London Girl

"You can't be serious."

"Keep them," he grinned. "That way, if I get mugged I'll still be able to get in here."

I snorted, amused. "This is London, not Freetown."

He shook his head. "I know, Joanna. My mum's just paranoid, so she made my dad make me promise that you'd have a spare set of keys to this place."

"Jo, Andrew."

"Sorry?"

"My friends call me Jo."

"Mine call me Andy," he answered softly.

"Welcome to London, Andy," I murmured, smiling up at him.

.:.

I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking of Andrew's flat and view. Never had I felt more keenly the difference between myself and someone else; Andy was down to earth and lovely, but money and style rolled off him like a perfume. His only nod to wealth was the Omega he wore, and even then it was a steel yachting chronometer, not a gaudy timepiece like so many London boys would wear.

He was hot. Not stupidly attractive, like a model, but... hot. He exuded confidence, and his easy nature in turn made me talk to hear him answer. And his smile. I caught myself grinning. His smile was something else; dimples and wrinkled eyes and when he turned it on me it was all I could do to not blush.

I'd caught myself watching him far more than I should. He'd raided his dad's small wine bar to pour us both a glass of white, and had gone to change his shirt, leaving me to eye the view and daydream. I'd sat, swinging my heels to and fro on the barstool and sipping my wine, listening to him moving around the penthouse flat. Once he'd washed his face, we'd talked briefly, before I'd slid off the stool. "School night," I'd murmured. "Gotta go to work tomorrow."

"Dinner tomorrow night?" he'd asked. "To say thanks for coming to meet me." I'd agreed. He'd walked me down to the front door, and had got the concierge to call a cab for me. What a gentleman.

I wished I could have stayed. My room felt small and cramped, and even though the logical part of me knew, knew that I was well off compared to many, I still felt the depression of knowing that I'd never, ever possess anything as beautiful as that penthouse flat, sixteen stories above the Thames.

I rolled onto my side and pillowed my head on my arm. Orange street light leaked in around my blackout curtains, and I could hear drunken girls walking down the street outside. My small supper of cold leftovers lay heavy in my stomach, and I felt strangely lonely. I wondered what Sophie was doing. Then I wondered what Andy was doing.

My phone vibrated, and I reached out for it.

- Did you make it home ok? -

I smiled. Andy, checking up on me.

- In bed, lights out -

I replied.

- This flat echoes. It's lonely. -

I raised an eyebrow, and responded.

- Enough space in that flat for an army. At least you have the room and the view. -

- It's not mine, I'm just borrowing it. -

I sighed.

- Don't mind me, I'm just jealous. And also lonely. -

My phone rang.

"I was stupid," he said.

"How so?" I murmured, softly.

"There's a spare bed. You could have stayed."

"I'd have had to leave early in the morning. I had no clothes to wear to work."

"True," he answered. "I wouldn't want to damage your reputation after all."

I laughed deep in my throat. "I'm afraid my reputation is already ruined, but I appreciate the sentiment."

I heard him snort, and we were both silent for a moment.

"I have no idea what I'm going to do tomorrow," he said. "I only start work next week."

"You're at the footstep of British history. Walk from Westminster to St Pauls via Whitehall and Trafalgar square," I murmured. "Bask in it. Enjoy it while you have the time to enjoy it. Find a pub near Tower bridge. It should be sunny."

"Where do you work, Jo?"

"Why?" I breathed.

"I could meet you for lunch somewhere. My treat."

"What about the supper your promised me?" I teased.

"That's still on, unless you want a rain check. Now, where do you work?"

I took a slow breath.

"Bishopsgate." I said. "I work in Bishopsgate. Meet me at the steel sculpture at the west entrance of Liverpool street station."

"What time?"

"Any time between twelve and two."

"Ok. Its a date." He paused. "I guess I should let you sleep."

"Yeah. Long day coming up. Friday always drags. Andy?"

"Ja?"

"I'm really glad you called. Sleep well."

"You too, Jo. See you tomorrow."

He hung up, and I lay there, strangely breathless in the darkness. His voice went straight down into me; into my stomach, and twisted it into knots. I was aroused, and I knew it was wrong, but I couldn't help the momentary fantasy of him.

I rolled onto my side again and drew my knees up to my chest, holding myself against the sudden hot ache in my belly. I took a shuddering breath, and then another. If the signs were right, I was in big, big trouble.

.:.

"And?" Sophie was breathless. I held the phone clamped between shoulder and ear, and stirred my tea as I thought. I couldn't lie to her, not to Soph.

