just past their shoulders; Anna did so because it was a good length to scrape back into a practical ponytail yet could look pretty after a blow dry. Zoe wore hers that length because her agent instructed her to: she could add extensions or fashion a fast up-do, depending on what the stylist required.

  Anna had never actually voiced her thought that as they looked identical, in theory, she too could be a model, because in her heart Anna knew they were totally different. Their features were the same but everything else was different. Zoe had something about her...confidence, sex appeal, a manner. Anna couldn’t quite name it; she certainly didn’t possess it. She supposed the French might shrug and say Zoe had a certain Je ne sais quoi. Whatever it was, it was the difference between being the administrator at a day care drop-in centre and an actress-cum-model in New York. It was the difference between being someone whose favourite part of sex was cuddling and someone who felt threesomes were foreplay.

  ‘It was a drag, actually. The shoot overran significantly. I was supposed to be like out of there by four but it was obvious that they hadn’t got what they needed and I’d have to stick around for a couple of hours extra.’

  ‘Was that your fault?’

  ‘My fault?’ Zoe sounded stunned and uncomprehending.

  ‘I just thought, if they hadn’t got what they needed, it might be because—’

  ‘No, it was not my fault,’ Zoe snapped. ‘It was the photographer’s idiot assistant. He hadn’t brought a reflector to bounce light so he had to go back downtown to get it. Everyone’s patience was frazzled. When they finally set up I demanded that they pay me overtime or I said I’d walk out and leave them in the lurch.’

  ‘But you wouldn’t have done that.’

  ‘I certainly would have.’

  Anna told herself that it was admirable that Zoe knew her own worth and was prepared to ask for reasonable remuneration. There were always articles in the glossy magazines encouraging women to ask for pay rises, still Anna wasn’t totally convinced that Zoe demanding more cash to do a job she’d already agreed to was the same thing at all. Those articles were directed at women who’d detected a gap between the remuneration they earned and the payment their male co-workers received, not stroppy wannabe actresses who were paid well for having defined cheekbones.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Not surprisingly, they pleaded poverty, said there wasn’t any cushioning in the budget.’

  ‘Oh well, at least you asked.’

  ‘I made them give me some of the furniture they were photographing. I explained I was doing them a favour. If their poxy pieces are seen in my flat everyone will want one.’

  ‘Is the furniture poxy?’

  ‘No, although it’s not to my taste. I’ll sell it on eBay. I could make some good money.’

  Anna knew she had to end this conversation and get some sleep. Speaking to Zoe was draining; sometimes she thought it was near to depressing, but she’d never say as much. She couldn’t. She certainly didn’t want to listen to any more of Zoe’s aggressive entitlement, not tonight. She wanted to go to sleep and think about Nick. Perhaps, if she was lucky, dream about him. Nicholas Angus Hudson. Mr Hudson. Mrs Hudson. Anna Hudson. OK, she was getting ahead of herself. Still. She yawned ostentatiously, then said her goodbyes. She hoped her subconscious would play ball and push Zoe from her mind and deliver up Nicholas Angus Hudson.

  Four

  Nick

  Late April and spring had finally pushed its way into the dirty, neglected streets and into the grateful, receptive minds of Londoners. There was occasional sunshine, and determined buds, which quickly sprouted into leaves, grew on the trees. Nick thought the clement weather was a good omen. He had called her the very next day, like he’d said he would. And the one after that. They got together three times in the first week of meeting, and that regularity was sustained in the weeks that followed.

  Unprecedented.

  ‘So is she your girlfriend then?’ asked Hal.

  Nick and Hal had only known one another eighteen months however as their workstations were side-by-side they felt they knew each other pretty well. Neither had a secretive nature but, even if they had, the open-plan stations eliminated the possibility of privacy. Nick could get along with most people, he was a charming man, still he was glad Hal was the bloke he sat next to every day of his life, from 6 a.m. to 7 p.m., and often later. Hal was also a charming man and, as such, knew the effort required to be so; with each other they relaxed. They could be quite un-charming, if the mood took them, and there would be no fallout.

  ‘I haven’t labelled it.’

  Nick kept his eyes on his screen; they both did. This wasn’t male embarrassment at discussing emotions, it was just that taking their eyes off the screen could cost a couple of hundred thousand in a heartbeat.

  ‘It?’

  ‘Us. I haven’t labelled us.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I don’t have to. She hasn’t asked me to.’

  ‘She hasn’t?’ Hal could not hide his surprise.

  Neither of them were used to coming across women who actively oozed laissez-faire. This century tended to produce women who, when on the dating scene, were guarded, damaged, uptight or simply defeated.

  ‘No.’ Nick grinned at Hal.

  On the surface the two men were quite similar. Suited, booted, young, healthy, wealthy; they had it all going on. They both dated with the sort of regularity that would have earned them the title of ‘womanizer’ in a different generation. Each man assumed that part of his life plan was to have a wife, kids and a house in the country. The difference was, Hal actively sought a wife who would be the catalyst to this ambition. He was sometimes secretly envious of his married friends, of the comfortable closeness and automatic solicitousness that flowed between husband and wife. He wanted a cheerleader. Whilst Nick had only ever thought it was something that would happen at a vague, unidentified point in the future.

  Then along came Anna.

