I consoled myself with the thought that at least I was closer to her than I had been. Now the ice had been broken and I had seen her socially, I had something to build on. It was not much, but it was all I had. I would have to content myself with that.
It was only when even these crumbs were threatened to be taken from me that I felt compelled to act.
I found out by accident. It was shortly after the exhibition. I was upstairs in the office, Anna was downstairs in the gallery itself. I had no idea she was using the telephone until I picked up the office extension and heard her voice.
I did not intend to eavesdrop. But there was something seductive about being able to listen without her being aware of it. And once I had hesitated, I had no choice. They had not noticed the click when I lifted the receiver, but if they heard me set it back down they would know I had been on the other end. So I had to listen.
The gist of the conversation escaped me at first. Then Anna said, “I know it’s a big step, but I want to go,” and I became more alert. The word ‘go’ seemed fraught with dreadful connotations.
“So long as you’re sure, that’s all right,” the other speaker, a girl, said. “But have you thought what’ll happen if it doesn’t work out? I know you won’t like me saying it, but you haven’t known each other that long, have you?”
“Oh, don’t you start, Debbie. I’ve had all that from my parents. You know what my mum’s like.”
“Well, for once I can see her point. I mean, I really like Marty, but it’s still a massive risk, isn’t it?”
“I know it is, but I’ve got to take it. It isn’t as though I’m doing it lightly. Sometimes I’m petrified when I think about it, but I can’t just stay here and let him go by himself, can I?”
“Couldn’t you go over later?”
“What’s the point? If I’m going I might as well go with him. Why spend God knows how long apart, just until I’m sure I’m doing the right thing? There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?”
The other girl sighed. “I know. And I suppose I’d do exactly the same if I were you. I’m just jealous that it isn’t me who’s being whisked off to America.”
The room lurched. I tried to tell myself they might only be talking about Anna going on holiday, but then even that straw was snatched away.
“Have you told your boss yet?” the girl asked.
Anna’s voice dropped lower. “No, not yet. It isn’t for another couple of months, so I’ll tell him nearer the time. We’re going to need all the money we can get until I find a job over there, so I don’t want him sacking me. I don’t think he’ll mind, but I daren’t chance it.”
I closed my eyes. I wished I had never picked up the telephone. Anna was leaving. Going to America with that sad excuse for a man. Not only was he wasting her, now he was taking her away.
And she did not even dare tell me. I hardly heard the rest of the conversation. I had just enough presence of mind left to put the receiver down when it finished.
I sat there and tried to gather my wits, already feeling a sense of loss. And growing anger. This was Marty’s fault. Anna would go to America with him, and I would never see her again. There was nothing I could do to prevent her: as poor as Marty was, I was a poorer rival.
It was the first time I had actually thought of myself as such. But I realised now that that was what we were. Rivals. As the concept established itself in my mind I began to consider what advantages I had over him. It was painfully obvious that there was only one. His ignorance. Neither he nor Anna perceived me as a threat to their relationship. Until that moment I had never considered myself as one either. Now I knew I had to be.
The question was, what could I actually do about it? Common sense told me that, by myself, the answer was very little. It was then I hit upon the idea of bringing in outside help.
Two days later I called Zeppo.
Chapter Three
The same night I met Zeppo I had a peculiar dream. Normally I am a heavy and deep sleeper: if I have any dreams, as psychologists insist I must, I do not remember them. But this was extremely vivid. I was in the house I grew up in. I was lying on a sofa, and I presume I was a child, since everything in the room was much larger than it should be. A fire was burning nearby, and I felt warm and comfortable. My mother was sitting with her back to me, brushing her hair in front of a mirror, and I lay there, peaceful and secure, watching it catch the glow from the fire with each stroke.
That was all. Or at least as much as I could remember. Why I should remember any of it at all I had no idea. There was nothing about it that seemed exceptional. But the memory of it stayed with me after I had shaved and breakfasted, and was still on my mind as I drove to the gallery.
I put my distraction down to that and my meeting with Zeppo the previous night. The traffic was moving slowly as I came into the centre of London, the usual crammed lanes of early morning vehicles. I approached a junction and passed through the traffic lights, and suddenly there was a crunching jolt.
I was rocked violently as the car came to a sudden stop. A Range Rover had run into my left wing. I barely had time to recover from the shock when the cars waiting behind me began blaring their horns. I glared up at the other driver, a woman, about to gesture for her to pull away and wait for me, when she did the same, gesticulating imperiously before backing her car off mine. The discrepancy in heights had prevented the bumpers from locking, and they separated with only a slight jar. She edged around in front of me and, once clear of the junction, pulled into the side.
I had stalled on the impact, and as I tried to restart the engine I found my hands were shaking. The clamour of car horns only made matters worse, and it took three attempts before the ignition caught.
A rasping, scraping noise came from my left wing as I pulled to the kerb behind the Range Rover. I put on the hand brake and climbed angrily out. I was just formulating the first heated phrase when the woman slammed out of her car and preempted me.
“Are you blind? The bloody lights were on red!”
I was taken aback by her accusation. I had not expected her to have the gall to accuse me of being in the wrong. “Yours may have been. Mine were on green.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’d been waiting for them to turn. You went straight through!” She looked at the side of her car. “Oh, just look at this! I’ve only just got it back from the garage, and now you’ve broken the bloody sidelight!”
“I’ve broken it?” I was almost speechless. “You were the one who ran into me!” I bent to examine the damage to my own car. The front of the left wing was dented down to the wheel arch which was buckled against the tyre at one point. By comparison the Range Rover was hardly scratched.
“I want your number,” the woman was saying. “Idiots like you shouldn’t be allowed on the road. What if I’d had a child with her?”
“Hopefully it would have told you not to go through a red light!”
“Right!” She turned suddenly to the people who were walking past on the pavement. “Excuse me, did any of you see this man run into me?” Faces turned and stared. One or two people slowed, although none stopped. My cheeks burned. She appealed to an elderly man who was lingering more than the rest. “Did you see what happened? This man just ran through the lights and hit me as I was pulling out. I need a witness.”
“I only saw you pull in. Didn’t see him hit you.” This was ridiculous. “I didn’t hit her! She hit me!” I looked around for a witness of my own. The traffic was flowing past steadily. The cars that had been behind me had disappeared.