Chapters (50)
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Dedication Page
- Contents
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Ninteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Thirty-nine
- Forty
- Forty-one
- Forty-two
- Epilogue
- Letter From the Author
- Acknowledgements
- About the Author
‘In the old days – or so I’ve heard – you could go round someone’s place and rifle through their record collection, take a look at their bookcases. Now you have to scroll through their iTunes or click on their Kindle. It’s not the same, is it? I’m pleased to see you have some real books though.’
She stepped over to the bookcase and ran a finger along the spines. A lot of my books are graphic design tomes and photography, with a small collection of novels.
She took out an Ian McEwan book, flicked through it and said, ‘I love this. I can’t bear people who don’t read. I think they must have something wrong with them, don’t you?’
‘I guess so.’
‘Books, music, art, films.’ She held up her glass. ‘Good wine. It’s what life’s all about.’
I held up my own glass. ‘To books, music, art, films and wine.’
She had missed something off that list, but I decided not to mention it. It was in the room with us already.
We clinked and she crossed to the window. ‘Amazing view.’
‘I know. It’s even better from the bedroom.’
I realised what that must sound like but before I could speak she laid her hand across her breastbone and said, ‘Andrew. I’ve only been here five minutes. Oh, are you blushing?’
‘I think I might be.’
‘Quick,’ she said. ‘Change the subject before it gets awkward.’
She sat down on the sofa and I had a moment of indecision. Sit next to her or in the adjacent armchair? I sat beside her and we turned towards each other, knees almost touching. I groped for something interesting to say.
‘When are you going back to work?’ I asked.
‘That is a change of subject. I’ve got a whole week off. Bliss.’
‘So you’re a project manager?’
She pulled a face. ‘Boring, huh? I just happen to be very good at organising things and people. It’s not exactly what I want to spend my life doing.’
I waited for her to continue.
‘I did an art degree. That’s what I really want to be doing. Painting. But there are thousands of us out there and the world needs more painters like it needs more politicians. So at the moment I do it in my spare time.’