A large tear rolled down the girls cheek. I just dont seeI mean, whats the point in carrying on?
Her words cut through Olivia like a blade.
Whats the Point in Carrying On, she repeated.
Only a few times in her life had anything struck her so forcibly. A terrible feeling of transparency flooded her.
Here it all was; the world she struggled to create, her public face in all its desperate grandeur and ostentatiousness. How could this stranger, little more than a teenager, really, have guessed so accurately at the emptiness beneath the surface?
What was the point indeed?
Olivia crouched down next to the girl. I cant tell you how much I admire what youve done.
The girl blinked.
Look, Simon, at the detail! I mean, even the suit shes wearing!
Yes, dreadful! Whats your name?
Rose. She struggled to her feet. Rose Moriarty
Oh, dear. Do you have another one? Names in this business are important, you see.
Sometimes people call me Red.
Thats good!
But I dont like it, she added.
Never mind. Red Moriarty! He turned to Olivia. Hows this? Subversion has a new name: Red Moriarty!
Brilliant!
Does this mean Im hired? the girl asked.
But Olivia didnt hear. This remarkable young woman had taken the very lack of substance in her life and elevated it to the status of art.
For the first time in a long time, she felt energized.
No one is to touch this room! Simon, get Mona Freestyle on the phone! I want this whole piece transferred to the gallery immediately. Youre a very clever girl.
Really?
Incredibly talented!
At what?
Olivia and Simon exchanged a look.
And witty! Simon laughed. Where did you train?
Train? I left school when I was fifteen. You see, I have a little boy
A child? But you cant be more than twelve yourself!
Im twenty-two. Well, almost. Next month.
And your background? Simon demanded. Where were you born? Where do you live? What are your family like?
Im from Kilburn. My dad owns a junk shop. My mother left when I was ten. I live in a council flat on an estate near Queens Park.
He could hardly contain himself. How perfectly Tracey!
Olivia gestured for her to sit. And your love of conceptual artwhere does it come from?
Art? The girl tugged at the ugly suit. I cant even draw
Nobody draws any more! Simon assured her. I couldnt sell a drawing if my life depended on it!
An utterly raw talent, Olivia shook her head in amazement.
Youre right, Simon nodded. God has answered all our prayers! Here is the enfant terrible weve been looking for! Even more enfant than Roddy and infinitely more terrible!
Meanwhile, downstairs, one of the artists that Mona Freestyle of the Slade had recommended, a lanky young man with a large nose and beady eyes who specialized in preserving human remains in aspic, was being interviewed by Gaunt. Hed done quite well on the silver-polishing exercise and acquitted himself admirably during the cutlery identification. (The lobster trident was no stranger to him.)
Unfortunately, he didnt have the opportunity to attempt the final exercise, as Simon Grey had the drawing room cordoned off and everything removed to the gallery later that afternoon. But Gaunt decided to hire him regardless. The quality of his sneer was first rate; he possessed a natural sense of superiority which couldnt be taught. And if truth be told, there was something of Jean Marsh in the way he moved.
So perhaps England lost yet another great artist in the making to the service industry.
Then again, perhaps not.
The Interview
Hughie was sitting in a warm patch of sunlight on a bench in Green Park, with ten minutes to go before his appointment. He felt stiff and uncomfortable wearing the dark wool suit hed borrowed from Malcolm. But at least it didnt smell like violet water.
Perhaps it had been a mistake allowing Clara to dress him. But when she heard he finally had a job interview, she wouldnt leave him alone. Her trademark yellow Post-its began to appear offering advice instead of warnings: Make eye contact and smile! But not like an IDIOT! Dont eat anything smelly the day before. Remember to shave! As the week wore on they grew increasingly more like American life-coaching slogans: You can do this! This job already belongs to YOU! All you have to do is reach out and GRAB IT! Failure is for LOSERS! Hughie had begun to miss the Post-its that only required him not to forget his fucking keys.
