The Turning Point. Freya North
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clumsy terminology made her laugh and she did remember him, the man who’d momentarily infiltrated the protective bubble she’d put around herself earlier that day. The man she’d said she couldn’t help. And here he was again. Well there’s a thing! Somehow, they’d both made their way through a day and across the metropolis to arrive right here at the same time. Lost in the city and yet serendipity had given them a map to do with as they pleased.
‘I’m sorry,’ Frankie said with a glint, ‘I’m not from round here.’
He liked her wry smile. It dimpled one cheek. There goes the zip again, catching his breath, tying his tongue.
His silence and his gaze disconcerted her a little. Perhaps he didn’t realize she was only repeating her words from earlier. Perhaps he hadn’t remembered them. Maybe she’d just said something that actually sounded idiotic.
‘Are you really lost?’ she asked him. ‘Here? It’s just I couldn’t even find the lifts before – they’re tucked away, over there, behind those massive urn-things. I couldn’t even locate the slot in the door for my keycard.’
And there they stood, chuckling slightly awkwardly while focusing excessively on the oversized furni-sculpture which had hidden the lifts and broken the ice – two huge hammered pitchers spewing bamboo poles of enormous lengths and staggering girths.
‘I’m not lost,’ Scott said.
‘Oh good,’ said Frankie. ‘I’m pleased for you.’ She cringed at her response and thought it best to turn her attention back to the magazines, to think about the bath and the towels and not this man with the nice smile and the this-way-that-way hair.
‘So – I don’t know a soul. But I saw you and I just got thinking –’ He shrugged. ‘You know?’
And all they could do next was stand there, side by side, looking intently at The Times, the Guardian, the Washington Post, Bild and Le Figaro as they wondered what to say next. Harper’s Bazaar, Vanity Fair, Country Life and the copy of Grazia Frankie had had her eye on.
‘I’m Scott,’ he said eventually.
‘I’m Frankie,’ she said.
They looked up from the papers. She offered her hand and he shook it.
‘Nice to meet you.’
Life had been uncomplicated over recent years, Scott had made a point of it. It’s how he liked it; the gains being far greater than anything he’d had to forfeit to achieve it. What he had just done surprised him, what he was about to do surprised him more.
‘I was going to have a drink,’ he said. ‘Read my book. Think about eating.’ He paused. ‘Care to join me?’
Frankie didn’t do things like this – say yes to men she didn’t know. She never had because the concept had never appealed. She’d never courted it, never experienced it and always bypassed any such situations. She wasn’t even sure if this man called Scott’s offer was as simple as it seemed. Was it in a code she didn’t know? But actually, it seemed neither clichéd nor calculating. Was there any harm in saying yes? Would she regret saying no? And hadn’t they met already, sort of, before? Why not take it at face value. Perhaps he’d asked because they had something in common; they were both from out of town in a city that was a little too big and busy for them. Face value; she looked at his. A gently awkward smile and dark eyes. Quite handsome, actually. But still, she said to herself, but still.
She glanced down at the magazines, as if the choice was between Scott and Grazia. Kate Moss was on the cover, staring straight at Frankie. Kate Moss appeared to be laughing at her: are you crazy? He’s good-looking, polite and friendly so what are you waiting for? Go girl! Kate told her.
Annabel and Sam, safe at home, having supper around about now.
Alice nowhere to be seen.
All of them, some place other than here.
Here she was, side by side with a man called Scott who’d spoken to her earlier and made her laugh just now, who asked her a question and was shyly waiting for her answer.
‘I could do with the company,’ Scott said.
‘Thank you very much,’ said Frankie, ‘I think I will.’
They sat together a little awkwardly, nodded and smiled, until Scott thought if I don’t say something she’ll change her mind and go.
‘How’s your drink?’
‘Delicious.’ She took a sip as if to make absolutely sure. ‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers – here’s to invisible elevators.’
‘My room was upgraded.’
‘So was mine.’
‘Do you come over from the States often then?’
‘Never,’ Scott laughed. ‘But from Canada – yes, I come every so often.’
Frankie reddened. ‘Sorry – cardinal error.’
‘And you?’
‘I live in Norfolk.’
‘I do not know where that is.’
‘It’s east – by the sea. I used to live in London, though.’
‘It’s a great city – if cities are your thing.’
‘That’s why I moved. They’re not.’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ said Scott, thinking to himself there’s a story there, Frankie.
‘Do you live in a city?’
Scott shook his head and smiled. ‘I live out in the mountains, in BC. In British Columbia.’
Spurts of conversation and steadying sips of their drinks, that’s how they did it. That’s how they relaxed in their chairs and into each other’s company and yes, please – I’d love a bite to eat.
‘I’m a creature of habit,’ Scott told her. ‘I always have steak and fries here. Every day.’
‘That’s not good for you,’ said Frankie.
But Scott laughed. ‘I can think of plenty of things that are far worse.’
‘I’m usually pretty unadventurous. If I’m in a hotel, I mostly get room service.’
‘And here you are having dinner with a stranger.’
She reddened again. He liked that, as if it spoke of honesty.
‘Well, in that case, I’ll go the whole hog and have this.’ She pointed to a dish on the menu. ‘It doesn’t get more daring than ordering a dish I can’t pronounce.’
Suddenly she wanted to text Peta or Ruth to say you’ll never guess what! but her phone was up in the room and, when she thought about it, she liked it that no one had a clue what she was doing at this precise moment. It was liberating and novel. But was he actually chatting her up? Was she flirting back? She wasn’t sure and it didn’t matter. Her drink was delicious, she was hungry, he was handsome, he made her feel lively, effervescent even, and dinner was now served.
‘So what do you do out by the sea that you’re here in London on business?’
Frankie hated that question; it usually led to a barrage of questions she’d had to answer a million times before. And when it was known she was an author of some repute, people changed the way they spoke to her, even looked at her. She became a novelty. She’d never liked that.
‘I’m an accountant,’ she said.
Scott appeared to choke on his drink. ‘Seriously?’
Frankie’s face creased with awkwardness. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I lied.’
‘You