Spray Painted Bananas

Chapter 20

Elliott’s home turns out to be a beautiful Victorian townhouse with a pillared porch and a smart black door. It’s on a street full of similar well-kept buildings, all at least three storeys high. I look up at the polished brass lantern hanging from centre of the cross arched porch ceiling as he fiddles with the key in the lock. My eyes flit to the equally polished brass door knocker and lastly to the side of the door where you would expect to find an intercom with at least three flat numbers. But there are none because Elliott owns the entire house.

He opens the door and I follow him into a fragrant hallway. He switches on the lights and I see that the wonderful smell comes from a bunch of white lilies that are bursting out of a huge crystal vase. They seem doubly magnificent since they are reflected in a gorgeous bevelled mirror that spans half the wall. Rainbows from the crystal chandeliers above us glimmer across the rich white walls and along the dark wooden floorboards that continue into an equally elegant living room.

‘Oh my god, this is beautiful!’

I expected a minimalist bachelor flat with uncomfortable, low backed leather sofas and glass furniture with cold chrome motifs. Instead I find two cream fabric sofas with freshly plumped cushions in a blend of burgundy and gold. I sink into the nearest sofa and I feel every muscle let out a sigh of delirious pleasure. It’s the sort of sofa that could swallow you up whole on a Friday night and hold you hostage for the entire weekend.

‘Glass of wine?’ Elliott offers.

‘I shouldn’t,’ I say. ‘But yes please.’

He goes off into the kitchen and I consider kicking off my red patent pumps and curling my feet up under me. What stops me is the fact that the sofa is spotless and I’ve a sneaking suspicion that there are rules protecting it. I suddenly worry that my jeans will leak blue as they did in the last wash, where they dyed half my wardrobe.

Elliott comes back with two big glasses. They are glasses that an experienced wine taster could happily plunge his discerning nostrils into. The wine of choice is red.

‘This feels dangerous!’ I say.

There’s a wicked glint in his eye as he stretches out on the sofa beside me.

‘Does it?’

He’s mistook my meaning and for some stupid reason I feel I have to clarify myself.

‘I meant drinking wine on a cream sofa.’

‘Oh.’

I take a sip.

‘Good?’

‘Delicious.’

We sit in silence for a moment. I feel his eyes on me as I look around the room. I take note of the elegant glass candle sticks on the window sill and the moody landscape paintings on the wall. The space is so grown up and it makes me feel young and inadequate. There’s a huge book shelf that reaches the ceiling packed with novels and under the coffee table there are heavy, handsome books on architecture and gardening.

‘Can you garden?’ I ask.

‘I’ve sown a few seeds in my time.’

‘That sounds a bit wrong.’

‘I know.’

I meet his gaze and find him looking at me with a meaningful smile on his lips. There’s something too smug about his look and it makes me hold back. I barely know him. What am I doing here?

He’s placed his glass on the floor by his side, which seems significant.

‘Come here,’ he says.