Before I Met You by Lisa Jewell Read Free Book Online Page B

unprepossessing toilet cubicle of an apartment that dining out every night was not going to be an option.
    ‘Where do you live?’ asked Betty.
    ‘In Pinner,’ Marni replied brightly, in a tone that suggested this ‘Pinner’ to be a most desirable locale. ‘It’s in Middlesex,’ she continued, ‘commuter belt. Metropolitan line. I live with my mum and dad.’
    Betty nodded knowingly. This girl knew as much about glamorous Soho lifestyles as she did.
    She showed Betty the sleeping area, a mezzanine in the living area, accessed via a wooden stepladder, with a curtained area underneath housing a free-standing clothes rail and cheap chest of drawers.
    The bathroom was, in fact, the nicest room in the flat, apparently the recipient of the majority of the redecorating budget, nicely tiled and very modern.
    ‘Well,’ said Marni, half an hour later, after some form-filling and tea-drinking and the handing over of a cheque for two months’ rent, ‘I’ll leave you to settle in. And remember, anything you need, just shout. My boss has a mobile phone so you should be able to get hold of him twenty-four/seven. Here’s his number, and, well,
enjoy
!’
    Betty watched her leave a moment later, her dark head disappearing into the crowds below. She had a bounce in her step, the bounce of a carefree person, of a girl who had not yet asked herself any meaningful questions about her existence.
    Betty watched her from the window until she’d disappeared from view and then her gaze fell upon the market trader, still packing up his stall, hefting the last of the boxes into a small white van. He was chatting to another man. She could hear him laughing, see him smiling. She examined him more closely now that he was at a distance: mid-brown hair, cut shaggy around in his face in that style beloved of modern pop stars. He wore combats, an oversized sweatshirt, a leather jacket. He looked about twenty-eight, she reckoned, with an athletic physique and a strong profile.
    Suddenly he looked up at the window and his gaze met hers, and Betty gasped and fell to her knees.
    ‘Oh
shit
,’ she whispered angrily to herself, ‘shit.’
    She let herself slide slowly to the floor, her back against the wall, shame and embarrassment coursing through her veins. She sighed loudly.
    And then, for the first time since she’d rung the doorbell downstairs and realised that there was no one there to let her in, she felt a small wave of excitement building within her. This place was not what she’d imagined it would be, it was not the shadowy high-ceilinged flat in which she would pace around smoking Gauloises and being moody and interesting. But it was clean and it was warm and, more than that, it was in Soho. Right in the middle of Soho. She got to her feet and turned once more to the window. She gazed out at the now-black sky, not a star to be seen in it, and she felt reality hit her, head-on.
    She was here.
    She was here
.
    Her real life had finally begun.

8
    1919
    ARLETTE DE LA Mare adjusted her hat, a grey tweed cloche, ordered in from Paris, especially for her trip, worn at a jaunty angle and down low upon her forehead. She pressed the porcelain doorbell and cleared her throat. A moment later the large red door was opened by a nervous-looking housemaid in a frilled white cap.
    ‘Good evening, miss, can I help you?’
    ‘Yes, I am Miss De La Mare. I’m here to visit Mrs Miller.’
    ‘Oh, yes, of course. They’re expecting you. Do come in.’
    She pulled open the door and led Arlette into a large hallway from which arose two ornately carved mahogany staircases and in the centre of which stood a vast marble jardinière holding a vase of oversized Stargazer lilies and red-hot pokers. She followed the housemaid into a small room at the back of the house, which was furnished with two bergère armchairs upholstered in sage velvet, and a large japanned standard lamp. The room looked out onto a long lawned garden, which ended in a small wooded area