He looked around at the people strolling past and the ones lolling, reading papers or dozing on the grass. And he wondered if any of them might be the person he was waiting for.
It was unusual to hold a job interview on a park bench. It was one of the things hed kept secret from Clara and her endless grilling. But then, he was an actor and used to strange impromptu arrangements. Besides, any job that required discretion coupled with a romantic history was bound to be a bit unorthodox.
He checked the time again on his mobile phone. Any minute now, the man he spoke to would be here.
Then a red-headed woman sat down next to him, unfolded a newspaper and began to read. Hughie felt a bit anxious. This was the difficulty of using public spaces; namely the public. Should he ask her to sit somewhere else? Or perhaps he should just wait until the man arrived and take it from there?
Suddenly his phone buzzed. A text appeared.
The message read, Flirt with the woman next to you. Your interview has begun.
Hughie blinked.
Flirt?
He read the message again.
Then he peered across at the woman reading her paper. She was about fifty-five, sensibly dressed; she looked like one of his mothers friends. Definitely not the sort of woman hed ever flirt with. Not that he was much of a flirt in the first place. His normal opening gambit was something along the lines of, Hey And occasionally, hed add, Nice shoes.
Just on the off chance, he glanced down. She was wearing a pair of fiat, black loafers, what his mother called a driving shoe. He knew that because they were her favourite footwear. The originals were from Todds but his mother bought them in bulk from Marks and Spencers in a variety of garish colours. An involuntary shiver shot up his spine. How could he flirt with a woman who dressed like his mother?
His phone buzzed again.
A second message popped up.
Theres a time limit.
Hughie slipped his phone into his pocket. Was he being filmed? Was this some sort of reality television show? Whatever it was, there were clearly two choices: to play along or to stand up and walk away.
Well, he was here now, up and dressed. And anyway, hed get an earful from Clara if he just wandered off. He stole another glance. She wasnt such a bad old bird. Her eyes were quite friendly and at least she didnt have any disfiguring facial featuresmoles, moustache, or the like.
Still, he didnt know quite how to get going. Lust or alcohol had always fuelled his previous conquests. He tried smiling at her, but she wasnt paying attention. An opening was required. Something sexy.
The woman was checking her watch, folding up her paper, pushing it back into her bag
Then something caught Hughies eye.
God! Excuse meis that the cricket score?
The woman looked up at him. Pardon me?
Im sorry. He grinned. Im rude, I know. Its just, he gestured to her paper, that cant be the cricket score! I mean, this is still England, isnt it? I am awake, arent I? When was the last time you saw a score like that?
The woman unfolded the paper again from her bag and laughed. I dont know. Its not a sport I follow
May I? Nice shoes, by the way
Oh! Thank you. Of course you may She offered him the paper and he took it, his fingers brushing lightly against hers.
Shane Warne! God, those figures are insane! I reckon hes made a pact with the devil. So you dont do cricket? What do you follow? Wait, he held up his hand, let me guess! Football! Beckhams latest haircut, tattoo, fashion statement!
God, no! she laughed again. No, not my cup of tea, at all.
Rugby then. Large men in tight shorts.
Not rough enough.
Tennis.
She wrinkled her nose.
Golf!
She pretended to yawn.
Championship Tibetan goat hurling!
Only the Tibetans know how to really hurl a goat, she sighed wistfully.
Youve obviously never seen the Spanish have a go.
She laughed.
He felt his nerves steadying.
Actually, she was easy to talk to; much easier than many girls he really fancied. And she had lovely eyes; a mixture of green and grey. When he concentrated on them, she couldve been any age at all. Then it occurred to him that all he was doing was actingjust playing a part.
And he started to really enjoy himself.
OK, OK. He frowned in mock concentration. Horse racing!
Her eyes flickered.
You cheeky devil! You play the horses! I know Im right!
Suddenly she was giggling. It was a delightful noise; unrestrained and girlish. Only occasionally, she admitted. Im Irish, she added. I was raised with it!
Raised with it, my arse! He tapped her knee with the rolled-up paper. Youre a thrill junkie! Dont deny it! Look at how your eyes light up!
