“That’s quite all right. I’m sorry if I startled you. I forgot some papers.” I found I could not actually remember what I had gone back for.
“I hope you don’t mind me using the office as a changing room.”
“Not at all.” I followed her into it. There were no signs of what I had witnessed. The ceiling light had been turned on, and cast a bright, harsh light to the room. I tried not to look at the mirror. “Are you going anywhere nice?”
“I’m meeting my boyfriend for something to eat, then we’re going to the theatre. There’s an Alan Ayckbourn play on.”
“Ah.” I could not help but think of the body under the dress. Concealed by a thin layer of fabric. I realised that she had taken a bra off but not replaced it. I wondered if she only wore one for work. In my presence. The thought disturbed me. “Well, I hope you enjoy yourselves.”
She smiled. For the first time I found myself really looking at her, noticing her features. The dark eyebrows and straight, rather long nose. The large mouth with what I now saw to be sensuous lips. I envied her boyfriend. “We better. The tickets cost a fortune.” She turned and picked up a shoulder bag from the floor. Her buttocks briefly moulded themselves against the fabric of her dress. I remembered the smooth, pale heart-shape they had formed.
“Do you like Ayckbourn?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything of his before. But Marty that’s my boyfriend thinks he’s brilliant.” She grinned. “It’s pathetic. It takes an American to get me to see an English playwright.”
“Your boyfriend’s American?” I was suddenly aware how little I knew about her. It had never bothered me before.
“He’s from Boston. He’s at university here.” She repositioned the bag on her shoulder, a signal that she was ready to leave. But I could not let her go just yet.
“Really? What subject?”
“Anthropology. He’s a research student.”
“What made him choose London? It’s rather a long way to come, isn’t it?”
“Well, I think a lot of it had to do with him wanting to see England. But he says the course here is quite a good one.”
She glanced at her watch. I knew I was delaying her, but I felt compelled to make up for my ignorance. I tried to sound casual. “Have you been going out together very long?”
“Almost a year.” A pleased smile spread over her face.
“You seem very fond of him.” She blushed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t pry.”
“That’s okay. It’s not prying.”
I could think of nothing else to say. There was a brief silence while we both stood, uncertainly.
“Well, I’d better be off.” Anna said. “There’s nothing else you need me for, is there?”
“No, no, I don’t think so.” I did not want her to go, but could think of no excuse to keep her. I moved out of her way, and with a shock realised I had an erection. Flustered, I went behind the desk, thankful I still wore my coat.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then. “Bye.” Anna left the room, and I heard her go downstairs. After a moment the door slammed.
I did not move. I felt confused, in turmoil. I looked across into the mirror. Now it held only the office and me. I looked middle-aged and unprepossessing. I switched off the light so the room was lit by the desk lamp, as before. I moved a chair until my view of the mirror was approximately as it had been from outside. I stared at it. It was still empty, but with only a little concentration I could picture Anna moving into it again. I closed my eyes. The image held. Once more I pictured her breasts, traced in my mind’s eye their every curve and swell. I saw the plane of her stomach, her navel, the black wedge of curls. She bent over again in front of me, her haunches smooth and round, cleaved by modest yet provocative shadows. Eyes closed, I ran through it all in slow motion, lingering and reviewing at will. Almost without consent my hands moved, careful not to disturb the images.
For the first time since I was a teenager, I masturbated.
Chapter Two
From then on, I was a man obsessed. I could not look at Anna in the same way again. Or, rather, for the first time I actually began to look at her. I noticed things I had never been aware of before, either in her or anyone else. Each morning I would wait eagerly for her to arrive at the gallery, wondering what she would be wearing, if her hair would be taken back or loose. I noticed how her clothes touched and briefly clung to her body when she moved, how she had a particular scent all her own. Everything about her seemed perfect.
But if I was obsessed, it was a modest obsession. I knew my limitations. I had no ambitions to make her my mistress. Such a thing was so far beyond my experience as to be virtually unimaginable. The best I could ever hope for was to become her friend, and so to that end I began to try and break down the reserve that existed between us. It was surprisingly easy. The hardest part was not making my sudden interest appear too obvious. I could have spent hours watching her, cherishing each unconscious movement, storing it for later, private perusal. The arch of her neck, a few bare inches of flesh, could hold me mesmerised for hours. I was constantly aware of her body underneath the clothes. They seemed only to emphasise what they concealed. One day she was very obviously not wearing a bra, and I could barely take my eyes from the judder and swing of her breasts. I convinced myself that this was a sign she was beginning to feel more at ease. In fact, I had never noticed in the past if she wore one or not.
As she became more relaxed with me, I began to hear more about her private life. And in particular about Marty, her boyfriend. Her feelings for him were patently obvious, and the more I heard, the more I was filled with envy for this unknown man. And also curiosity. I tried to imagine what he looked like. I formed an image of him in my mind; tall and darkly good looking, a male equivalent of Anna. I admit to a slight disapproval that he was American, but I was prepared to admit that was probably my own prejudice. The object of Anna’s affection could surely not be anything other than exceptional. I felt certain she would not give herself to less.
Then came the opportunity to meet him for myself. Anna approached me one afternoon. “Are you busy tonight?” she asked.
I tried to hide my rush of excitement. “No, not really. Why?”
“Well, if you aren’t, you could do me an awfully big favour. But only if it’s no trouble.”
“I’m sure it won’t be. What is it?”
“A friend of mine is an artist, and it’s her first show tonight. I wondered, if you weren’t doing anything, if you’d mind coming along to it? She’s really nervous, so the more people who go the better. And with you being quite influential, I know she’d like you to be there.”
I felt a thrill of pleasure. “I’d be delighted.”
“You’re sure it’s no problem? I know it’s short notice.”
“Really, I’d love to come.”
Anna beamed at me. “Thanks, that’s great! Marty said you wouldn’t mind.”
I was unsure whether or not I liked the implications of that. Then another thought struck me. “Will Marty be going tonight?”
“Yes. We’ll be there around eight-ish. But you don’t have to be there that early.”
I reassured her that it was not too early for me, and tried to be attentive when she gave me directions to where the exhibition was being held. But I was hardly listening. I was going to meet Anna’s boyfriend. Her lover.
I was suddenly acutely nervous.
The exhibition was in a small gallery near Camden. I arrived there just before eight. My stomach was coiling. I had not eaten anything since lunch, but I was too on edge to feel hungry. The gallery looked warm and bright, and I could see people milling about inside as I approached. I peered through the windows, trying to pick out Anna and settle my nerves before going in, but succeeded in doing neither. I took a deep breath and opened the door.