"He's gorgeous," I murmured. "Not model gorgeous, debonaire gorgeous. Like he just stepped out of a Jane Austen novel. Totally not your type, but you'd still love him."

"Do I get to meet him?" she squealed.

"I'll try to organise something for this weekend," I answered, sipping my chai. I stared out of the kitchen window at the pelting morning rain, and hoped like hell it would clear for lunch with him.

"Can't wait. Gotta go, Jo, boss is making eyes at me again."

"Take care. Love you," I smiled.

"Ditto. Mwa."

It had been another slow day at work, I'd finished up the specifications I was working on and had a day or so to catch up on admin and general bollocks before we kicked off our next sprint.

My boss was having a sickie; she'd checked in first thing in the morning, sounding pretty hungover, and I had gladly leapt at the opportunity for the day free from her. I'd let the rest of my team know I had a doctor's appointment, hinting that it involved my lady parts, and the men in the team had looked horrified and said nothing more about it.

I watched the clock like a hawk, waiting. My phone buzzed, and I fumbled, almost dropping it

- Half past work for you? -

- Perfect. -

I took a breath, and was about to set the phone down again when it buzzed again.

- Come hungry, and see whether you can steal the afternoon off. -

I pursed my lips, and glanced around the office. Groups were talking crap and drinking coffee, lurking in the various small boardrooms; it was a typical post-release Friday morning.

I could take the afternoon off, and nobody would ever know. I dropped a quick email to my boss saying that I had to have some additional tests done at my doctor's appointment and didn't know how long it would take; her reply was a simple "Take the afternoon and work it in next week if you can."

I wouldn't look that gift horse in the mouth; I grinned in glee. Friday afternoon off, a free lunch, and the awesome company of my cousin. As far as I was concerned I'd won the lottery.

At midday I locked my Mac, pulled on my coat, and scooted out of the door. The street was busy, and I dodged newspapermen, mothers with prams, and suited boys on their early lunch breaks as I made my way down and through Liverpool Street station. I emerged from the west entrance, and took up a seat on the side of the small amphitheatre that surrounded the massive rusted steel slabs of the installation there. I watched the people as they scurried past me, waiting breathlessly for Andrew to arrive.

I felt a strange nervous tension in my tummy, and I knew I had a serious crush. But I felt stupid, silly, sixteen again, and I didn't care. I'd never do anything or act on it, but this feeling of butterflies came so seldom to me that I decided I deserved it. I knew it would pass eventually, but while it lasted I wanted to fully enjoy it.

And then I saw him, and if I'd felt breathless before it was nothing to how weak I felt now. Andy wore a navy blazer over a white collared shirt and tan trousers; he had a crimson and white scarf wrapped loosely around his neck, and as the sun broke out through the clouds his hair flamed to gold.

I watched other women turn and stare, and I felt the glares as I stood and walked to him. He took my hand, and kissed my cheeks.

"Hello," I squeaked, giddy.

"Hello, Jo," he grinned. "I like London."

"London likes you," I murmured, and he laughed as he took my arm.

"Come," he said. "There's a small Italian place just around the corner, I've booked us a table."

"I got the afternoon off like you suggested," I managed.

"Excellent. That means I've got a partner in crime."

I walked beside him, stupidly happy and tongue-tied, living in the moment.

.:.

"I like sneaking off like this," I confessed to him over our wine. "It makes me feel like a woman of leisure."

Andy laughed into his wine. "You're far too interesting to be a lady of leisure, Jo. You're a working girl, and you should be proud of yourself and your career. You're a BA. That's a short step from management, and that's not a bad thing to be at twenty-six.

"Twenty-seven," I corrected him.

"Since when?" he laughed.

"December thirteenth."

"Nonsense. You look far too young to be twenty-seven," he scoffed. "I refuse to believe it."

I laughed at his teasing, and he smiled back at me. "Flattery will avail you nothing," I murmured, waving my wineglass at him. "This wine, however, might. It is delicious."

"Tuscany," he observed. "Second best red wine region in the world, after the Western Cape."

"Now you're just showing your bias," I protested. "Lots of good French wine. I should know, I drank most of it."

He snorted, and eyed the menu once more. "I can't decide," he complained. "I always have this problem in restaurants; I want to try everything on the menu."

"How about you let me order for you?"

He glanced up at me, then slid the menu away. "Done. I get to order dessert."

"Done," I echoed him.

