Making Jane Proud

Chapter 1 - A Work of Art

Tom was grateful for the extra warmth his leather jacket and scarf offered as he walked through Trafalgar Square. The weather, bitingly cold all day, had taken on a blustery aspect and rain threatened very soon, if the rolling black clouds overhead were anything to go by. He zipped his jacket up over his jumper and tightened the knot of his scarf to better keep his neck and ears warm, then happened to glance over at the National Gallery and saw they were showing an Impressionist exhibit. Another look at the sky indicated that going indoors might be a wise course of action and he'd always rather liked Impressionism, so he detoured from his original route and entered the gallery.

The first room of the exhibit showed three paintings featuring Monet's wife from early in his career; The Woman in the Green Dress, Women in the Garden and On the Bank of the Seine. Tom manoeuvred past a group of school children to get closer to the paintings when his eye was caught by a woman standing very still towards the back of the room.

She was a little above average height - about 5'8" he guessed - and slender, with a graceful and controlled ease about her posture that suggested she could be a dancer. Her rich auburn hair was cut short in a pixie style that perfectly complimented her delicate features and she had an ethereal quality that caused his heart to flutter a little in his chest.

He stopped in his tracks and changed direction, moving to a spot here he could watch her undetected as she stared at the paintings. He was fascinated by the play of emotions over her face and found he couldn't tear his eyes away, completely ignoring the matchless artwork he had intended to view. She tilted her head slightly to her right and appeared to be listening and for the first time he noticed her companion, a shorter woman with brown curls and a lively face, talking close to her ear and waving a hand to indicate the painting nearest to them. The auburn-haired beauty responded at some length, gesturing with her hands in a way that Tom recognised as similar to himself. When her companion spoke again it was obviously something amusing, for her face broke into a smile of such joy and delight that Tom's breath caught in his throat and his thoughts whirled to think of a way he could get her to smile at him like that.

When they began to move into the next room Tom waited and followed at a safe distance, again taking up a position where he could watch her. Not long afterwards her companion took a mobile phone from her coat pocket and seemed to be reading a text, then after speaking, embraced the woman and turned to leave. Should he approach her now? There was no doubt in Tom's mind that he would approach her - he felt so drawn to her that he knew he would find it impossible to stay away - it was simply a matter of when and how.

He decided for now to continue as he was and wait for the perfect opportunity to introduce himself, and - well, he didn't have a clue what would come next, only that he hoped something would. So for the next half hour he dogged her steps through the rooms of the gallery until finally she began to browse in the gift shop and he plucked up the courage to approach her.

The first thing he noticed about her when he drew close was the smooth perfection of her alabaster skin, a rich creamy white with cheeks that seemed to exude a slight glow, as if she were somehow illuminated from the inside. Smatterings of freckles across her cheeks positively begged him to trace them lightly with his fingertips like a game of connect-the-dots. When she looked at him he felt the air leave his lungs; her eyes - the glimmering green of emeralds - sparkled in the light from the nearby window and made him think of the fresh sheen of morning dew on Spring grass and the colour of the forest after it rains.

She gave him the kind of small, polite smile usually afforded strangers and waited for him to speak.

Speak!

"Hello." He finally managed. "I'm Tom." And he held out his hand.

Her response wasn't immediate; she was looking him in the eye as if seeking something. Searching my soul was the thought that popped into his head, but he was sure he was only being fanciful. She seemed to find whatever it was, though, as she finally replied and he let go the breath he hadn't realised he was holding.

"Ellie." She said and put her own hand into his. Small electric currents ran up the entire length of his arm and left a tingling in his chest but somehow he found the presence of mind to bring her hand up to his lips and place a delicate kiss on her knuckles. She had long, slender fingers and her skin smelled like full-blown roses on a hot summer's day. It was intoxicating.

He knew he had to say something but his brain and mouth couldn't seem to work in tandem. Finally he blurted out, "What do you do Ellie?"

She retrieved her hand from his grip - he had completely forgotten he was still holding it - and tilted her head, giving him a look that was part disappointment, part amusement and part something he couldn't define. "Really? That's what you're going with? You've been stalking me for the last thirty minutes and the thing you want most to know about me is what I do for a living?"

The first thing he noticed was her unusual accent but then her words sunk in. Oh god! She saw me following her! Tom felt the flush of heat rise from his neck to his scalp until he was sure he resembled nothing more than a freshly cooked beet. He ran his hand through his hair and looked down at his shoes in panic, desperate to improve the impression he was making.

"Tom?" He hardly dared look at her but after plucking up the courage to do so, saw that she was smiling at him. "Want to give it another try?"

He most definitely did, so thought about her words to decide the thing he most wanted to know about her.

Finally decided, he looked at her shyly and asked, "Would you like to have dinner with me this evening?"