affairs and beach stones

4th October 1957

WRITING THIS FRIDAY evening. A most satisfying day.

After my little weakness, I resigned myself to the long wait for Tuesday. But then this. Half past four. Monstrously dull meeting with Houghton over, I walked through the main gallery, thinking vaguely about my tea and custard cream biscuit, more specifically about the fact that there were only three days until Tuesday.

And then: the unmistakable line of his shoulders. My policeman was standing, head on one side, looking at a rather mediocre Sisley we've currently got on temporary loan. No uniform (the same jacket as before). Magnificently alive, breathing, and actually here, in the museum. I'd pictured him so many times over the past days that I rubbed my eyes, as disbelieving girls do in films.

I approached. He turned and looked straight at me, then at the floor. A little coy. As if he'd been caught out. DUM-de, went my trochaic heart.

'Beat finished for the day?' I asked.

He nodded. 'Thought I'd have another look. See what my mug'll have to compete with.'

'Do you want to come up? I was just about to have tea.'

Again he looked at the floor. 'I don't want to put you to no trouble.'

'No trouble,' I said, already leading the way to my office.

I showed him in, nodding at Jackie's offer of tea as I did so, ignoring her look of interest. He sat in the armchair. I perched on the edge of the desk. 'So. See anything interesting?'

He didn't hesitate in his response. 'Yeah. There's one of a woman, no clothes, sitting on a rock, her legs like a goat's ...'

'Satyrs. French School.'

'That was pretty interesting.'

'Why was that?'

He looked at the floor again. 'Well. Women don't have goat's legs, do they?'

I smiled. 'It's a mythological thing ... from the ancient Greeks. She's a creature called a satyr, only half human ...'

'Yeah. But isn't all that just an excuse?'

'An excuse?'

'Art. Is it just an excuse to look at – well, naked people? Naked women.'

He didn't look down this time. He was staring at me so intently, his small eyes so clearly green, that I was the one who had to look away.

'Well.' I straightened my cuffs. 'Well, there's certainly an obsession with the human form – with bodies – and yes, sometimes a celebration of the beauties of the flesh, I suppose you could say – male and female ...'

I flicked a look at him, but Jackie chose this moment to come in with the tea trolley. She was wearing a daffodil- yellow frock, very tight about the waist. Matching yellow shoes. A string of yellow beads. The effect was almost blinding. I saw my policeman take in this golden vision with what I thought was some interest. But then he looked back at me and there was that small, rather secret grin.

Jackie, not seeing our exchange of glances, said, 'Good to see you back again, Mr ...'

He told her his name. She passed him his tea. 'Having your portrait done?'

His cheeks flushed pink. 'Yeah.'

A little pause as she kept hold of his saucer, looking as though she were preparing herself to fish further.

I stood and held the door open. 'Thank you, Jackie.' She pushed out her trolley with a tight smile.
'Sorry about that.'
He nodded, sipped his tea. 'You were saying?'