My Life in Black and White by Kim Izzo Page B

into him unless you wanted to.”
    I thought about this. Of course I wanted to run into him. That was the point. I wasn’t about to let Amber have Dean without a fight. I wanted a different outcome than Alice and Marjorie had ended up with. He’d see I was intrepid, spontaneous, and that I loved him so much I travelled halfway around the world to show him.
    “I washed the sheets and duvet cover yesterday,” she explained, jolting me from my thoughts. “Have a lie-down. I have to go run some errands, then we can go nurse your wounds. There’s a lovely gastro pub around the corner.”
    “A what?” I asked, perplexed.
    “Gastro pub, dearie. It’s like a pub but with better food and a decent wine list.”
    “So what do I wear to a gastro pub?” I asked. Trinity was wearing black jeans, flat motorcycle boots and a heather-grey sweater, or jumper as they said here. “What are you going to wear?”
    She shot me a look. “What I’ve got on me!”
    “You look great,” I said, panicked.
    “Don’t worry. Gastro pubs aren’t any more fancy dress than regular ones, but unlike normal pubs you’ve got to tip the staff.”
    “I wouldn’t know any other way but to tip; I’m from LA!” I smiled. “I’ll take that nap.” But as I took a step towards the bed, I tripped over the suitcase and crashed into the dresser.
    “You all right?” she asked, trying not to giggle.
    “I’m fine.”
    “It is a small room,” Trinity said and picked up the suitcase and flopped it on the bed. “So what do you have in here?”
    “You’ll love them,” I said and grabbed the key. I tried to unlock the case but the clasps wouldn’t unfasten. It was jammed tight.
    “Great, I brought all these clothes I didn’t want to bring and now I can’t even open the damn suitcase,” I said, thoroughly frustrated.
    “What clothes?”
    “My grandmother’s,” I explained to her. “From her wardrobe department days.” She lit up like any actress who worshipped Old Hollywood would.
    “Alicia Steele. Film noir goddess!” she grinned and took a bow. She knew all about my grandmother from our film-school days. She’d also been introduced to my mother, who had forced her to watch
He Gave No Answer
at least five times.
    “Wannabe goddess,” I corrected her.
    She pooh-poohed me. “Alice was no doubt a very fine actress. It’s a tough slog. I know something about that you know. Though I will never be as pretty as she or your mother was.”
    “Neither will I,” I lamented.
    “I’m dying to see them. We could play dress-up for a bit,” she said excitedly.
    “I should have known an actress with your taste would appreciate vintage,” I smiled, though in truth I was embarrassed. No one would ever imagine Clara Bishop in get-ups like these.
    “Why don’t you wear one of Alicia’s dresses tonight?”
    I shook my head. “I’d look like a fool. I shouldn’t have brought them.”
    “Then why did you?”
    I shrugged. “It seemed the right thing to do at the time. It’s all a moot point since I can’t open the suitcase anyway.”
    She made a face and shoved her two thumbs under the clasp and tried to pry it open. It didn’t budge. Then I took my index fingers and grabbed at it from the top and she kept shoving from the bottom, but still it remained clamped shut.
    “It must be so old it’s stiff as a corpse,” she said, puffing a little from the exertion.
    “I can’t use pliers or anything harsh because Marjorie would kill me if I broke it,” I pointed out.
    “I guess dressing up will wait.”
    I sat on the bed, feeling the pull of jet lag on my eyelids. “That’s fine by me. Jeans will forever be my staple.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN
    T he gastro pub was in an ancient brick building on the corner near the tube station. The large wooden hand-painted sign had a rearing white horse on it, and as I got closer I saw the pub was called The White Stallion. It was the very place Niall Adamson had mentioned. The brick was painted a dark