Louisa had identified the location of Andrew's flat with relative ease. Libby had presented her with the battered map book they kept on top of the fridge and given her a look that indicated that the need to find him was irrefutable. So, Louisa had reluctantly allowed herself to think back to that night, fearing the return of the painful emotions she had fought so hard over the last fortnight to quash, but faltering in the impatient presence of her friend.

Had it only been a few weeks since she'd sat in the back of that minicab, glaring out of the window with her jaw set firmly and her eyes cold and remote? She could hear his chastened tone as he directed the driver to his door and, as she seethed with discontent, she had registered that they were in rather an upmarket address which, in hindsight, had been quite surprising.

Under the spotlight of Libby's insistent stare, she recalled that night only too clearly; sitting in the back of the minicab, arms folded and fuming, while Andrew had fumbled for notes in his wallet, and made uncomfortable, awkward, conciliatory noises. He had sighed heavily and hesitated, before closing the car door, and walking away, carefully repositioning his straw hat on his head despite the late hour. Louisa looked over as he stood, momentarily, in front of the end terrace flat before he shot a sad, defeated glance back at her, and let himself through the large, impressive front door.

The flat itself was at the end a row of identical, imposing Victorian gothic buildings and had she not recalled one particular feature, correctly identifying Andrew's actual location would have been a lottery. But as she had muttered her own address, and the taxi had slowly accelerated, they had passed the street sign that had burned itself thoroughly and deeply into her consciousness, and which came to mind immediately she closed her eyes.

Cornwall Gardens,
The Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea, SW7.

At the time she had let out such a sharp, ironic laugh that the driver had asked her if she was alright, and she'd just murmured an apology before slumping over onto her shoulder, leaning against the door with her arms folded defiantly. The lights of an illuminated London evening had passed her by in a watery-eyed blur as she fought back tears for the entire trip back to Graham Terrace.

Now, faced with confronting him, Louisa's aggravation had evaporated and she now found herself reluctant to go, hesitating as Libby spread out the transport timetables on the table and perused them intently.

"I don't see the point, that's all." She had muttered uneasily but Libby had grabbed her elbow and dragged her out onto the street, marching her to the bus stop and ignoring her dissent.

"Ordinarily, I'd agree with you." Her friend had said through clenched teeth. "But, given his mysterious and inexplicable behaviour, I think you deserve to know what the hell he is up to."

"What good will it do though?" Louisa replied despondently. "It's not like it's going to change anything. And I am done with him. Honestly."

"It's called closure, Louisa." Libby said firmly, her long legs striding purposefully down the road.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, arriving at the stop with moments to spare and, clambering aboard the half empty bus, they flopped into a double seat. Louisa stared across at her friend nervously and, biting her lip, finally found her voice.

"Actually, Libby, the more I think about it, the more I don't think this is a good idea."

"Too late." Libby replied with a reprimanding glance at her friend. "We're on the bus now."

"No, really, I don't think I can do this." Louisa said, twisting at the hem of her skirt anxiously. "Please can we go home. "

"You can't let him get away with this Louisa. He knew the sort of girl you are and he's behaved like a total knobend. You need to tell him what you think of him, otherwise you're just letting him off, scotfree."

Louisa paused. The sort of girl she was? Just what was that exactly? Needy and a poor judge of character? Obsessed with being normal? Desperate for affection? As much as Libby thought a showdown might provide some answers, Louisa had an increasingly sickening sensation inside her.

"Libby, please, I really don't want to see him." Her voice rose and then began to falter. "Please don't make me do this. Please don't make me talk to him again."

Libby looked at her and an expression of frustration swept across her pretty face, wrinkling her brow, pulling her perfectly shaped eyebrows into a perplexed knot, and tightening her mouth into a thin, pale slit. She stared for a moment before emitting a loud, heavy, drawn out sigh.

"Aren't you the tiniest bit curious though? I mean, for God's sake, Holly thinks he's gay!"

Louisa hung her head, and when she spoke, her voice was small and sad.

"I know she does. And, actually, I don't know either. I'm not sure about anything any more. That's why I think it's best if we just leave it alone now. It's over. It's done. I can't see what's to be gained, honestly."

Libby tossed her head and pulled her long blonde hair down over the front of her shoulder, smoothing it absently as she spoke. She could see that her friend's upset was increasing and suddenly felt a pang of remorse.

"Okay, okay, I understand." She said after a moment, her tone more conciliatory this time. "But, even if you don't care any more, I hate a mystery almost as much as I hate a horrible advantage-taking boy. How would you feel if we found you a nice pub to wait in and I went and saw him on my own?"

Louisa frowned.

"What?" She asked.

