A glass of wine was immediately pushed into my hand by a cadaverous young man in a baggy sweater. It was obviously from a supermarket’s bargain bin, but I accepted it gratefully and looked around for Anna. There was no sign of her. I looked at my watch. It was still not quite eight o’clock, and feeling anticlimax mingle with relief I turned my attention to the exhibition.
The daubs were even more amateurish than I had feared. I dislike abstract art at the best of times, and this was nowhere near the best. I recognised one of the critics there, and the look he gave me supported my own opinion. The majority of the crowd appeared to be more interested in the free wine than the paintings, and I could not blame them. I was considering accepting a second glass myself when Anna’s voice came from behind me.
“Hello. Have you been here long?”
I turned, surprised and flustered. “No, no. I’ve only just got here.”
I breathed in her perfume. She still wore her coat, and a scarf was draped around her neck. Her face looked pinched from the cold. “Sorry we’re late. The tube was delayed again, and we couldn’t get a taxi. We walked from the underground.” She moved to one side. “You’ve not met Marty, have you?”
I had been aware of someone standing just behind her, but only peripherally. He was so unlike my idea of what Marty should look like that I had taken no notice of him. Now, as he stepped forward and held out his hand, I felt a shock so strong I could barely respond.
The tall, good-looking Marty of my imagination did not exist. The creature Anna introduced was small, slight, and runtish. His clothes hung on his meagre frame, and dark-framed glasses made his eyes seem disproportionately large in his thin face. His hair was unkempt and mousy, completing the image of a bookish schoolboy.
I managed to smile as I shook his hand. “I’m pleased to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“I don’t know if that’s good or bad.” His accent was relatively slight. But by then his nationality was the least of my complaints.
I was recovering now from the initial shock. “Oh, you needn’t worry. It was all good.”
“I only told him the good points,” Anna said. They smiled at each other.
“Here, I’ll find somewhere to put your coat,” he said to her. “Would you like another glass of wine, Mr. Ramsey?”
I felt I needed one. “If it’s no bother.” I gritted my teeth. “And please, call me Donald.”
Taking Anna’s coat, Marty disappeared into the crowd. There was nothing about him to make him stand out from it.
“So what do you think?” Anna asked. I blinked.
“Pardon?”
“The exhibition. Have you had chance to see much of it yet?”
For a moment I had thought she was asking my opinion of her boyfriend. “Well, I haven’t seen it all,” I hedged.
“Oh, there’s Teresa,” Anna said, looking beyond me. “She’s the artist. I’d better go and have a word. Would you like me to introduce you?”
I could think of few things I would like less. But it would keep me close to Anna. “Yes, all right.”
The artist was a thin, intense young woman dressed completely in black. Her eye make-up was almost as alarming as her art. For Anna’s sake I did my best to sound encouraging without committing myself. Marty joined us a few moments later, and the evening reached a nadir when the young woman insisted on escorting us personally around a selection of pieces, explaining her intentions and methods in stultifying detail. But by then reaction to seeing Marty was beginning to set in, and I was glad the artist loved the sound of her own voice enough for me to keep mine to a minimum.
Eventually, she went in search of other victims. I stood with Anna and Marty in front of a huge canvas that looked as though a child had smeared creme caramel on it.
“I think Teresa must be nervous,” Anna said, after a moment. “She’s not normally as pushy as that.”
“I suppose your first exhibition must be nerve-wracking,” I said, for Anna’s sake.
Marty studied the painting. “It’s nerve-wracking enough having to look at it.”
“Marty!” Anna tried to look severe.
He gave an apologetic shrug. “I’m sorry, but I might as well be honest. I hate to say it, but I just don’t think this is any good, that’s all.” One hand went up to push back his glasses. “What do you think, Donald?”
I was annoyed at being put on the spot. “Well, this sort of thing’s not really my cup of tea, anyway. I’ve never been fond of the abstract movement.”
“Would you say it’s well done, though?” Anna asked. “I know you won’t like it, but do you think there’s... well, anything there?”
I struggled to be diplomatic. “Well, there’s an obvious enthusiasm. And it is only her first exhibition, but...” I shied away from the criticism.
“But you don’t think it’s really any good.” Anna finished for me.
I sighed. “No, not really. But that’s only my opinion, of course.”
“I know Teresa’s an old friend and you don’t want to hurt her feelings,” Marty said, “but you’ve got to admit this is a mistake. She should have stuck to doing portraits at Covent Garden. It might not have got her any reviews, but at least it made her money. She’s wasting her time with this.”
Looking at the canvas in front of her, Anna reluctantly nodded. “Poor Teresa. She’s put everything she’s got into it, too.”
“That doesn’t say much for Teresa,” Marty murmured. Anna gave him a little push and turned to me, smiling ruefully.
“I’m sorry for dragging you down here, Donald. I didn’t realise it would be this bad.”
It still sounded strange to hear her use my Christian name. “No need to apologise. I’ve enjoyed the experience, if not the art.”
Marty looked at his watch. “Well, we’ve done our duty. I can’t see any point in staying any longer, can you?”
I felt a sudden emptiness at the thought of them leaving. I remembered I had not eaten, and wondered if I dare invite them out for dinner. But while I was trying to gather the courage to ask, the opportunity was lost.
“You don’t mind if we go, do you?” Anna asked. “We haven’t had a chance to eat yet, so we’re going to get a pizza, or something.”
I smiled. “No, of course I don’t mind.”
I waited by the door while Anna made her excuses to the artist and Marty fetched their coats. Those few minutes alone were enough to turn my depression into a dull ache of outrage. We went outside together. There was nothing now to stop us from going our separate ways. Me to my solitary house, the two of them to whatever they had planned. And eventually to bed.
“Would you like a lift?” I asked.
Anna shook her head. “No, it’s okay, thanks.”
“It’s no trouble. It’s too cold to be walking tonight.”
“No, honestly, it’s okay.” She appealed to Marty. “We’ve not really decided where we’re going yet, have we?”
“No. There’s still a dispute about whether it’s going to be Italian or Chinese. But thanks anyway.” He held out his gloved hand, smiling. “It’s been nice meeting you.”
I shook it. They said goodnight and walked away. As I watched them go, I noticed that his feeble figure was no taller than hers. He put his arm around her, and I felt a sour, leaden feeling in my gut. To think that she had given herself to such a pathetic creature was unbearable. The full impact of my disappointment finally hit me. I drove home, imagining the two of them together. Now they will be in a restaurant, I thought. Then, later: now they will be home. And then: now they will be naked. The images were as vivid as though I were watching, but this time unwelcomely so. I had a sudden vision of his body on hers, and quickly forced it from my mind. It was useless tormenting myself. Unworthy as Marty was, he was still Anna’s choice. I could do nothing to change that.