The tube door slammed behind her and Effie took the only remaining seat. It was rush hour on Thursday and she had not finally made up her mind about Susie’s plan. She’d left work promptly to meet up with Bea for a gallery private view in town, Bea having assured Effie that the young man concerned, unromantically named John Black, was one of the up-and-coming artists of the decade. Bea prided herself on being something of an art connoisseur and Effie was happy to go along and have her mind ‘stretched’, as Bea put it. The last time she had accompanied her friend to an art exhibition she came away wondering if Bea’s judgement was quite as hot as she liked to think. In her quiet way, Effie had a well-tuned eye for good and bad art; her responses were unashamedly emotional and tended to be born out by a particular critic whose column she read every Sunday. His picture conveyed a rather plump man, not obviously good-looking, but she had developed a soft spot for him as she tended to do with cuddly men. Not that Jack had been at all cuddly.
As she sped along on her journey, however, it was not Jack she wanted to think about. She needed to make up her mind about Susie’s suggestion. Could she face another encounter? She had left a message with Oliver thanking him for the lunch to which he had promptly replied expressing his desire to see her again soon. He even suggested going to an art gallery which surprised Effie since there had been no evidence from her observations that he had any interest in art. Sally, too, had left a message asking if she was all right and recommending a herbal tea ‘for nerves’ which had caused Effie to squeak with laughter. What a woman! So really what it added up to was a lack of urgency to do anything and her own good advice was to direct her emotional energy towards her family for the rest of the week. Cathy had rung her mother last night sounding perfectly cheerful reporting that all was well with the family, making no further reference to the weekend. None of which helped to resolve the question of Friday.
She had dug out her soduko puzzle for distraction. There was nothing like the ‘fiendish’ one to dispel troublesome thoughts. She loved the way it finally all fell into place. If only life were so accommodating. She raised her eyes from the paper, observing that the carriage had cleared a bit. A young girl was sitting opposite wearing an extremely short skirt and high heels that Effie could only marvel at. She had auburn hair arranged in a stark line across her brow and she was in the process of making up her eyes. In her left hand was a small pink mirror, raised close to her face while with the other hand she was carefully tracing a dark line across her eyelids. A mascara was produced from a vanity bag, pink of a different shade, and she proceeded to brush it on to her eyelashes, going from side to side, side to side again. Then came the lipstick and several minutes of applying a bright pink colour on to full lips that she pouted and pulled in alternately until she was satisfied that they looked sufficiently smooth or pink or whatever it was she was after. She paid no attention at all to Effie’s hostile stare which expressed her indignation at this flagrant disregard of those around her. Like being invited into the bedroom she thought. Could she imagine Daisy and Rosie behaving like this in years to come? But the girl had coolly repacked her makeup and settled down to flicking through a magazine. The train stopped and she looked up, catching Effie’s eye but this time she smiled and Effie smiled back despite herself, and she realised as she approached her own stop that she wanted to put a bit of lipstick on herself. But that’s different, isn’t it?
She left the train with relief, telling herself not to let such goings on with the younger generation spoil a potentially enjoyable evening. She arrived at the gallery to find that Bea was already there with a glass in hand and ready to sweep Effie off into the melee. Bea was in her element and Effie’s spirits rose rapidly, buoyed up both by the party atmosphere but also by the paintings which were better than she had expected. The artist’s style was semi-abstract, which appealed to Effie. She liked the process of searching out links and recognisable forms from the shapes and colours, which tied in with her interest in cryptic crosswords and detective stories.
One particular picture was attracting a small huddle. Effie joined the group, standing on tip toes so that she could see. It was a small painting of what she worked out was a figure, perhaps two figures entwined and staring away from the viewer. A swirl of colours both joined and separated them. Or so she heard someone saying, a gray-haired man with a prominent nose and striking brown eyes. Not English, she thought.
‘You see, he’s captured that essential tension between certainty – look, there, you can see a suggestion of a foot that has penetrated the earth, and there is also a tree whose roots intertwine with it... yes, certainty, solidity, rootedness, all those sort of things, and on the other hand, life’s uncertainties, its caprices, its unpredictabilities. See how the colours fly off and suddenly change... even the brushstrokes do umpteen unexpected things. Quite thrilling’ he intoned.
