Chapter 7

The following afternoon Andrew told Ara about the meeting, and the lead up to it starting at the meeting in the Post Office.

“Are you okay? It must have been pretty stressful.”

“It was but I thought about it as I walked home last night. It is a continuation of the volunteering at Addenbrooke’s. I am there to help, to encourage, even to provide hope to the patients. In this case it was to a family of someone who did not survive. I am not trained, I worry I am doing more harm than good, but in the end all I talked about was my own experiences dealing with the aftermath of Faith’s death. With them the counselling only took them so far. Coming from someone dealing with the aftermath, even although Faith died five years before their son and brother, it helped. The children are dealing with it better than the parents. But that is true of Leslie compared to her parents, especially Mary.”

“It does put everything else into perspective.”

“Yes and no. It makes you realise what is important, but at the same time all those things that you think are not important are the ones you are being judged on, examined on. I had a training weekend and I had to give it my full attention. I had two weeks of lectures and labs, supervisions, a technical report I am working on getting finished. Yes compared to the loss of their son none of that matters but I needed to keep my focus on the other stuff as well. It was a long two weeks.”

“The OTC carefully planned their training weekend so that you all avoided Valentine’s Day. I was looking forward to flowers and chocolates.”

Her impish smile made him smile in return. Several replies cycled through his head, all as inappropriate as each other.

“Do you want to return to the flat and get changed? I have a suit at Jim and Freya’s place and can also go and change. Would you like to have a fancy night out?”

“Are you sure?”

“Definitely. Arabella Lindsay, will you celebrate a belated Valentine’s Day with me?”

Andrew didn’t think that when Ara pulled him over for a kiss that she expected her kiss to last 40 seconds but neither one of them was in a hurry to pull apart. They were an island in the middle of Russell Square, oblivious to the world. When they finally broke the kiss Ara’s eyes were sparkling.

“I will take that as a yes. Where would you like to go? I know nothing about London restaurants so you will have to guide me. Do you have a favourite?”

“Are you sure? I love Simpson’s in the Strand. And it is the perfect food for this weather. Let’s see if we can get a reservation.”

They were halfway between Ara’s flat and the restaurant so she walked to a public phone box, pulled open the Yellow Pages and found the phone number. And then shocked the hell out of Andrew. Ara went all posh.

“Good afternoon, I wish to make a reservation for two for these evening. 7.30.”

There was a pause.

“Excellent. Lindsay. Thank you.”

They escaped the smell of the phone box.

“All set. Simpson’s in the Strand at 7.30.”

“I didn’t realise I got the everyday accent, that was quite the transformation.”

She flushed slightly.

“It helps. It shouldn’t but it does. So what are the plans?”

“Home for 5.30 to let you get ready. I will have a cab at mine for 7.00, and it should be here within 10 minutes. Then off into town.”

“Perfect. There is no point in heading into the city now.”

They found a quiet pub close to Russell Square Tube Station and hid from the weather. Once they had their drinks they settled down at a corner table, away from the draught by the door.

“Here I am drinking again. I was a complete hungover mess the next day after your visit with Justin and Pedro. I don’t even remember much about getting home.”

“Neither did those two. By the time I got back to the car after getting you to your flat they were both asleep, and they slept all the way to Cambridge.”

“I didn’t mean to guilt you into taking me out for dinner. It was just a joke.”

“We should have done this sooner so don’t worry about it.”

Arabella, despite being posher than posh, was trying to make her own way in the world, and wasn’t taking money from her parents to maintain that independence. Her family had money and she had a trust fund she would get access to in three years. But in the meantime she was living a very modest student life, and depended on her grandfather to make ends meet. Andrew was careful not to be a flash git around her. He paid for drinks and dinner but didn’t go overboard. There was a delicate unspoken balance between them. Plus she knew he was wealthy, not how much exactly but enough to be able to spoil her. It all went back to Lilja’s worries in Cyprus. What else was he buying other than dinner? After finishing their drinks he walked Ara back to her flat and then headed over to Jim and Freya’s. They were hosting another of their endless dinner parties so Andrew was happy to be heading out.

“You are back early.”

“We decided to have a night out. Nicer, posher, more formal? Whatever the right way to describe it is, that is what we are doing, so I am having a quick shower and then changing into my suit.”

“Where are you going for dinner?”

“Simpson’s in the Strand. I don’t know it but Ara says it is one of her favourites and they serve food which is perfect for this weather.”

“Very nice. Are you coming back here afterwards?”

“Well yes, once I drop her off. I won’t interrupt your guests.”

“No that was not what I meant Andrew. You don’t have anyone round to the flat. Other than Suzanne before our wedding.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that. ‘Er’ was not going to cut it. Freya laughed.

