Fine Lines

Chapter Two

From then on, I was a man obsessed. I could not look at Anna in the same way again. Or, rather, for the first time I actually began to look at her. I noticed things I had never been aware of before, either in her or anyone else. Each morning I would wait eagerly for her to arrive at the gallery, wondering what she would be wearing, if her hair would be taken back or loose. I noticed how her clothes touched and briefly clung to her body when she moved, how she had a particular scent all her own. Everything about her seemed perfect.

But if I was obsessed, it was a modest obsession. I knew my limitations. I had no ambitions to make her my mistress. Such a thing was so far beyond my experience as to be virtually unimaginable. The best I could ever hope for was to become her friend, and so to that end I began to try and break down the reserve that existed between us. It was surprisingly easy. The hardest part was not making my sudden interest appear too obvious. I could have spent hours watching her, cherishing each unconscious movement, storing it for later, private perusal. The arch of her neck, a few bare inches of flesh, could hold me mesmerised for hours. I was constantly aware of her body underneath the clothes. They seemed only to emphasise what they concealed. One day she was very obviously not wearing a bra, and I could barely take my eyes from the judder and swing of her breasts. I convinced myself that this was a sign she was beginning to feel more at ease. In fact, I had never noticed in the past if she wore one or not.

As she became more relaxed with me, I began to hear more about her private life. And in particular about Marty, her boyfriend. Her feelings for him were patently obvious, and the more I heard, the more I was filled with envy for this unknown man. And also curiosity. I tried to imagine what he looked like. I formed an image of him in my mind; tall and darkly good looking, a male equivalent of Anna. I admit to a slight disapproval that he was American, but I was prepared to admit that was probably my own prejudice. The object of Anna’s affection could surely not be anything other than exceptional. I felt certain she would not give herself to less.

Then came the opportunity to meet him for myself. Anna approached me one afternoon. “Are you busy tonight?” she asked.

I tried to hide my rush of excitement. “No, not really. Why?”

“Well, if you aren’t, you could do me an awfully big favour. But only if it’s no trouble.”

“I’m sure it won’t be. What is it?”

“A friend of mine is an artist, and it’s her first show tonight. I wondered, if you weren’t doing anything, if you’d mind coming along to it? She’s really nervous, so the more people who go the better. And with you being quite influential, I know she’d like you to be there.”

I felt a thrill of pleasure. “I’d be delighted.”

“You’re sure it’s no problem? I know it’s short notice.”

“Really, I’d love to come.”

Anna beamed at me. “Thanks, that’s great! Marty said you wouldn’t mind.”

I was unsure whether or not I liked the implications of that. Then another thought struck me. “Will Marty be going tonight?”

“Yes. We’ll be there around eight-ish. But you don’t have to be there that early.”

I reassured her that it was not too early for me, and tried to be attentive when she gave me directions to where the exhibition was being held. But I was hardly listening. I was going to meet Anna’s boyfriend. Her lover.

I was suddenly acutely nervous.

The exhibition was in a small gallery near Camden. I arrived there just before eight. My stomach was coiling. I had not eaten anything since lunch, but I was too on edge to feel hungry. The gallery looked warm and bright, and I could see people milling about inside as I approached. I peered through the windows, trying to pick out Anna and settle my nerves before going in, but succeeded in doing neither. I took a deep breath and opened the door.

A glass of wine was immediately pushed into my hand by a cadaverous young man in a baggy sweater. It was obviously from a supermarket’s bargain bin, but I accepted it gratefully and looked around for Anna. There was no sign of her. I looked at my watch. It was still not quite eight o’clock, and feeling anticlimax mingle with relief I turned my attention to the exhibition.

The daubs were even more amateurish than I had feared. I dislike abstract art at the best of times, and this was nowhere near the best. I recognised one of the critics there, and the look he gave me supported my own opinion. The majority of the crowd appeared to be more interested in the free wine than the paintings, and I could not blame them. I was considering accepting a second glass myself when Anna’s voice came from behind me.

“Hello. Have you been here long?”

I turned, surprised and flustered. “No, no. I’ve only just got here.”

I breathed in her perfume. She still wore her coat, and a scarf was draped around her neck. Her face looked pinched from the cold. “Sorry we’re late. The tube was delayed again, and we couldn’t get a taxi. We walked from the underground.” She moved to one side. “You’ve not met Marty, have you?”