And they had. Years seemed to have dropped from her; her face was glowing as she laughed again. Everyone has a vice or two, she said, looking away coyly.
Thank God! He leant in. I have a confession.
What? She tilted towards him.
The truth is, Im not really into cricket either.
Her eyes widened. Youre not one of those dreadful cricket frauds Ive been reading about, are you? Pretending to know how the games played, babbling on about wickets and overs, parading around with picnic hampers filled with nothing but bunched-up old newspaper
Named and shamed! Hughie hung his head. Dont hate me! Its just, how else was I going to get the chance?
The chance at what?
He had intended to lock her with an intense, sexy stare but then something happened that surprised Hughie; something that had only happened a few times in his acting career, when he was completely lost in the role. A strange rush of feeling flooded through him. His cheeks burned. The chance to talk to you.
For a moment, she said nothing. A delicate thread of intimacy wrapped itself around them.
Why would you want to do that? she asked quietly.
His blue eyes caught hers and he blushed even harder. Its just, well he fumbled, it doesnt happen very often. I meanIts not every day someone like you justappearsout of nowhere
Someone like me?
Yes, someone solovely. You have a certain way about you. I really like talking to you. He was aware, even as he spoke, that it was true.
For a moment, it looked as though she might say something. But then an odd expression clouded her face.
It wasnt quite the effect he was going for.
I didnt mean to offend you, he apologized.
She shook her head. No. Then she was silent.
Fuck, he thought. Ive buggered it up.
Shrugging his shoulders, he pushed his hand through his mop of blond hair and gave her one last smile. Cant blame a guy for trying, can you?
But she just blinked.
He stood, handed her back the paper.
Oh, well, he thought, as he ambled up towards the tube entrance. Thats fucked.
Maybe theres a job going at HMV or something.
Flick sat very still, for a long time, on the bench in Green Park. It had been a beautiful early-autumn day, and now it was just beginning to fade, mellowing into that time of evening when the light drains from the sky. The people around her were moving slowly, enjoying the last of the hazy warmth.
But Flick sat frozen.
She felt unusual, disorientated, flustered even. And she wasnt the kind of woman who was accustomed to feeling flustered. After all, shed been through this process a hundred times over the past twelve years. Normally these auditions were either excruciating or comical. But today was different. This young man had stirred something inside her; something shed almost forgotten existed. Hed managed to disturb her entire equilibrium in a way that left her feeling exposed, vulnerable but at the same time exhilarated.
Valentine walked down from Piccadilly and sat next to her. He handed her a takeaway coffee. Well?
This is where the two of them would usually dissect the whole adventure and more likely than not, have a good laugh. Instead, she frowned.
Hughie had reminded her of someone.
Flick
A memory floated to the surface, of another young man, different in physical type from Hughie but similar in his eagerness and enthusiasm.
It had been years since shed thought about the way hed looked at her, the way hed struggled to make conversation the first time theyd met. His desire to be with her had been palpable; a solid, physical force shed found irresistible. And shed yielded, almost immediately. Her face flushed from the recollection.
Flick! Patience was not one of Valentines virtues. Whats come over you?
She forced her eyes to focus on Valentines face and suddenly it dawned on her, what had happened.
Ive been seduced! she said. That little shit has just charmed the pants off me!
Valentines mouth curled up at the corners as he slowly stirred his tea. You dont say
Shaking her head, she sipped her coffee. But it was too hot; too sweet and strong. She put it down again. Hes really very handsome, she added, much handsomer in real life. I didnt expect him to be so tall. And then theres the smell of himnone of that dreadful thick cologne but a kind of clean, soapy freshness.
Valentine laughed. Mary Margaret Flickering, I do believe youre smitten!
She tossed him a look. You wouldnt understand. There was nothing at all forced about it, or smarmy. My God, he even blushed! So sweet! So terribly, terribly sweet
Ah, Valentine arched an eyebrow, but do we need sweet?