“You know you are welcome to have someone stay over Andrew.”

“Okay, thank you.”

Andrew beat a hasty retreat. He didn’t need Freya encouraging him with his sex life. And a conversation like that just before a night out with Ara was downright mean. He re-grouted the tiles and felt less tense but her admonition was still in his mind when the cab pulled up outside Ara’s flat. She was ready without delay, Andrew managed not to show surprise and thus saved getting hit. Even with Saturday night traffic they were dropped off outside Simpson’s at 7.25. they had timed it perfectly.

It was an odd choice as they were the youngest diners by a substantial amount. It was Jim and Freya’s age and up but the service was good and the food was excellent. They shared a bottle of red wine and enjoyed a very romantic dinner. Ara looked wonderful, there was elegance in her outfit, full of promise without being over the top. Her top was very crisp and white and it highlighted her slightly darker skin. Andrew was struggling not to stare.

“You will never win at cards. Your face is very transparent.”

On cue he flushed and her smile widened.

“I am glad you like my outfit.”

Andrew didn’t think his tongue was working properly at that moment so opted for silence. When the conversation moved on and he was capable of speech again he observed Ara as they sat and chatted. Although he was responding to the dinner table chit chat, in his mind Andrew was also looking at the seriously sexy woman sitting in front of him. And for the first time since forever, there was an air of sexual tension between them.

Andrew’s slutting around had convinced him he didn’t have a certain type, all he ever talked about was intelligence. But all men are visual creatures and he was no different. It was Arabella’s looks and body that had first attracted her to him and now five years later nothing had changed. She was tall, with dark hair and eyes, her skin just dark enough to make you think she was Greek or Italian, something Mediterranean like that, although he knew it was quarter Indian that gave her that colour. That night was the first time Andrew had seen Ara really dressed up. They had gone out for dinners in Edinburgh but he was still a schoolboy and she was a young student, plus it was Edinburgh in the winter, layers were essential. So the evening was a revelation. His revere was broken by Ara’s comment.

“What are you thinking over there? I recognise that faraway look in your eyes.”

“I was thinking about you, and how beautiful you looked.”

She looked flustered which just made him smile even wider.

“I don’t know why you are looking so bashful. You are stunning. I have been out with you for many dinners but this is the first time I have seen you all dressed up. You look lovely in just jeans and a jumper but tonight.”

He shrugged and smiled.

“Well that has done wonders for my composure. Thank you.”

Weeks, even months later, Andrew started to understand his thoughts and actions that night. But he was afraid to move things forward physically with Ara. He had not stayed at her flat, he had only been in it once or twice, and other than the one day where she met Jim and Freya she had not been to their flat either. And he only got down to London infrequently. Something about all that made him hesitate. He doubted he could have explained it at the time. So although they both flirted all night and clearly there was sexual tension between them Andrew did not try anything that night. He could not cannot speak for Ara but she acted in a similar way. The step of having sex was one that they both were shying away from. After a leisurely dinner followed by some port they cabbed back to her flat. The kiss and hugs were long but Ara didn’t invite him in and Andrew was relieved rather than disappointed. And on the 25 minute walk back to Jim and Freya’s he tried, without success, to understand why. Moving slowly was working for both of them and yet it was utterly uncharacteristic for him. As he approached the flat a taxi was pulling away from the building entrance so Andrew wondered if the dinner party was over. When he opened the front door Freya called out from the kitchen.

“Is that you Andrew?”

“Yes, it’s just me.”

She came bustling out and intercepted him before he could head into his room.

“Excellent. Hang up your coat and then come through please.”

He opened the door to their drawing room and was greeting with a cheerful.

“Andrew!”

Lady Wylie, the wife of a senior Court of Session judge, jumped up and gave him a hug. Her husband followed and shook Andrew’s hand. He had been beaten into submission over the years and now called them Jean and Norman. And Jean Wylie was the most irreverent, borderline mischievous, political spouse Andrew had ever met. This was only going one place. When Jim handed him a large glass of whisky with a smirk on his face Andrew had to laugh.

“It has been so long since we have seen you.”

For the sake of the good whisky he was drinking he was glad he didn’t have a mouthful. It was going to be a long night.

“You have 10 minutes to get all these horrible double entendres out of the way. After that you have to behave.”

Like that was going to stop her. But it wasn’t the chance to joke at Andrew’s expense that they were enjoying. They were fascinated about the whole thing. Especially the impact on the rest of his life. That was the part that they talked about more than any other.

“You have no regrets about doing this, about being committed to continue doing this?”

The easy and instinctive answer was no. Because it was true. But the concern they evidenced made him stop and think.