  It was a slow day on the markets; if things had been busier Hal wouldn’t have had time to give a crap about Nick’s affairs.

  ‘You’ve seen a lot of her.’

  ‘Yeah, I have.’

  ‘How long is it now? Six weeks?’

  ‘Two months.’

  ‘You seem as though you’re really into her.’

  He was, possibly. Probably. Almost certainly, but who said that out loud? ‘She’s cute.’

  Hal nodded. ‘Are you seeing anyone else?’

  ‘No time, mate.’

  ‘She takes up all your time, does she?’

  Nick paused. It wasn’t that she took up all his time, he just couldn’t imagine wanting to spend time with anyone else. ‘I guess.’

  ‘Sounds like a girlfriend to me, loser.’

  Hal suddenly started to hit his keyboard with some level of ferocity, Nick scanned his own screen so see what he was missing. Nick knew Hal didn’t actually think men with girlfriends were losers. The opposite. It was just how they spoke to one another; casual insults were scattered around the office like pellets at a paintball party. Loser was one of the mildest uttered, some would scar a sailor. They were bankers, they had a duty to behave like arses; the general public expected it from them. Unquestionably, if Nick was in a relationship his mate was going to have to take the mick.

  Was he? In a relationship? Generally, when he dated, he avoided the word and everything that went with it. He tried not to meet parents, or even friends, he did not see a woman two or three nights on the trot, he never left his toothbrush at hers. He didn’t want to give the wrong impression. Yet he couldn’t deny that this thing with Anna was different. He hadn’t met her parents, but that was because they lived in America. They’d had drinks with some people she did a Spanish evening class with. He was now the proud owner of two electric toothbrushes, so was she. It was easier than carting one backwards and forwards between their flats.

  Hal took a sip of his coffee and then winced because it was cold. ‘I thought you were only ever looking for an uncomplicated shag.’ His eyes continued to scan his screen.

  ‘Yes. I was, initially.’

  ‘This is not an uncomplicated shag, though, is it? I mean you went all the way to Stratford to see King Lear on Saturday. There’re easier ways of dipping your schlong than driving to the River Avon, sitting through several hours of incomprehensible auld English, watching some actor pretend to go mental.’

  Nick hadn’t thought of it that way. ‘We went boating too,’ he pointed out.

  ‘And the sex? How is it?’

  Nick knew that all Hal was expecting was a number. That’s what they usually did. These grown men—with their tertiary-level education, a six-figure salary, mothers and sisters—usually reduced women to a score. He could just pluck a number out of the air and be done with it. Hal might change the subject then. But what would that number be? He had no idea. He couldn’t give her a mark out of ten. That wasn’t right for Anna. It was demeaning.

  It was not what he’d been expecting. Well, he hadn’t been expecting anything in particular, not above and beyond his initial hope of an uncomplicated shag, as Hal so rightly pointed out. He wasn’t into all that projecting, imagining and hoping bollocks, that was for women and blokes who struggled to get enough. Even if he had indulged in a bit of ‘what if?’ he’d never have imagined a scenario whereby the shag didn’t happen until the ninth date; he couldn’t have imagined that he’d stay interested that long. That long and beyond. At first he assumed that he’d hung about because the more she demurred, the more his interest increased. It had to be that, had to be. Everyone wanted what they couldn’t have, he more than most. It was like being a teenager again. Kissing, kissing with tongues, his hands on her breast over her clothes, her top and bra off. Yes!! Then his hands brushing her thighs, his fingers slipping the lace of her panties aside. She wasn’t teasing him. It didn’t seem like a game or a strategy. She just needed time.

  The surprise was, he gave it to her. Time and attention and understanding.

  He couldn’t possibly have foreseen that the shag, when it was eventually delivered up, wasn’t a shag at all. It was something significantly more complicated. More—and he hesitated to use this word but could really think of no other—more meaningful, he supposed. He couldn’t put his finger on it. Truthfully, technically, it wasn’t the best sex he’d ever had. Far from it, she wasn’t filthy or adventurous; he’d sort of got that message in the eight dates leading up to the deed. However she was honest, intense, intelligent, and somehow that permeated the sex. It was...remarkable. She was fairly reserved and evidently not very experienced but he was pretty certain he could help her relax, grow her confidence in that area. He certainly wasn’t complaining. There was something about her reticence that made it quite unique, they weren’t swinging from chandeliers—or the modern equivalent, which was making movies and sexting—the sex was simple. Not simple as in boring. Simple as in uncomplicated. Simply good. Not good as in ‘not bad’. Good as in—yes, he was back to that word again—meaningful. It had a particular and peculiar passion to it.

  Hell.

  ‘Come on, mate,’ Hal urged, keen to hear the racy details.

  Nick shook his head. The thing was, it didn’t even matter that much to him—the number, the score—because sex was only part of it. ‘It’ being whatever they were. There was also the fact she was funny, kind and a great conversationalist. Yeah, that came simply too. Also not boring, also meaningful. He thought her job was interesting and she wasn’t overly needy. If he couldn’t see her one night because he was working late or wanted to sink some beers with his friends, then she simply nodded and busied herself doing something of her own; there was always a gallery she wanted to visit or someone she wanted to meet up with. She was not the sort to hang on his every word. He liked that about her.

 

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