Effie became totally focussed as he spoke, as did several others, though it was not entirely clear if it was the painting and his enlightening words or his definitely handsome looks and air of authority that drew them in.
‘Who’s he’ she whispered to Bea
‘Whoever he is, he’s worth knowing. Let’s stick around.’
Which they did for a further happy half hour, shuffling along with a growing entourage of followers who seemed equally keen to catch the words of wisdom and something rather glamorous. Effie had taken a glass of red wine, not her usual choice because it tended to go to her head more quickly. The effects were pleasing; the man’s charisma was powerful and Effie experienced a pang of excitement when he looked in her direction and smiled. She really was a soft touch for beautiful eyes.
Bea was chatting to a woman with long gray hair and a skirt down to the ground who she introduced as Shirley, her tutor from her art class.
‘So who’s the gorgeous guy we’ve all been following so adoringly?’
Shirley laughed. ‘Oh that’s Luca. He’s an art historian/cum dealer, specialises in contemporary stuff. This is just the sort of thing he likes. Wants to be the first one to spot a new name. He’s lucky enough to be rich so he can afford to take a gamble. He never quite took to my stuff, but can’t blame him really.’
‘Can’t you?’
‘Well, art is such a personal thing.’ Shirley shrugged. ‘I forgive him because he knows what he likes, which is fair enough, and also because he is so good looking.’ She sighed. ‘You can see what effect he has on people.’
The object in question had by now ceased his lecture tour and was resting a neat backside on the drinks table while he chatted to a woman who held his right arm firmly.
‘Interesting,’ mused Shirley, ‘people can’t keep their hands off him. Pity, really. I mean, it can be a bit of a distraction. Anyway, ladies, let’s take a look at the rest of the show. And this is Peter...’
Effie and Bea were amongst the last to leave the party, departing in good spirits, enlivened and suddenly ravenously hungry. Even skinny Bea, who rarely admitted to experiencing this basic need, was keen to find somewhere to eat.
‘It must be all that high culture or something’ said Effie. ‘but thank goodness you are actually hungry and we can go somewhere where we can get more than a lettuce leaf tonight.’
‘Culture? Are you kidding. It was that gorgeous man. He just oozed sex.’
‘Bea! I thought it was the art you were excited about, or at least the occasion.’
‘It was, it was, but he was just such an unexpected bonus. Such a pity he’s attached.’
‘To whom? You mean that stringy woman who was clutching him at the bar?’
‘I’d say so. She looked like a wife to me. Hey!,’ Bea darted into a doorway as they walked. ‘This looks good, let’s try it’.
Twenty minutes later they were seated in an Italian restaurant eating ravioli stuffed with spinach and ricotta, one of Effie’s favourites, and sipping chianti.
They ate silently for a while, concentrating on the food.
‘I’ve never known you eat so much, Bea.’
‘Well, it was a stimulating evening. You seem quite peckish yourself.’
‘Yes, but I’m always hungry. You never are, or at least you never admit to it.’
‘Oh I have my moments.’
Yes, I’m sure you do, Effie thought. She did not know Bea as well as she knew Susie, but the atmosphere of the party and the good food and drink were a heady combination so that she soon found herself chatting quite freely, telling her about her venture into the world of dating, skipping over Oliver for the moment, but presenting her with the possibility of the man in the dress shop. Bea, of course, was enthusiastic and encouraging.
‘Look, a man who buys his daughters gorgeous dresses and actually accompanies them into the dress shop can’t be bad.’
‘Funny. That’s just what Susie says.’
‘She’s right.’ Bea was emphatic. ‘Sounds like you’ve nothing to lose. I mean, if the worst comes to the worst, you can always walk out with a new dress.’
‘But have you ever done anything like this? I mean I’m not exactly a spring chicken.’
‘No, but you’re still very attractive, a bit on the plump side, a few smile lines, but you’ve really worn extremely well.’
‘Gee, thanks, Bea.’
And so with that vote of confidence Effie accepted her fate. After all, who was she to go against the opinions of two of her good friends?