“The quick and easy answer is no. But there is more to it. One of the women that I worked with called this my hobby. And it is a good way of thinking about it. I have a contract with Hermès until next summer. I am committed to four more weeks of shoots, one in each of the summers and two weeks this coming Christmas. But every single person that I work with from the people at Hermès, who are all fantastic by the way, to the production crew, my agent and most importantly all the models, this is their job. This is their life, how they survive, pay the bills, fulfill their dreams and ambitions. And it is not that for me. It is not my life, I have only four weeks to go. I do not do this to survive or pay the bills. And it is neither a dream or an ambition. I started modelling to support a friend. And I have been sufficiently competent at it that I have not been replaced. If I was not friends with Heloise de Hauteclocque I would not be doing this. And if I completed sucked at it, regardless of my friendship with her, I would have been replaced. But what I do every week that I am there is give 100%, in focus, attitude, everything.

“One of the things that did give me pause at the start was when Heloise told me that she needed to be naked to have a chance at commercials. Now it is not full frontal but it is pretty close. What did trouble me for a long time was the idea that she felt she had to do this to sustain or advance her career. But the nudity on television in Europe is commonplace. I wouldn’t go as far as ubiquitous but it is very frequent. One of my friends is an acting student and she very matter of factly explained it as it is just showing real life. If you are naked in real life then why are you not showing that in a television program or movie that reflects that. It was very ho hum. Now Britain is the exact opposite of that which is why the commercials could never be shown here. The collective freak out would be hilarious in a sadly Victorian sort of way. In the past I have made the mistake of being paternalistic about things, but after repeated slappings I have learned that it is not my place to make judgements or even more importantly try and protect someone from themselves. The ‘I know better’ syndrome. All of these women know exactly what is being asked of them and are doing it consciously. I can’t answer if they are doing it willingly but it is a choice that they are making. So I don’t judge whether French or even general European television is exploitative. In the commercials that we shoot I am as naked as the female models and often more so.

“So we are all doing this with our eyes open. But you are right that I live here in Britain and not in France or somewhere else in Europe with a more relaxed attitude to sex and naked human bodies. Then it comes back to the double standard I have talked about with Jim and Freya and which I know they have shared with you. I did a shoot with the sidekick hostess on the top rated Spanish gameshow. All very tame, nothing really seen, all side on shots. If the equivalent woman on the British show did something like that then it would be on the front page of at least two, if not more, of the tabloids. But it is women who bear that scrutiny. Not me. You know the example that I use. In most jobs it would be looked on with envy by men, and engineering is heavily male dominated. Completely different for women and that is the part that annoys me. Which is also why I have not worked with any British models on any of the shoots.

“Let’s fantasise. Would it stop me being admitted to the Fellowship of Engineering, or any other body like that? I don’t think so but you are right I can’t know and it is a risk. Most engineers summer jobs are holding theodolites beside roads. Mine happens to be different. Plus there is also the fact that I use an alias, a nom de modelling as it were, and so no one knows who I am anyway.”

What Andrew had almost said, but in the end did not, was a variation on the Groucho Marx line about not wanting to be a member of any club that would accept him as a member. If the fact that he had modelled where he showed his bare arse to the world was a reason to not admit him to an organisation or offer him a job then he wouldn’t want to be part of that organisation or business. But he was 20 and that was a flippant answer. Andrew really did see where Jean and Norman were coming from. In 20 years’ time as a pillar of the community, a wife, two children, blah, blah, blah, would he be so dismissive of a lost honour or opportunity.

“Let me ask you. Do you think it will be an issue in the future?”

Norman was the one that responded.

“Yes, within certain fields. Politics being the most obvious one. But the other case would be where you are one of two equally qualified candidates. It could be used as a tie-breaker against you. But it would depend on how far in the future it was, context, and who you were up against. In a job where you were making lots of decisions, lots of judgements, then other people would try to portray it as showing a lack of good judgement. Now that is utterly subjective but the risk is out there. That you don’t model under your own name makes a significant difference. Look Andrew, we were not trying to bring you down it was more.”

Norman stopped and Jean jumped in.

“The thing is part of our interest is not judgemental or prurient but rather amazement at actually knowing someone brave enough to do this with a hint of awe and jealousy that you are that brave. You are sitting here talked to four people old in enough to be your parents and with Norman and I, nearly old enough to be your grandparents. And we are having a very rational conversation. It is the antithesis of the tabloid hysteria that you talked about. It is refreshing and just so different. I mean who comes round for a dinner party and then watches commercials full of naked people, one of whom we know?”

She stopped and looked distinctly mischievous. Oh, oh.