Love Read Online Free Page B

conversation. She settled for licking her lips.
    â€œI’m Dagenham’s new favorite. I have to go to all her parties and look the part, foppish Bohemian, neo-Bailey. She fancies herself as a new Jean Shrimpton, albeit twenty years too old.”
    Amy was horrified. “You mean, you and her?” Her nose crinkled in barely concealed disgust.
    â€œNo, you darling dummy, I just have to laugh at her jokes and wear velvet scarves a lot.”
    Amy thought back to her early impressions of thephotographer, so dashing and creative, she had almost fancied herself as Jean Shrimpton. She’d worn a few short floral-print dresses and combed her fringe down. Then she’d realized that she was more in love with herself than Toby. She’d spend all her time thinking about how she looked, what she said, and when she wasn’t with him she barely remembered what he looked like. And she’d been wildly turned on by his camera. He’d photographed her naked brushing her teeth and she’d soared on a wave of sexiness. But the photographer was not really boyfriend material, and at the time that was what she’d longed for. His lens was sexy but he was just a bit too elusive; she’d finally stopped calling him and hadn’t heard from him since.
    But tonight he was her savior, and his hallowed position in this inner sanctum made him even more appealing.
    â€œSo, shall we go, petal?” He brushed his hair back from his face, and she remembered his appeal, brown eyes, long lashes, never quite clean shaven.
    â€œWhat? Why?”
    â€œWell, you were, I presume, leaving, as you’re wearing your coat?”
    Amy nodded.
    â€œSo why don’t we go somewhere we can have some fun? The beach?”
    â€œToby, it’s eleven o’clock at night in February.”
    â€œOK then, Battersea Bridge.”
    They clambered into his mini (it didn’t really do the trick for her, she had to be honest) and juddered their way to the embankment, laughing at the party guests and breathing the air of silliness. No more best behavior,they were like children let out of class early. They left the car on some double yellow lines on Cheyne Walk and hopped out. In the wind the little waves of the Thames fluttered against the sides of the houseboats. Amy marveled at how cozy it would be inside, until Toby pointed out the lack of showers and central heating and more dry rot than the
Mary Rose
.
    â€œYou’re so boring, Toby, don’t spoil everything.”
    â€œI’m your knight tonight, doll face, be careful.”
    Yes, Amy thought to herself, knowing that she didn’t really want to be doing this. She wanted to be going home with the Actor, to his Mayfair home with deep duck-down pillows and a grand piano like the Robert Redford character in
The Great Gatsby
, and then he’d ask her to stay, forever. Instead she held hands with Toby and they walked along the riverbank. Amy wrapped herself in a little dance around the lampposts with dolphins swimming down them; he followed her with pretend camera pops, her own little feature film. Her own paparazzo.
    They went back to his flat in Chelsea, a studio hangover from the eighties, lots of floorboards and coffee tables strewn with prints, negatives, contact sheets, and bits of lenses. She sat on the edge of a leather chair and flipped over the pages of his portfolio. He poured two mugs of whiskey and sat on the table in front of her.
    â€œWell, who’d have thought it. What a happy twist of outrageous fortune.”
    â€œWe had fun, didn’t we?” Amy wasn’t sure whether she meant tonight or last summer, but the whiskey tasted nice and Toby’s hair flopped gorgeously forward into his eyes. She couldn’t resist brushing it away. This time a whiskey-tasting kiss. She was drunk enough toforget her boobs on this occasion, which made for an altogether happier half hour (not bad going). The photographer took his time and