Chapter Three: The Man in the Bath

                                    

                                          
CHAPTER THREE.   The Man in the Bath.
                          
Half an hour later we were driving in Neil’s red and white Mini to a square a few miles up the road in Earls Court. The block he parked in front of was grand and old, built of red brick with big sash windows shadowed by mature trees. I hauled my case up the steps, over the chequered tiles of the hall onto deep red carpeting. The lift that Neil had summoned had expanding metal double doors, like noisy trellis-work that clattered shut behind us, allowing us to see the passing floors as we lurched upwards to the top floor.
                          
     Neil had a room in a flat that seemed to be shared with dozens of other people, most of them milling around in the rather cluttered and grubby kitchen as he led me in. Neil greeted everyone and they all seemed as pleased to see him as the people in the restaurant had been. It felt good to be with someone who was obviously so popular and highly thought of by everyone.
                          
      I could see by the harsh light of the naked bulb that hung from the kitchen ceiling that he was older than any of the others in the room but he still seemed to fit in as if he was one of them. No one took any notice of me as I hovered behind him, waiting to be told what was going to happen next. Neil didn’t bother to introduce me, which was a bit of a relief in some ways, allowing me to remain a spectator on the scene while I tried to work out what my place in it should be.
                          
     Someone was playing Cat Stevens’ album Tea for the Tillerman very loudly in one of the bedrooms as we walked down the corridor to Neil’s room, which I guess would have been the main sitting room when the flat had been originally built and inhabited by one family.
                          
     The windows of this bed-sit looked out over the tops of the giant trees coming up from the square below, making it feel like we were somehow floating above the city. Unlike the communal kitchen, everything about the room was as neat and clean as Neil himself, particularly the meticulously made double bed which stood like a showpiece beneath its beautiful Indian quilt in the centre of the room, between the two windows. The scent of his aftershave hung pleasantly in the air. Against the far wall were stacks of boxes, some already opened to show the piles of denim packed within.
                          
     ‘I’m in the rag trade,’ Neil said when he saw my eyes flicker over the goods. ‘Help yourself if you want anything. What size are you?’
                          
     He rummaged through the boxes until he found a dress he thought would suit me, and showed no sign of leaving the room while I changed into it. I didn’t want to seem prudish so I stripped off the clothes from my old life and pulled on the new, despite the fact that he was watching my every move, smiling contentedly and approvingly. I knew my figure was good because boys had written things about it on the walls at school, but that didn’t mean I was comfortable about showing my underwear to strangers yet. My feminine curves still felt almost as new as the clothes he was lending me.
                          
     I’d caught a glimpse of myself in the full length mirror coming out of the bathroom at home a few months before and had been shocked and thrilled by the beautiful woman I saw looking back at me, stunned and excited at the same time. I had always been very self critical up till then, not happy with the way I looked, but even I had to admit that I had suddenly become a sexy woman. I feel I can be boastful about it now that that beauty has mostly disappeared with time. In the following minutes that I spent in the bathroom staring at my new reflection I had realised that there was now a possibility I could start making all my dreams come true. The image I saw of myself reinforced the certainty I had always felt that I wasn’t just a silly schoolgirl fantasising about a life that could never be mine, as my parents believed I was. I actually did look like a model, or possibly even a film star. It had come as a shock, but a very nice one, creating a knot of sheer joy in my stomach as I realised I now had the raw materials I needed to set out on my chosen career path.