Tigerlily's Orchids by Ruth Rendell Page B

her, not speaking. Because this man was in his forties, round-faced and because his hair was also black, Stuart decided he must be her father. Possibly a strict father, a Muslim as a lot of people from that part of the world were. He took his cigarettes and when he turned round the girl and her father were gone. To lose her now was the most appalling thing he could think of. He rushed out of the shop, staring wildly about, but he hadn’t far to look. She was standing in the doorway of the bathroom shop, leaning against the boarded-up entrance, smoking.
    He stared. Her eyes were turned in the direction of the old church and Kenilworth Primary School, so she wasn’t aware of his gaze. Her father was nowhere to be seen. She was as slender as a reed, as the stem of a flower, cocooned in a black quilted coat. Her ankles, he thought with some exaggeration, were the circumference of another girl’s thumbs. She finished her cigarette, stamped out the stub but, instead of leaving it on the pavement, picked it up in a tissue and put it into her pocket. He couldn’t just let her go, he must follow her. That meant he must follow her dad too, for this man had appeared from out of the alley that ran between the building society and the hairdresser’s andwas hustling her along towards the next turning out of the roundabout.
    One moment they were there, it appeared to him, and the next they had both got into one of the parked cars, the doors were slammed and dad was driving off. The car was a black Audi, he took that in, but it didn’t occur to him to take its number until it was too late. There was nothing for it but to go home. On the way he smoked one of his cigarettes and it served to make him ask himself why he had ever given up. He could almost feel his swollen nerves shrinking back to normal. His mobile told him he had three messages, one from his mother and two from Claudia. Claudia had also left a message on his landline. This one he listened to. Why did he never answer his phone? Was he ill? Or had he gone away? In spite of the pact they had made, she would come round and see him if he didn’t speak to her in the next twenty-four hours.
    Stuart lit another cigarette and made himself a mug of hot chocolate. Why did women think they could make themselves more attractive by bullying and nagging you? He thought of the beautiful girl in the newsagent’s, her eyes, her long slender hands, her full red mouth. She would never nag a man but be a sweet submissive companion. They had so much in common, both dramatically good-looking, a couple to be stared at, both smokers, not common these days. He knew now he never wanted to see Claudia again. Freddy Livorno could rest easy. No need for him to watch his wife, check up on her meetings, put private detectives on to her – or whatever he had done – for their affair was over. It was a pity he had spent such a lot of money on that necklace, but if that was all he had to pay to free himself, it was cheap at the price.
    But how was he to find the beautiful girl?
    *
    O n the first Monday in February it snowed. The snowfall wasn’t like the one just before Christmas but a serious ‘weather warning’ event, as the media called it. Seven or eight inches fell that morning, blanketing the pavements and gardens, masking the cars in fleecy white. Panic ensued as motorways came to a standstill, airports closed, buses disappeared and the Tube was disabled. Cautiously, Stuart answered his mobile to Claudia. As if he had been begging her to come, she told him in a scolding tone that it was impossible for her to move out of the house that day. He realised this must be when their separation was due to end and he said rather too heartily that she mustn’t think twice about it, of course she must stay at home.
    The day now fixed for him and her to meet again was by coincidence the day before his house-warming party. Claudia was, of course, now not invited.