"There's bound to be somewhere you can wait on the High Street. I'll just duck to his flat and see if he's there. If he is then I will give him the Libby Third Degree and, if he isn't, then I suppose we've just had a wasted journey." She smiled at Louisa brightly and put her hand on her arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I'm quite looking forward to it. God, I hope he's home!"

Louisa grimaced. It did seem rather a cowardly solution but, if she were honest, it suited her perfectly. She nodded and managed a tentative smile for it seemed to her that anything was preferable to having to relive a single moment of she and Andrew's last, disturbing encounter. Exhaling deeply, she turned her attention, through the window, to the King's Road and the delights of people watching in Chelsea of a busy lunchtime.

Just over half an hour later, they emerged out of the bus door, through a stinking, black cloud of diesel smoke, and made their way along the footpath until they found a suitable place for Louisa to wait. They chose a smart cafe, just off the main road, with cheerful umbrellas and Louisa selected a seat in the sun. By the time she had emerged from under the table, after adjusting its wobbly leg with a folded napkin, Libby had gone.

After wincing at the menu prices, Louisa ordered a Coke and a small slice of chocolate cake, and settled in to wait for her friend. For a while she sat calmly, immersed in her own thoughts and idly watching the world go by, enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun. There was a constant stream of people, well dressed and stylish, and Louisa, from behind her oversized sunglasses, delighted in observing them. Customers came and went from the cafe and it seemed to her that it was a popular meeting place for immaculately groomed young businesswomen in formal suits and black court shoes.

Louisa began to feel slightly conspicuous in her rather short sun dress and Doc Marten boots. Exposed young flesh was all well and good when you worked at a market clothing stall, and alternative and edgy outfits were merely another way of expressing yourself at college but, here amongst the seriously commercial world of Kensington professionals, she realised she stuck out like a sore thumb. A man had taken up a seat at the table next to her and made no secret that he was looking at her. Her hand went to her skirt and she realised with horror that it had been hooked over the armrest of her chair, exposing her thigh all the way to the leg of her knickers. Desperately, she wrenched her skirt down and smoothed it across her thighs, feeling a burn of embarrassment and hoping he hadn't noticed. No wonder he was smiling at her.

She picked up the drinks menu and began to study the wine list as the waitress delivered a coffee to the man and he thanked her politely. Glancing at him, Louisa decided that he was around thirty and, sadly for him was already showing severe signs of male pattern baldness. It was a shame really because he had nice blue eyes but not much else going for him, appearance-wise though he had sounded quite pleasant when he spoke to the waitress and that sort of thing was very important to her. Working in sales, you certainly did get to meet all kinds, including some pretty awful people who thought they were so much more important than you were, she thought, and her experience with snooty and obnoxious customers had only cemented her belief in good manners.

Suddenly, she thought of Andrew and, instantly, she began to feel her agitation return. She shifted in her seat as her leg began to jiggle up and down with nervous energy. Where was Libby, she wondered, with more than a little aggravation, and her lip began to ache from the punishment meted out as she bit down on it with ferocity. She picked up the list of cocktail specials and perused it impatiently before throwing it down again and picking up her fork. After pushing her uneaten chocolate cake around her plate, she tentatively placed a portion in her mouth. It was delicious but Louisa had no appetite and she dropped her fork onto her plate with an alarming clatter.

From the next table, the man watched her. He'd tried to turn his attention to the newspaper but he couldn't help but observe her growing aggravation. It was his job to notice these things and so he had watched her in silence, as her internal turmoil was clearly mounting. If he were honest, of course he'd initially been distracted by the expanse of creamy flesh that was on display so flagrantly as he sat down adjacent to her. He'd smiled to himself when she had noticed and tried so desperately to reclaim her modesty. Even behind the large sunglasses she wore, he could tell that she was very attractive and had exactly the sort of physical attributes one should have if one wanted to wear pretty and revealing summer dresses.

She had picked up her glass and was pressing it against her forehead when the man really started to be concerned. He'd watched as she had hunted fruitlessly through her handbag before throwing it back down onto the seat next to her. She had removed the sugar and sweetener sachets from the jar in front of her and was now carefully rearranging them before clearly becoming frustrated that she now could no longer fit them back from whence they came. She drummed her fingers on the table and, finally, removed her sunglasses and began to clean them with her skirt. It was then he noticed the welling tears.

Though his professional decorum had taken a slight hit when he'd been treated to yet another tantalising glimpse of slim, silky thigh, on sighting her distress, he wondered if he should speak to her. It was easier if you were a vicar or a priest, he thought, because wearing your collar of office made it pretty obvious if you just sincerely wanted to assist someone in distress. They didn't have to explain themselves, nor justify their actions. But, unless he walked around with a stethoscope around his neck, he would have to describe who he was and why he wanted to help to her, and then again to any observers and busybodies who would no doubt judge him as a chancer or just a despicable letch.