I had been aware of someone standing just behind her, but only peripherally. He was so unlike my idea of what Marty should look like that I had taken no notice of him. Now, as he stepped forward and held out his hand, I felt a shock so strong I could barely respond.

The tall, good-looking Marty of my imagination did not exist. The creature Anna introduced was small, slight, and runtish. His clothes hung on his meagre frame, and dark-framed glasses made his eyes seem disproportionately large in his thin face. His hair was unkempt and mousy, completing the image of a bookish schoolboy.

I managed to smile as I shook his hand. “I’m pleased to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I don’t know if that’s good or bad.” His accent was relatively slight. But by then his nationality was the least of my complaints.

I was recovering now from the initial shock. “Oh, you needn’t worry. It was all good.”

“I only told him the good points,” Anna said. They smiled at each other.

“Here, I’ll find somewhere to put your coat,” he said to her. “Would you like another glass of wine, Mr. Ramsey?”

I felt I needed one. “If it’s no bother.” I gritted my teeth. “And please, call me Donald.”

Taking Anna’s coat, Marty disappeared into the crowd. There was nothing about him to make him stand out from it.

“So what do you think?” Anna asked. I blinked.

“Pardon?”

“The exhibition. Have you had chance to see much of it yet?”

For a moment I had thought she was asking my opinion of her boyfriend. “Well, I haven’t seen it all,” I hedged.

“Oh, there’s Teresa,” Anna said, looking beyond me. “She’s the artist. I’d better go and have a word. Would you like me to introduce you?”

I could think of few things I would like less. But it would keep me close to Anna. “Yes, all right.”

The artist was a thin, intense young woman dressed completely in black. Her eye make-up was almost as alarming as her art. For Anna’s sake I did my best to sound encouraging without committing myself. Marty joined us a few moments later, and the evening reached a nadir when the young woman insisted on escorting us personally around a selection of pieces, explaining her intentions and methods in stultifying detail. But by then reaction to seeing Marty was beginning to set in, and I was glad the artist loved the sound of her own voice enough for me to keep mine to a minimum.

Eventually, she went in search of other victims. I stood with Anna and Marty in front of a huge canvas that looked as though a child had smeared creme caramel on it.

“I think Teresa must be nervous,” Anna said, after a moment. “She’s not normally as pushy as that.”

“I suppose your first exhibition must be nerve-wracking,” I said, for Anna’s sake.

Marty studied the painting. “It’s nerve-wracking enough having to look at it.”

“Marty!” Anna tried to look severe.

He gave an apologetic shrug. “I’m sorry, but I might as well be honest. I hate to say it, but I just don’t think this is any good, that’s all.” One hand went up to push back his glasses. “What do you think, Donald?”

I was annoyed at being put on the spot. “Well, this sort of thing’s not really my cup of tea, anyway. I’ve never been fond of the abstract movement.”

“Would you say it’s well done, though?” Anna asked. “I know you won’t like it, but do you think there’s... well, anything there?”

I struggled to be diplomatic. “Well, there’s an obvious enthusiasm. And it is only her first exhibition, but...” I shied away from the criticism.

“But you don’t think it’s really any good.” Anna finished for me.

I sighed. “No, not really. But that’s only my opinion, of course.”

“I know Teresa’s an old friend and you don’t want to hurt her feelings,” Marty said, “but you’ve got to admit this is a mistake. She should have stuck to doing portraits at Covent Garden. It might not have got her any reviews, but at least it made her money. She’s wasting her time with this.”

Looking at the canvas in front of her, Anna reluctantly nodded. “Poor Teresa. She’s put everything she’s got into it, too.”

“That doesn’t say much for Teresa,” Marty murmured. Anna gave him a little push and turned to me, smiling ruefully.

“I’m sorry for dragging you down here, Donald. I didn’t realise it would be this bad.”

It still sounded strange to hear her use my Christian name. “No need to apologise. I’ve enjoyed the experience, if not the art.”

Marty looked at his watch. “Well, we’ve done our duty. I can’t see any point in staying any longer, can you?”

I felt a sudden emptiness at the thought of them leaving. I remembered I had not eaten, and wondered if I dare invite them out for dinner. But while I was trying to gather the courage to ask, the opportunity was lost.

“You don’t mind if we go, do you?” Anna asked. “We haven’t had a chance to eat yet, so we’re going to get a pizza, or something.”

I smiled. “No, of course I don’t mind.”

