Broken Flowers by Kate McQuaile

Author:Kate McQuaile [MCQUAILE, KATE]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781529403961
Publisher: Quercus Books
Published: 2019-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

19

Now

At home, I am organised. I have schedules. I know what I am meant to be doing at any given moment. But here in London I have no grasp of time. Have I really been down here for little more than twenty-four hours? How can so much have happened in so short a time?

I’m waiting for Ben and Marie-Laure to pick me up from the hotel. I’m more relaxed than I was earlier because I won’t have to face Hugo. Marie-Laure called about an hour ago to remind me that they would come to the hotel around seven o’clock and to tell me that Hugo, unfortunately, would not be able to attend after all.

‘It’s a shame, because we really wanted you to get to know him before the wedding. And he really wants to meet you,’ she said.

‘He’s obviously a very busy man,’ I said, doing my best to sound nonchalant. I wonder what she would say if I told her how much I dreaded seeing him, dreaded hearing the sound of his voice.

‘À bientôt!’ she trilled.

Now I’m sitting in the lobby, my eyes trained on the main entrance to the hotel. Marie-Laure comes through the door and walks towards me, smiling so generously that I feel slightly guilty about my disappointment that it’s her I see and not Ben.

‘I hope you haven’t been waiting here too long,’ she says, giving me the obligatory kisses. Three of them. ‘Ben is outside in the car.’

Marie-Laure insists that I sit in the front, and as I lower myself into the seat I smile hopefully at Ben, who rewards me with a guardedly cheerful, ‘Hi.’

The expression on his face changes to one of momentary concentration as his eyes dart to the rear-view mirror before he pulls away. I know that look so well. As a child, he could sit endlessly in front of a jigsaw puzzle, his eyes focused only on putting the pieces together to complete the picture. And now, as I’m reminded of his powers of concentration, I wonder whether his wedding to Marie-Laure will merely put off for a while his determination to force me to supply the missing pieces of the jigsaw that is my past.

‘I’ve been trying to work out where your flat might be among all these buildings,’ I say. ‘Maybe I can drop in tomorrow. I’d love to see where you live.’

‘Sure,’ Ben says evenly, as if he’s talking to an acquaintance rather than his mother. ‘It’s not actually in the main Wharf area, but it’s close enough. It’s not the most stunning apartment ever but it has great views.’

‘I thought it might. Have you painted scenes around here?’

‘Yes, but I paint in a studio rather than the flat. I go there when I have time, which isn’t very often at the moment, what with work and the wedding. I’m working towards an exhibition at Lucinda’s gallery next autumn. Lucinda, if you remember, is the woman who gave me my break.’

‘The exhibition is going to be called “Urban Islands”,’ Marie-Laure says enthusiastically.

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