I ordered a mushroom ravioli for myself, and a creamy pancetta and mushroom tagliatelle for him, and grinned to myself at the expression of delight on his face when he smelled and tasted it. My own ravioli was delicious; a cut above what I'd usually get at my normal haunts, and I enjoyed every bite of it. Andy offered me a taste of his, and I nodded to myself; it had been a good choice for him.

"Did I win?" I asked as he set down his fork.

"Not yet," he grinned. "I get my move first. But your opening gambit was epic. That pasta was easily the best I've eaten in the last year."

"High praise for the chef," I murmured.

"If I could cook like that I'd be happy," he replied.

"You cook?"

"I dabble."

"Please will you cook for us tonight?" I begged him. "It has been so long since I had a home-cooked meal. Please?"

He glanced at me, and seemed to consider. "Done and done. Plus, it means I can raid my dad's wines with a clear conscience."

"Win," I mouthed, and he laughed.

"So what brought you over here?" I asked as the waitress cleared our plates.

"Boredom," he replied, candidly. "Johannesburg is limited. I wanted more exposure to the international markets, plus it's so much easier to travel from here."

"What, precisely, do you do?" I leaned forward, curious.

"Programming," he answered.

"You are so not the typical programmer."

He shrugged, amused. "How so?"

"You are far too well-dressed for starters. You look like a trader or a lawyer."

He stretched backwards into the booth. "Maybe I should have gone with the white shirt and blue jeans."

"No," I murmured. "You look perfect the way you are."

"Thanks," he grinned, and I blushed, flustered.

"Sorry, my mouth works on autopilot sometimes."

He waved away my apologies and leaned forward. "So... dessert," he mused. "What's your poison?"

"I'm a cheap date. Ice cream, chocolate or anything of the sort."

"Passion-fruit panna cotta?"

"Mm," I considered. "That does sound nice."

"Sold," he replied. "And unless I miss my guess, an espresso as well."

"How'd you know?"

"You mentioned coffee the other night, and you clearly like Italian food. So I guessed you liked coffee too."

"No, I don't like coffee." I smiled, innocent and wide-eyed. "Coffee is the way, the truth, the light. I cannot function without it."

"I'll make sure I get something nice for tonight, then."

.:.

Andy refused to let me even see the bill, ignored my pouting and protesting, and I suspected that he'd left a hefty tip judging by the smiles of the staff and the solicitous manner in which they ushered us back out onto the street. He then went on to make me blush by wrapping his scarf around my neck, and I felt strangely unsure of myself.

"Where to now?" I asked, fingering the wool, enjoying the way the scent of his aftershave set my nerves jangling.

Andy looked around. "I have no idea. What do you recommend?"

"Well," I hazarded, "we could catch a bus down to Waterloo and walk back to your place from there?"

"Sounds good," he answered. He glanced down. "You ok walking in those shoes?"

"I'll be ok," I grinned up at him. "They're fine so long as I don't walk too fast or stand for too long."

"Then let's not do that." Andy turned and hailed an approaching black cab.

"Andy!" I protested as the cab drew up alongside us. "That's going to set you back fifteen quid at least! I can walk!"

"Come on," he said as he held the door open for me. "My treat."

I gave in and clambered into the cab. "Waterloo station, please," Andy told the cabby as he followed me. We sat back, and I shook my head at him. "That's a week's lunches," I murmured.

"Your feet are worth it," he retorted, and we laughed quietly. "Plus, Riverlight is a bit of a walk from Waterloo, and those shoes, while pretty, are likely instruments of torture. You're hardly going to enjoy the evening if your feet are in agony."

"You're spoiling me," I protested.

"Nonsense," he replied. "You're my cousin, and I decree that you shall travel in comfort."

I snuggled back into the faux leather seat, and watched London ghost past at a brisk walking pace. Friday afternoon traffic had started, and the cabbie took some wiley shortcuts and executed some white-knuckle passing moves as he snaked his way through Cheapside, Ludgate and finally south over Blackfriars bridge.

Andy watched the commuters, and I tried not to watch him.

.:.

Andy leaned on the railing and stared across the Thames at the Houses of Parliament. "It feels surreal to be here," he murmured.

"How so?"

"You grow up seeing Big Ben and Westminster everywhere. Any time the media reports on the UK they use this scene as the filler. It becomes part of your identity in a way. And then you come here, and see this..."

Big Ben chimed out the quarter hour, and Andy paused, eyes closed.

"And hear that," he continued, softer, "and it feels... weird. I can't describe it. In some strange way it feels like coming home."

