darkness of the tunnel, my mind floating backwards. I’ve thought about you for years. Wondered where you are, what you’re doing, if I’d ever see you again.
Until finally I reach my stop and I get off and climb up the steps, into the cacophony of city noise. Sometimes I even used to imagine seeing you again, bumping into you in the street.
I walk through the busy streets, dodging traffic, pedestrians, pavement cafés, and now I’m here at the gallery and I’m pushing open the door. Do you believe in soulmates?
‘Loozy!’
Suddenly the sound comes back on, at full volume, and I hear Magda’s voice blasting at me.
‘What are you doing here? It so early!’
Dressed in her usual immaculate ensemble of black Chanel, diamonds and gravity-defying hairdo, she’s sitting frozen behind the reception desk, a half-eaten bagel in one hand, an iced frappuccino topped with swirls of whipped cream in the other. She looks like a thief caught in the middle of the act.
< {nt face=“Plantin Light”>Hastily dabbing away the smears of cream cheese from around her mouth with a scarlet fingernail, she drops the bagel and frappuccino like contraband goods and comes clattering over on her vertiginous heels. Valentino scampers along beside her, perfectly coordinated in a diamond collar and matching black jacket.
‘I thought I’d start work on Friday’s exhibition,’ I say, my voice muffled as she grabs hold of me and gives me my usual greeting of two lipstick kisses. ‘Make an early start.’
OK, so that’s not strictly true, but I can’t tell her about Nate, can I?
‘You’re wearing the same clothes!’
‘Erm . . . excuse me?’ On second thoughts, I might not have a choice.
‘The same clothes as yesterday!’ Her eyes are running over me like scanners. ‘Did you stay out last night?’ she persists. ‘Were you with the client?’
‘Well, actually . . .’ I begin, my cheeks reddening. Oh shit, I’ve been busted. She knows I’ve spent the night with Nate and it looks really unprofessional. I feel a stab of panic. How am I going to explain this?
‘Aha! I knew it!’
But if I thought she was going to be angry with me, I couldn’t be more wrong. Clapping her bony hands together with glee, she beams delightedly. ‘Are you seeing him again?’
‘Tonight. He’s taking me out for dinner,’ I blurt before I can stop myself. I can’t keep it inside. I just want to tell someone. Correction: I want to tell everyone.
Magda’s face lights up like a hundred-watt bulb. ‘What did I tell you?’ She throws me a triumphant smile. Then her expression falls serious. ‘Did you look at his shoes?’
For a moment I regard her in confusion. Then it registers. Of course. The checklist.
‘Made in Italy,’ I say, suddenly remembering my earlier snooping and feeling a faint flash of embarrassment.
Magda, however, has no such reservations. She couldn’t look more thrilled if I’d handed her a winning lottery ticket.
‘Loozy, this is unbelievable,’ she gasps in a hushed voice.
Which is somewhat of an exaggeration. I mean, shoes do have a habit of being Italian, even mine, and they’re only from Nine West, but still, I feel a ridiculous beat of pleasure that Nate is ticking off her checklist.
‘And his watch?’ She leans closer, her eyes wide.
‘Um . . .’
I can’t remember if he was even wearing a watch, but then it wasn’t his wrist I was looking at, I muse, my mind darting off to a totally different body part.
‘I’m not sure,’ I say vaguely, but if I’m expecting it to put Magda off, I’m wrong.
‘Don’t worry,’ she’s saying determinedly. ‘It will be fine. It will be more than fine! Trust me, I am never wrong when it comes to matchmaking. I even managed to fix up Belinda, my sister’s daughter, once we’d addressed the waxing issue.’
Unknown
Now I know why she’s been so successful as a matchmaker:...
‘Well, that’s the thing, you see, you don’t need to matchmake . . .’ I need to explain about me and Nate, about how we’ve already met, about everything.
But Magda’s not listening. She’s waving her skinny arms around like propellers and gushing, ‘Oh, this is wonderful! Wonderful!’ before putting them on her tiny hips and fixing me with an accusatory look. ‘Is this not wonderful?’
‘Well, yes . . . but . . .’ I try again, then pause. Oh, what the hell. Why explain? I’ve met Nate again and it’s fantastic – no explanation needed.
Breaking into a huge, delighted, over-the-moon grin, I nod happily. ‘Yes, it’s pretty bloody wonderful.’
Chapter Ten
The grin never