to watch stupid blokes scampering around for the Crown Jewels.’
I laughed, happy to discover that Lawrie also had a strain of nervousness about all this, and touched that he wasn’t afraid to tell me about it. ‘Or do you want to see one of those French films,’ he said, ‘where people just walk in and out of rooms, looking at each other?’
‘Let’s go and see the Bond.’
‘All right. Excellent. Excellent! I loved Goldfinger – that bowler hat!’ I laughed again and he came up to the counter, leaning over to take my hand. I froze, looking at it. ‘Odelle,’ he said. ‘I think – I mean, you are—’
‘What?’
‘You’re just . . .’ He was still holding on to my hand. For the first time in my life, I didn’t want a man to let go.
Outside, it began to rain. I turned my head, distracted by the rush of water beyond the door, cascading down onto the grey pavement. Lawrie leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. I turned back and he kissed me again, and it felt good, so we stood for some minutes, kissing in the reception of the Skelton.
I broke away. ‘You’ll get me sacked.’
‘All right. Can’t have that.’
He moved back to his chair, grinning like an idiot. The rain was thrumming heavily now, but this was English rain, not Trini rain. Back home, aerial waterfalls fell from the breaking sky, week on week of tropical downpour, forests doused so green they were almost black, the neon signs out, escarpments churned to mud, torch ginger flowers so red, like a man’s blood had coloured the petals – and all of us, standing under awnings or hiding in houses till it was safe once more to walk the shining asphalt road. We used to say ‘it rainin’’ as an excuse for being late, and everyone would always understand.
‘What?’ Lawrie said. ‘Why are you smiling?’
‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘Nothing.’
There was a rapping on the door. Quick was peering through the glass, under the brim of a wide black umbrella. ‘Oh!’ I cried. ‘She early.’
I ran to the door and unlocked it, thanking God she hadn’t seen us kissing. Quick stepped inside, and I thought her face looked thinner. She removed her coat and brushed off her umbrella. ‘August,’ she muttered.
She looked up and saw Lawrie. ‘Who are you?’ she said, wary as a cat.
‘This is – Mr Scott,’ I said, surprised at her bluntness. ‘He’d like to speak to someone about his painting. Mr Scott, this is Miss Quick.’
‘Mr Scott?’ she repeated. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.
‘Hullo,’ Lawrie said, jumping to his feet. ‘Wondered if I’ve got an heirloom or a piece of junk.’ He put out his hand and Quick, as if resisting a great magnet, lifted her own to meet it. I saw her flinch, though Lawrie noticed nothing.
She smiled faintly. ‘I hope, for your sake, Mr Scott, it’s the former.’
‘Me too.’
‘May I see it?’
Lawrie went to the counter and began unwrapping the paper. Quick stayed where she was by the door, fingers gripping the top of her umbrella. She kept staring at him. Rain had soaked her coat but she didn’t take it off. Lawrie swung the painting up, holding it against his body for me and Quick to see. ‘Here it is,’ he said.
Quick stood for four or five seconds, eyes transfixed on the golden lion, the girls, the landscape spiralling out behind them. The umbrella slid out of her grasp and bumped to the floor. ‘Quick?’ I said. ‘Are you all right?’
She looked at me, abruptly turned on her heel and walked out of the front door. ‘It’s not that bad,’ said Lawrie, peering over the top of the painting.
Quick was hurrying away along the square, her head bowed, oblivious to the rain soaking her. As I reached for my own coat, Edmund Reede appeared and removed his dripping trilby.
He looked down at me. ‘Miss – Baston, is it?’
‘Bastien.’
‘Where are you running off to?’
‘To see Miss Quick. She’s – forgotten her umbrella.’
‘We were supposed to be having a meeting.’ He turned to where Lawrie was now sitting again, the painting on his knees, hastily covered in the brown paper. ‘And who’s this?’
‘Mr Scott has a painting,’ I said.
‘I can see that. Isn’t this all rather a flurry for eight fifteen in the morning? Where’s Miss Rudge?’
‘I’m on the early shift, Mr Reede. Mr Scott came today because he was hoping someone would take a look at his painting. It was his mother’s –