Fire After Dark Read Online Free Page B

my palm, ready for a cool drink and keen to take my shoes off. I’m exhausted but pleased with everything I’ve achieved today. I managed to find the Wallace Collection and spent a very happy morning delighting in the rococo art and furniture within the extraordinarily beautiful Regency house. I revelled in the pink and white magnificence of Boucher, drank in Fragonard’s gorgeous floral fairytales and sighed at the portrait of Madame de Pompadour in her lavish gowns. I admired the exquisite statues, ornaments and furniture, and lingered over the collection of miniatures in the galleries.
    I found a nearby cafe for lunch, where hunger helped me overcome my general shyness at eating alone, and then decided to see where I would end up if I simply wandered. Eventually I found myself at what I discovered was Regent’s Park, and spent a couple of happy hours walking around, sometimes through manicured rose gardens, sometimes along paths bordered by green expanses and shaggy trees, sometimes beside lakes or playgrounds or sports fields. And then, to my astonishment, I heard the trumpeting of elephants and saw in the distance the dappled neck and small head of a giraffe: I was near the zoo, I realised, laughing. And after that, I turned for home, stumbling onto a very smart street as I went that had, alongside chic boutiques and homeware shops, things like cash points and a branch of a supermarket that meant I could stock up on some food and other necessities. As I made my way back to Celia’s flat, with only a couple of stops to consult my map, I felt almost like a real Londoner. The woman who’d stopped me that morning had no idea I knew the city as little as she did, but now I was a little more seasoned, and already excited about what I might do tomorrow. And the best thing was, I had barely thought about Adam. Well, not that much. But when I did, he seemed so far away, so distant and removed from this life I was living, that his power over me was distinctly diluted.
    ‘Good afternoon, De Havilland,’ I say brightly as the familiar dark body awaits me inside the door. He’s delighted to see me, purring nineteen to the dozen, rubbing himself against my legs in ecstasy, not wanting to let me walk a step without him pressed close to my calves. ‘Have you had a lovely day? I have! Now what have we here? Look at this, I’ve been shopping – I can cook dinner. I know, I know, it’s beyond exciting. I bet you didn’t know I could cool but actually I’m all right and tonight we’re going to have a delicious seared tuna steak with Asian dressing, rice and stir-fried greens, although I’ll bet you that Celia doesn’t have a wok, so we’ll have to make do with whatever we can find.’
    I chatter on to the little animal, enjoying his company and the gaze of his bright yellow eyes. He’s only a cat, of course, but I’m glad he’s there. Without him, this whole exercise would be a lot more daunting.
    After dinner, which I managed to cook perfectly fine without a wok, I wander through to the sitting room, wondering if the man in the apartment opposite is going to appear but his flat’s in darkness
    I wander over to the bookcase and start inspecting Celia’s library of books. As well as a wide range of novels, poetry and history, she has a wonderful collection of fashion books on everything from the history of famous fashion labels, to biographies of celebrated designers and large photographic volumes. I pull some out, sit on the floor and start flicking through them, admiring the stunning photographs of twentieth-century fashion. Turning the large glossy pages of one, I stop suddenly, my attention caught by the model in one particular photograph. It is an image from the sixties, and a girl of startling beauty stares out, her huge eyes made feline by the bat-wings of eyeliner on her lids. She’s biting her lip, which gives her an air of intense vulnerability that contrasts with her polished beauty, the carefully styled