She was wearing her sunglasses again now but he could see the tears rolling down her cheeks and he decided that he would attempt to see if she was ok. He folded his newspaper and was in the process of standing up when the girl was joined by an equally attractive blonde, in an equally short and revealing outfit. Pausing in mid air, he sighed and gently lowered himself back into his seat, and watched as the new arrival threw herself down into the spare set opposite her friend, dramatically.

"Oh my god, Louisa."

"What, oh god, tell me! What?"

Libby put her hands up to her face, pushing her sunglasses up on top of her head and staring at Louisa, her mouth half open and her expression incredulous.

"Well I found the house and it was just as you remembered."

Louisa looked back at her, her expression tense and suspenseful. "And? Was he there?"

"Well, no, but the front door was open so I just sort of wandered up. There was a woman in this, like, sort of paper boiler suit on the steps and so I just started chatting to her, and, oh my god Louisa, apparently she was there with her team to clean the house because, get this, the owner had come back from Spain and the house was almost unfit for human habitation."

"What?" Louisa said. "You're kidding?"

"Nope, and it gets worse. I had a quick peak through the door and the place is like a palace but the cleaner said that it was absolutely squalid. Apparently, the owner's BOYFRIEND lives there and he'd had a succession of parties while she was away, and the house had been absolutely trashed."

Louisa gaped at her, slowly shaking her head in disbelief.

"I know!" Libby cried, exhaling theatrically, her eyes wide with astonishment. "Can you believe it?"

"I can actually." Louisa replied slowly. "The first day I met him he was planning a party that night. Seems too much of a coincidence for it not to be him that trashed the place."

She paused, as a wave of despondency passed over her. He had been someone else's boyfriend all along. He had lied to her, to her face, about everything and for a moment she felt sick. She had been deceived and strung along but, as she processed the situation, her self pity was replaced with a pang of sympathy for the poor woman who'd been cheated on AND had her house wrecked.

"Honestly, Louisa, the flat would have been exquisite and it made me wonder what sort of girl could afford to live there. I mean, who is she, and what does she do?" Libby reached over and took a swig from Louisa's untouched Coke.

"Poor girl. I almost, you know, feel a bit sorry for her." Louisa said sadly and, putting her elbows on the table, buried her face in her hands. "What a total prick. I just can't believe it."

Libby looked at her, and pulled her top lip down with her bottom teeth, contemplating how to share the rest of the story. She reached into her handbag and deftly reapplied her lipstick.

"So, there is a bit more." She said and paused, a cautious frown contorting her perfect features. "Ummm so, just as I was going to see what other info I could pump the cleaner for, a car pulls up outside and this middle aged woman gets out and comes storming across the road towards us. I thought she must be the letting agent or something because she was, like, really pissed off."

Louisa looked up at her friend. "And?"

Libby swallowed hard. "And...well, put it this way, I think I've solved the mystery."

"What? Tell me!"

"Umm, yah, so she wasn't the letting agent. She started shouting at the cleaner in Spanish! And then she told me, in English obviously, to f*ck off. Shouted that at me! In the street! Then, like an absolute cow, she just pushed past us and went inside, and I could still hear her screaming and shouting at those poor cleaners as she was walking through the house."

"Really? Are you ok?"

"Oh yes, I'm fine! Like water off this little duck's back, sweetie, don't concern yourself." Libby laughed and reached across to take her friends hands in her own. "But you absolutely will not believe this next part! Oh my god!"

Louisa stared back at her with trepidation but said nothing, her green eyes wide and disbelieving.

"You know how I said she was old. Like about 50 and totally mutton dressed as lamb you know? Well the last thing I did was ask the cleaner who she was. And you'll never guess."

Louisa shook her head slowly.

"Louisa, SHE is the girlfriend! Andrew is shacked up with some disgusting ancient Spanish trout! And I'll wager she's paying for everything! Oh my god, don't you see, that explains everything! He's a kept man."

Louisa hung her head. At that moment, she truly had no idea what she was actually feeling.

"That explains the trips to Barcelona I s'pose." She said in a quiet voice.

"Explains everything, I'd say." Libby rejoined. "What a creep. I can't believe what he did to you though. Wanted his cake and eat it too, I think"

"Sounds like they deserve each other." Louisa adds flatly. Whatever the reason for his behaviour she had imagined, it certainly hadn't been this.

"Can I try your cake?" Libby asked suddenly. "It looks delicious. Have you had some?"

Louisa pushed the plate across to her with a weak smile.

"I sort of lost my appetite." She said sadly, and glanced across at the man at the next table, noticing that he was was looking at her again. Kind eyes or not, she didn't feel like being noticed by anyone at that moment, it was all a bit much to take and made worse by the stares of complete strangers.

"Actually Libby, I think I'd like to go home if that's okay. " she said quickly.

