Eight

`Before I knew it, the book was finished. It took just over two months start to finish - I hardly slept. It really was like a steam train, unstoppable.’

He glanced around the room. ` I didn’t know what to do. I re-read it and thought it was genuinely bearable - at least of a standard I could send to an agent. But what about my claims on serious literature? My pride was so obscene - I think it still is - that I was embarrassed in case it did sell. I didn’t want to be known for trash.’ He shook his head in disgust.`So, in the end I looked at where I was living, at the shitheap I called my car and at my bank statement and eventually told my ego where to get off. Any extra cash would be an improvement and it still had to be accepted by someone. Believe me,’ he looked back to her, his eyes crinkling in a wry smile ` I was not romantic about its chances. I was convinced it would never see the light of a publishing day and so it was almost with a light idealist heart that I sent off a few copies. The rest, as they say, is history.’

With the last sentence his mood appeared to lighten, `A brandy?’ he offered. She smiled a quick acceptance. She’d been touched by his honesty. Whilst he gave the order to Guilio she watched his profile. A sharp fleshy nose dominated his face which was narrow, accented by high cheekbones and authoritative chin. The sporadic shadow along his jaw indicated an inexpert shaving technique but she found herself liking his general careworn air. His dark brown eyes gave the impression of trusting honesty but at times the light turned them ebony and she caught a frisson of a scary depth and almost, a malevolence. Christ she’d suddenly become an outpatient of the romantics clinic! Whatever, she figured there was more to the everyday languor and ease of life that this guy displayed. Still waters and all that. Alison Ellis, she thought, you’re going to have this man - into my life from nowhere.

With a secret smile she made her excuses and left, leaving Max in a quandary of emotions. No arrangements had been made for another meeting; he’d been too slow off the mark and, of course, too unsure to ask as she went. He left feeling low after the high of the evening.

The shadowed city streets retched with the stench of another unfulfilled day for the street people. Doorways and gratings moved with the sorry drudge of humanity discarded from too many dreams. Max slowly roamed home. The place had an effect on his outlook - or his outlook had an effect on his view, whichever. He had given up fear though. Assuming a fatalist belief had allowed him to retain an equanimity in the face of mounting hysteria by many of the city’s middle classes. The star-pricked night watched his passage this night, as always.