I smiled up at him. "You're not the first person I've heard who's said that. Lots of Aussies and Kiwis say the same thing."

He shrugged. "Common upbringing or something, I don't know."

I sipped my latte, and watched two seagulls floating eastwards on the ebb. "This is, I guess, the centre of Britishness. Makes sense that Anglophiles would feel affected."

He stood up straight and took a breath. "Maybe. Anyway. It's pretty enough. It will do for now," he added with a wry smile.

"You should see it in summer, at sunrise or sunset," I replied. "The Thames has this special kind of light. It's really beautiful."

"Many things here are," he murmured.

We strolled on down the Albert embankment, dodging joggers and cyclists and yummy mummies with their prams. We passed Lambeth palace and walked on slowly past MI6 and the huge modern flats at Nine Elms. And all the while we talked of nothings; commenting on the architecture, the waves on the river, the idiocy of one or two drivers and the shrinking distance of the sun above the horizon.

And all the while I was conscious of him; of the reassuring pressure of his arm on mine, of the firmness of his hip when we occasionally bumped against each other. Of his slim waist and powerful shoulders. Of the way the light made his blue eyes sparkle. Of his soft, easy laugh, and the way it warmed me through and through.

Andy stood maybe half a foot taller than I, but our gaits matched, and walking beside him seemed to be the most natural thing in the world.

I wished it would never end.

.:.

Andy took my coat for me and hung it on the rail behind the door, then followed me through to the reception room. "Wine?" he asked, as he set the groceries down on the counter.

"Why not," I agreed. "It is after five in Paris, and it's Friday."

"White or red?"

"Red, please." I stood at the window, gazing out over the city. My phone buzzed, and I glanced at it. Sophie, asking if I wanted to meet for drinks.

- Can't tonight, see you tomorrow? -

- :( playing with your new friend? I'm sulking. -

I laughed.

- Will try to set something up for tomorrow so I can introduce you. He is cooking to thank me for meeting him. -

I glanced up, and smiled apologetically at Andy's raised eyebrow. "Sorry, Andy, it's my best friend. We usually go out for drinks after work so I'm just letting her know I'm spoken for tonight."

- Slag. I'm jealous. Have fun! :) -

Sophie responded. I smiled, and put my phone down.

"Friends are important," Andy observed quietly. "I feel a bit guilty for interrupting your plans."

"No firm plans," I disagreed. "It's just a custom, nothing else. You can make it up to her by coming out with us tomorrow night."

He grinned. "With an offer like that, how could I refuse." He selected a bottle of red from the wine rack, and poured us both a glass. "Here, Jo. Happy Friday."

"Cheers, Andy. Thanks for having me over tonight. It makes a welcome change for me."

"It's my pleasure. Now, let me get started on my masterpiece."

Andy rummaged around in the drawers. "My dad loves buying kitchen stuff," he explained. "He always said he'd have been a chef if he hadn't wound up in Finance. So I learned to cook from him. He made sure this place was properly kitted out. Which makes my job a lot easier."

"Do you need a hand?" I asked, as I took up station on a bar stool.

"Nah," he smiled. "I need you to sit there, drink your wine and keep me company."

"There is nothing I'd like better."

Andy went to work dicing some shallots. "So tell me about you, Jo."

"What do you want to know?"

"Who you are."

I stared at my wine. "That's a hard question to answer." I sighed. "Sometimes I feel like there's not much to tell. I'm a London working girl, poured straight from the mould. I go to work, I go out drinking, I go home to my small room in my small shared house and try not to think too much about the future, because it's bleak and it depresses me. Same old, same old."

"Nonsense," he said, softly. "You're not some shallow painted doll, Joanna. I know those when I see them. You're a strong, confident woman. Anyone can see that."

I made a face, and sipped my wine. "I feel like a marionette. Like I'm in the same tired puppet show, a rat in a cage, day after day, and all that brings me interest is getting drunk with Sophie."

Andy glanced up, then turned to clean carrots and parsnips. "So from the gist of this I take it you're not seeing anyone."

I laughed bitterly. "No. I've had bad luck with boys, so these days I fly solo. That way I don't inflict myself on anyone else."

"That's a shame," he observed.

I watched him a moment. "Why?" I asked.

"You're honest. You give. You laugh." he said, glancing up again. "You're lovely. I think you're being unfair to yourself."

"Mm. Perhaps. Or perhaps you just don't know me well enough to know who I am." I glanced away, embarrassed.