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He didn’t say anything, only nodded and turned his attention back to his sister.
Aurora walked out into the cold, Autumnal day, and let out a sound of relief. Never had she been so glad to leave her best friend behind. If she’d had to sit at that table for another minute, pretending normality, she would have screamed.
Three years.
They’d been broken up, living their own successful lives, for three long years. And yet now, she couldn’t stop thinking of him. Everything she did seemed to flood her mind with memories of their time together; and the memories were unwelcome.
She hailed a cab and slid into its warmth gratefully. “The V&A,” she instructed the driver, then angled herself in the seat so that she could look out the window at the passing streets. Hyde park was on her right; a smear of green and grey as she slide down past Marble Arch towards one of the world’s most famous galleries.
Even as a girl, the museum had fascinated her. The permanent collections were world-class; the travelling exhibits legendary for their curacy. The building itself stood as a living monument to a war-torn decade, with pockmarks all the way down one side. The enormous stone slabs remained though, despite the damage that had been inflicted on them decades earlier.
Perhaps one day she’d feel like those marble blocks. Strong and interesting despite the pockmarks that her relationship with Leonardo had dug into her being. She shook her head as if to clear the thoughts of her past and moved into a far grander and less personal history.
Clarence Spencer had worked at the Victoria and Albert for a decade. She’d just been given her gold key of service at a lunch the week earlier, in fact. As she clipped through the tiled foyer, her sensible flat shoes made a satisfying clackety clack. Clarence approved of the noise; it conveyed the no-nonsense approach she felt befitted a Museum worker of her stature. She identified the blogger easily (she also had a keen skills when it came to powers of deduction, she flattered herself). In the midst of the ferrying tourists and hectically rushed parents, the woman was a beacon of serene beauty. Clarence spent her days surrounded by lovely things, but she’d never seen a person more lovely than Aurora Jones.
She was well known for her photographic work, but that didn’t do her justice. Tall, and slender, with hair that was fair like sunshine, and eyes that seemed to shimmer as pale blue pools in her face, she had a radiant luminosity that briefly caused Clarence’s step to falter. Even her outfit was an artistic triumph. She’d combined the fashion for leather-look leggings with rumpled ankle boots, but, in a unique twist, she’d teamed them with a Mexican poncho and an enormous gold necklace. The effect was striking.
“Aurora Jones?” She asked with an efficient smile. “Come this way.”
“Miss Spencer? Thanks so much for agreeing to show me the collection.”
Her manner was friendly and polite, not at all what Clarence had been expecting. “Call me Clarence. And it’s no trouble,” she said with a thoughtful side-long glance at the former model. “It’s not completely ready for display, you understand, but you’ll be able to see eighty percent of the outfits.” She took a sharp left turn toward the wing that would house the rare, historic clothes. “Do you mind if I ask what you’re working on?”
“Of course not.” Aurora’s beautiful face filled with pleasure. “I’m really excited about it. I’m doing a piece that compares fashions throughout history with present day fabrics and styles. Looking at the way trends tend to cycle; the use of lace and subdued colours and more natural fibres.”
“Sounds… fascinating,” Clarence agreed. “I look forward to reading it once you’re finished.”
Clarence swiped a card acros
s an alarm. It beeped, flashed a green light and made a clicking sound. Clarence pushed the door open and waited for Aurora to follow her.
“Oh, wow,” she remarked, stopping in the middle of the entrance and spinning around. “This is spectacular.” She walked in a daze towards a ball gown, oyster pink with puffed sleeves and a full skirt. “See, this is so of its time, and yet it would have been equally at home in the 80s. Admittedly with a little more tulle,” she grinned. “Do you mind if I take some photographs?”
“We’re not really supposed to.” She saw the way Aurora’s face fell and shook her head. “But a few won’t hurt. Just email me the article and pictures for approval before you publish it.”
“Thank you,” Aurora pulled her phone out and clicked a snap of the ball gown. “This is perfect.” She sighed as she looked down the long room at all of the outfits lined up in glass boxes. “I’ll try not to keep you too long, Clarence. I’m so grateful for the opportunity to get a look at these, though.”
Anyone who knew the dour, officious Clarence Spencer would have been surprised by the genuine smile that broke across her face like an egg yolk in a warm pan. “You take your time, Aurora. And let me know if you need any help.”
Such was the effect Aurora seemed to have, that most people she met came under her spell without her having any idea she was even casting it. She hummed as she studied the detail of the gowns, and though she’d truly only intended to take an hour or so, the whole afternoon passed in a companionable silence. Just Clarence the curator, Aurora the fashion blogger, and dozens of stunning outfits – the real stars of the show.
By the time Aurora finally got back to Canary Wharf, she was exhausted and exhilarated in equal measure. She stepped out of the cab and into the blustery night air with a little shiver, pulling her poncho more tightly around her. She was almost at the entrance to the building when a sports car caught her eye. Then, the man reclining lazily against its door fused into her vision and she startled.
“Leo.” She swallowed convulsively and forced her legs to move in his direction. She frowned as she drew close. He was wearing a black leather jacket, black jeans, and he looked like the posterboy for James Dean bad boyishness. Which, she supposed, he really was. “You seem to have a habit of showing up on my doorstep uninvited.”
He nodded, and a muscle jerked in his cheek. “So invite me.”
She exhaled slowly, her expression pinched. “Why?”
“Because. I leave for the States tomorrow. Mexico after that.” He reached out and ran a finger over her poncho. “Where, might I say, you would fit right in.” He shrugged. “Then I’m off to Brazil. I won’t be back for a few months.”
Something like stone lodged in her chest. “So?” She forced herself to respond with a valiant shrug. “You seem to forget that we hadn’t seen each other in years before last month. Why do you think I care that you’re going overseas for a while now? Or, dare I say, forever?”
His grin was confident. He reached out and pulled her forward, pressing an arm behind her back so that he could hold her against him. “I know you.” He lifted the hem of her poncho and pressed his hands against the warm skin of her back. “You don’t want to feel like this, but you do.”
She fluttered her eyes shut, her long lashes forming thick fans against her cheeks. “Like what?”
“Like you’ll fall apart if we don’t have sex again.”