"Oh, right." Libby replied through a mouthful of cake, and she looked a little disappointed, managing to hastily scoop another forkful in as they both stood up, before wiping her mouth on a napkin and grabbing at her handbag.

"The next bus is along in four minutes." Louisa said, adjusting the positioning of her dress again.

"Ok." Libby replied, pushing her chair in and manoeuvring herself between the table and the wide-eyed stare of the man at the next table. She noticed his apparent discomfort at her close proximity, and flashed him a cheeky smile. As he watched them run off down the street, he felt a warm flush and he swallowed hard. God, he thought to himself, I'm nearly thirty, too old to be blushing merely due to the proximity of pretty girls. Even if they were exceptionally pretty girls, he added, with a heavy sigh as they disappeared from view.

He looked at his watch. Twenty five minutes past two. His friend was invariably punctual so he'd arrived early, ridiculously so as it turned out, but better that way than leaving himself open to the biting sarcasm and haughty disdain his tardiness had invoked so many times before. He finished his coffee and signalled to the waitress. As she came to the table, he noticed a taxi pull up on the opposite side of the road so he sent her away again with a polite smile, and stood up as he immediately recognised the distinctive appearance of the man striding confidently toward him.

Immaculate as ever, perfectly groomed in an expensive suit that looked like he'd just stepped out of an advertisement for a Savile Row tailors, the man acknowledged him with dignified nod of his head and held out his hand.

"Chris."

"Mart. Good to see you mate, how are you?" He exclaimed, taking his friend's large hand in his own and shaking it vigorously.

"I'm fine. Busy."

"Ah, yes, you will getting to the pointy end of things now I imagine. Sit down and tell me all about it." Chris said, sitting down and beaming at his friend.

"Nothing much to tell." Martin replied, summoning the waitress with a nod of his head, and lowering himself elegantly into the spare chair at the small table. "Had a meeting with Bernard Newton this morning and he feels I'm ready to sit my Fellowship examinations."

Chris stared at him, and his mouth fell open.

"Now? Isn't that significantly earlier than normal? I mean you're not twenty nine yet, are you?"

Martin ducked his head. "Umm, no, I'm not and, yes, it is early, mmm. But, ummm, I feel, that is to say, I have no concerns about it being premature. I mean, it's a few months off yet but, you know, ummm, I am preparing."

"Wow, I'm impressed Mart! I mean, I always knew you were a bloody smart arse but to become a fellow, before you're thirty. Has anyone ever achieved that."

"Ummm, no, at least, not in vascular, as far as I am aware. Bernard did mention something but I wasn't really interested to be honest. It makes no difference to me."

He looked up as the waitress brought their order to the table and slid an espresso in front of each of them.

"Thank you." Chris said pleasantly and watched her walk away before turning to Martin and lowering his voice. "Actually, Mart it's a shame you didn't get here ten minutes earlier. I've been enjoying some delightful scenery."

Martin frowned, and looked around them. There appeared to be a selection of haphazardly parked European cars, some generic Victorian terraces in need of maintenance and a selection of dull and dreary business people.

"What?" He said and Chris laughed

"The flowers of English womanhood. I was early, and bloody glad I was actually."

There was an awkward sklence.

"Umm, right, am I to understand that you're actually proud of the fact you've been sitting here, passing the time by ogling women?" Martin said, disdainfully.

"Yes, but not just any young women." Chris replied, laughing. "Two absolute stunners, by god. I didn't think my afternoon could get any better and then they had to run for their bus."

"You invite me here to discuss your wedding and then you tell me that you've entertained yourself in my absence by leering at young women." Martin pulled a fastidious face. "That really is inelegant behaviour, Chris, even by your low standards."

Chris beamed at him good humouredly, not offended in the slightest. In fact, he actually even realised that he'd missed Martin, always so elegant and careful in everything but his speech, so able to find the exposed nerve, to induce fear in his intellectual inferiors with just a curl of his lip. And, in Martin's world, everyone was his intellectual inferior.

Martin looked across at the next table.

"If that sugar laden, calorific junk is the remains of their visit then I doubt they will have figures worth ogling for much longer." he said, with a distinct tone of disgust in his voice. "And, Chris, you seem to be showing alarming indications that you have started to let yourself go too."

"All the more reason to tie this whole marriage thing down quickly before all of my hair falls out." Chris replied with a smile. "Though Helen does repeatedly assure that she loves me the way I am."

"Pfft, you can't be thirty yet either, and that.." Martin replied dismissively, gesturing at Chris' already prominent abdomen. "Is what you would term a beer belly."

"Right, yes, well, thanks, Mart. I didn't invite you here to give me a physical. Your advice is well noted though so can we move on?"

"Mmm, yes, right." He said, and frowned. "I suppose you'd better tell me what you needed to see me about so urgently."