I waited by the door while Anna made her excuses to the artist and Marty fetched their coats. Those few minutes alone were enough to turn my depression into a dull ache of outrage. We went outside together. There was nothing now to stop us from going our separate ways. Me to my solitary house, the two of them to whatever they had planned. And eventually to bed.

“Would you like a lift?” I asked.

Anna shook her head. “No, it’s okay, thanks.”

“It’s no trouble. It’s too cold to be walking tonight.”

“No, honestly, it’s okay.” She appealed to Marty. “We’ve not really decided where we’re going yet, have we?”

“No. There’s still a dispute about whether it’s going to be Italian or Chinese. But thanks anyway.” He held out his gloved hand, smiling. “It’s been nice meeting you.”

I shook it. They said goodnight and walked away. As I watched them go, I noticed that his feeble figure was no taller than hers. He put his arm around her, and I felt a sour, leaden feeling in my gut. To think that she had given herself to such a pathetic creature was unbearable. The full impact of my disappointment finally hit me. I drove home, imagining the two of them together. Now they will be in a restaurant, I thought. Then, later: now they will be home. And then: now they will be naked. The images were as vivid as though I were watching, but this time unwelcomely so. I had a sudden vision of his body on hers, and quickly forced it from my mind. It was useless tormenting myself. Unworthy as Marty was, he was still Anna’s choice. I could do nothing to change that.

I consoled myself with the thought that at least I was closer to her than I had been. Now the ice had been broken and I had seen her socially, I had something to build on. It was not much, but it was all I had. I would have to content myself with that.

It was only when even these crumbs were threatened to be taken from me that I felt compelled to act.

I found out by accident. It was shortly after the exhibition. I was upstairs in the office, Anna was downstairs in the gallery itself. I had no idea she was using the telephone until I picked up the office extension and heard her voice.

I did not intend to eavesdrop. But there was something seductive about being able to listen without her being aware of it. And once I had hesitated, I had no choice. They had not noticed the click when I lifted the receiver, but if they heard me set it back down they would know I had been on the other end. So I had to listen.

The gist of the conversation escaped me at first. Then Anna said, “I know it’s a big step, but I want to go,” and I became more alert. The word ‘go’ seemed fraught with dreadful connotations.

“So long as you’re sure, that’s all right,” the other speaker, a girl, said. “But have you thought what’ll happen if it doesn’t work out? I know you won’t like me saying it, but you haven’t known each other that long, have you?”

“Oh, don’t you start, Debbie. I’ve had all that from my parents. You know what my mum’s like.”

“Well, for once I can see her point. I mean, I really like Marty, but it’s still a massive risk, isn’t it?”

“I know it is, but I’ve got to take it. It isn’t as though I’m doing it lightly. Sometimes I’m petrified when I think about it, but I can’t just stay here and let him go by himself, can I?”

“Couldn’t you go over later?”

“What’s the point? If I’m going I might as well go with him. Why spend God knows how long apart, just until I’m sure I’m doing the right thing? There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?”

The other girl sighed. “I know. And I suppose I’d do exactly the same if I were you. I’m just jealous that it isn’t me who’s being whisked off to America.”

The room lurched. I tried to tell myself they might only be talking about Anna going on holiday, but then even that straw was snatched away.

“Have you told your boss yet?” the girl asked.

Anna’s voice dropped lower. “No, not yet. It isn’t for another couple of months, so I’ll tell him nearer the time. We’re going to need all the money we can get until I find a job over there, so I don’t want him sacking me. I don’t think he’ll mind, but I daren’t chance it.”

I closed my eyes. I wished I had never picked up the telephone. Anna was leaving. Going to America with that sad excuse for a man. Not only was he wasting her, now he was taking her away.

And she did not even dare tell me. I hardly heard the rest of the conversation. I had just enough presence of mind left to put the receiver down when it finished.

I sat there and tried to gather my wits, already feeling a sense of loss. And growing anger. This was Marty’s fault. Anna would go to America with him, and I would never see her again. There was nothing I could do to prevent her: as poor as Marty was, I was a poorer rival.

It was the first time I had actually thought of myself as such. But I realised now that that was what we were. Rivals. As the concept established itself in my mind I began to consider what advantages I had over him. It was painfully obvious that there was only one. His ignorance. Neither he nor Anna perceived me as a threat to their relationship. Until that moment I had never considered myself as one either. Now I knew I had to be.

The question was, what could I actually do about it? Common sense told me that, by myself, the answer was very little. It was then I hit upon the idea of bringing in outside help.

Two days later I called Zeppo.