The Very Picture of You. Isabel Wolff
noticed.’
‘You hardly know him,’ she retorted quietly.
‘That’s true. I’ve only met him once.’ But that one time had been more than enough. It had been at a drinks party that Chloë had given last November…
‘Any special reason for having it?’ I’d asked her over the phone after I’d opened the elegant invitation.
‘It’s because I haven’t had a party for so long – I’ve neglected my friends. It’s also because I’m feeling a lot more cheerful at the moment, because…’ She drew in her breath. ‘Ella… I’ve met someone.’
Relief flooded through me. ‘That’s great. So… what’s he like?’
‘He’s thirty-six,’ she’d replied. ‘Tall with very short black hair, and lovely green eyes.’
To my surprise I had to suppress a pang of envy. ‘He sounds gorgeous.’
‘He is – and he’s not married.’
‘Well… that’s good.’
‘Oh, and he’s from New York. He’s been in London about a year.’
‘And what does this paragon do?’
‘He’s in private equity.’
‘So he can stand you dinner then.’
‘Yes – but I like to pay for things too.’
‘So are you… an item?’
‘Sort of – we’ve been on five dates. But he said he’s looking forward to the party, so that’s a good sign. I know you’re going to love him,’ she added happily.
So, a fortnight later, I’d cycled over to Putney, through a veil of fog. And I was locking up my bike outside Chloë’s flat at the end of Askill Drive when I heard a taxi pull up just around the corner in Keswick Road. As the door clicked open I could hear the passenger talking on his mobile. Although he spoke softly his voice somehow carried through the mist and darkness.
‘I’m sorry, but I can’t,’ I heard him say. He was American. Realising that this could be Chloë’s new man I found myself tuning in to his conversation. ‘I really can’t,’ he reiterated as the cab door slammed shut. ‘Because I’ve just gotten to Putney for a drinks party, that’s why…’ So it was him. ‘No… I don’t want to go.’ I felt my insides twist. ‘But I’m here now, honey, and so… just some girl,’ he added as the cab drove away. ‘No, no… she’s nothing special,’ he added quietly. By now my face was aflame. ‘I can’t get out of it,’ he protested. ‘Because I promised, that’s why – and she’s been going on and on about it.’ My hands shook as I unclipped my front light. ‘Okay, honey – I’ll come over later. Yes… that is a promise. No… I’ll let myself in… You too, honey…’
I stood there, filled with dismay, expecting the wretch to come round the corner and walk up Chloë’s path; and I was just wondering what to do when I realised that he was going in the opposite direction, his footsteps snapping across the pavement then becoming fainter and fainter…
So it wasn’t him. I exhaled with relief. I went up to Chloë’s front door and rang the bell.
‘Ella!’ she exclaimed as she opened it. She looked lovely in a black crêpe shift that used to be Mum’s, with a short necklace of over-sized pearls. ‘I’m glad you’re the first,’ she said quickly, ‘I’ve just poured the champagne, but if you could give me a hand with the eats that would be…’ I was aware of steps behind me as Chloë’s gaze strayed over my shoulder. Her face lit up like a firework. ‘Nate!’
I turned to see a tall, well-dressed man coming up the path.
‘Hi, Chloë.’ As I recognised his voice my heart sank. ‘I just went completely the wrong way – I was halfway down Keswick Road before I realised. I shoulda used my sat-nav,’ he added with a laugh.
‘Well, it is foggy,’ she responded gaily. I stepped past her into the house so that she wouldn’t see my face. ‘It’s so nice that you’re here, Nate,’ I heard her say.
‘Oh, I’ve been looking forward to it.’ As I glanced at him I tried not to show my contempt.
Chloë drew him inside; then, still holding his hand, she grabbed mine so that the three of us were suddenly linked, awkwardly, as we stood there in the hallway. ‘Ella,’ she said happily, ‘this is Nate.’ She turned to him. ‘Nate, this is my sister, Ella.’
He was just as Chloë had described. He had very short dark hair that receded slightly above a high forehead, and eyes that were a pure mossy green. He had a sensuous mouth with a tiny indentation at each corner, and a long, straight nose that had a slender bridge, as though someone had pinched it.
‘Great to meet you, Ella.’ He was clearly unaware that I’d overheard his conversation. I gave him a cold smile and saw him register the slight. ‘Erm…’ He nodded at my head. ‘That’s a nice helmet you’ve got there.’
‘Oh.’ I’d been too distracted to remove it. I unclipped it while Chloë relieved Nate of his coat.
She folded it over her arm. ‘I’ll just put this on my bed.’ She put her hand on the banister. ‘But have a glass of champagne, Nate – the kitchen’s through there. Ella will show you.’
‘No – I… need to come up too.’ Turning my back on Nate, I followed Chloë upstairs.
We crossed the landing and went into Chloë’s bedroom. She half-closed the door then put her finger to her lips. ‘So what do you think?’ She laid Nate’s charcoal cashmere coat on her bed then turned to me eagerly. ‘Isn’t he attractive?’
I took off my cycling jacket. ‘He is.’
‘And he’s really… decent. I think I’ve landed on my feet.’
I fought the urge to tell Chloë that she’d almost certainly landed flat on her face.
I put my jacket and helmet down, then went over to the large gilded wall mirror. I opened my bag. ‘So how did you meet him?’ My hand shook as I pulled a comb through my fog-dampened hair.
Chloë came and stood next to me. ‘Playing tennis.’ As she checked her own appearance I was momentarily distracted by the physical difference between us – Chloë with the alabaster paleness of my mother, next to me, with my olive skin, brown hair and dark eyes. ‘Do you remember telling me that I should try and go out more – maybe play tennis?’ I nodded. ‘Well, I took your advice, and booked some lessons at the Harbour Club.’ Chloë licked her ring finger then ran it over her left eyebrow. ‘Nate was on the next court; and I had to retrieve my ball from behind his baseline a few times…’
I put the comb back in my bag. ‘Really?’
‘So of course I said sorry. Then I saw him in the café afterwards and I apologised again…’
I snapped my bag shut.
‘Then we had a coffee – and that’s how it started. So I have you to thank,’ she added happily. My heart sank. ‘It’s still early days – but he’s keen.’
I looked at her. ‘How do you know?’
‘Well… because he calls me a lot and because…’ She gave me a puzzled smile. ‘Why do you ask?’
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell Chloë that Nate was in fact a disingenuous, two-timing creep. But then, reflected behind us on the wall I saw my portrait of her, her face so thin, and almost rigid with distress; her blue eyes blazing with pain and regret.
‘Why do you ask?’ she repeated.
As I looked at Chloë’s happy, hopeful expression I knew I couldn’t tell her. ‘No reason.’ I exhaled. ‘I was just… wondering.’