But no.
Nobody was in the living area, or the bathroom.
He’d popped out for some fresh air, perhaps, although there was a balcony for that. The sun shone brightly through the gauzy curtains that covered the balcony door. She would get some coffee brought up and drink it out there, she thought.
Before ordering, she grabbed her phone and tried to dial Jason on the contract smartphone she’d bought him the week before.
She swore under her breath as it chirrupped back to her from the other side of the bedroom. Wherever he was, he was incommunicado.
She took the coffee, once it was delivered, and went out to the balcony, deciding to try and enjoy her enforced wait. He’d be back soon, no doubt. Gone out for a paper or a quick stroll round the block. Freedom was still a wondrous novelty to him after all those weeks cooped up at Harville Hall. He was stretching his wings. It was fine.
From the balcony, the lush green expanse of Hyde Park stretched out before her, Kensington Palace visible at a distance above the flourishing tree tops. The London morning was busy as always. Down on Park Lane, cabs and buses filled the road. Speakers’ Corner was already open for business, a small crowd building up around the soapboxes. On the pavement, artists attached their paintings to the railings, ready for another day’s business. Here and there, a tourist or two stopped to admire the work of a pavement artist, drawing their portraits, or those of a famous person, in chalk.
Jenna’s idle gaze stopped roving and she focused abruptly. She got up from the small table and peered from the balcony edge, squinting to make sure that she was seeing right.
‘Oh God!’ she said, abandoning her coffee and running to the shower for the quickest douse under the warm needling water before dressing and hurrying out.
‘What are you doing?’ she demanded, down on the pavement. She wore sunglasses and a headscarf tied in a fifties style under her chin, hiding her hair. Even so, she couldn’t be sure a couple of faces in the small crowd that had gathered hadn’t lifted in recognition.
Jason looked up from the chalk fantasy that now encompassed half a dozen slabs. His face was dusty, in several pastel colours.
‘What’s it look like?’ he said carelessly. ‘Earning a crust.’
He waved a hand over to a battered cap in which several coins and even a few notes lay.
‘I tried to phone you,’ she said.
‘I told you,’ he answered, in a tone of long-suffering patience. ‘I’ll use that phone once I’ve paid you back for it. You can call that your first instalment.’
He picked up the cap and proffered it to her.
She took it without further remark, for she had just noticed what the chalk art represented. Amidst a backdrop of orchards and birds and flowers and trees was her face, exquisitely rendered, like a da Vinci.
‘That’s . . .’ she whispered.
‘Yeah, Jenna Diamond,’ he said loudly, so that she caught on that he was trying to preserve her anonymity amongst this crowd. ‘Well recognised.’
‘Looks just like her,’ commented a woman at her side. ‘Though I think she’s overrated myself. I mean, she’s no Cheryl Cole, is she?’
Jenna wasn’t keen to hear much more of this.
‘Have you forgotten?’ she urged under her breath. ‘We have an appointment at eleven. It’s after ten already.’
‘Right. The Italian bloke.’
‘Alfonso, the best men’s stylist in London, I think you’ll find. Come on. You need a wash. I can’t take you there all covered in chalk.’
Sighing, Jason packed up his chalks, waved to his admiring onlookers and took his leave.
‘Shame the rain’ll wash it all away,’ he said, looking back at his handiwork.
‘Yes, isn’t it?’ said Jenna, unsure whether to be annoyed with Jason or moved by the beautiful portrait he had made of her. ‘That’s why you should be concentrating on making a proper, lasting career of your art, rather than busking on street corners.’
‘Every little helps,’ he said. ‘And you can stop telling me off. I’m not some snotty kid in your class or something.’
‘Sorry. I just wish you’d let me know where you were going.’
‘I left a note.’