An hour later, Arthur walked me back to the High Street. I said goodbye on the corner, not willing to let him know where I lived. He didn’t ask. He kissed me gently on the cheek and said he hoped to see me again soon. I remember a faint disappointment that he hadn’t at least tried to make another date.

Once inside my flat, I went to close the blinds and glanced down at the street below. In the shadows I could have sworn I saw Arthur shielding from the rain in a doorway across the road.

An eerie chill seeped through a gap in the wooden frame. It was hard to be certain from this far up and I couldn’t see clearly through the downpour. I was probably mistaken. Arthur had told me he’d be getting the bus back up to Highgate. That was where he lived. Yet if he’d caught the bus on the High Street, it would have taken him in the opposite direction, away from my flat.

43

Rebecca

I had come full circle. I was back on the tube, heading into London and making the same journey I’d made every morning, ten years ago; the spring in my step, this time round, less pronounced.

West House Auctions was less than a mile from Pennington’s Art Gallery. The auction house premises were larger, more modern than those of my previous workplace and were fronted by a huge expanse of glass. The receptionist asked me to wait in the foyer and less than five minutes later, the proprietor appeared.

‘Hi. You must be Rebecca. Welcome to West House. I’m Marion Villiers.’

The manageress of the auction house extended her hand. She towered over me in skyscraper heels and wore a figure-hugging red dress. I thought of the movie The Devil Wears Prada.

‘Come through.’

Marion led me upstairs to a private office. We settled on opposite sides of a large shiny topped table and the interview began.

After a few minutes, my prospective employer brought up the subject of Roger Pennington.

‘I see you were working at Pennington’s Art Gallery when he committed suicide. Tragic.’ She scanned my CV as she tried to piece together my history.

‘Why did you leave?’

‘Roger left me a sculpture in his will. The money gave me a chance to travel the world, and I wasn’t ready to settle down. Also, it wasn’t the same after his death.’ It wasn’t a lie. I straightened my skirt, fiddling with the waistband. I was nervous. It was hard to relive the past.

‘I understand James, his brother, runs the place now. There was some talk of assault at the time. Against your co-worker I think?’

‘Yes, I heard. But I think the charges were dropped. I’d already left.’