Free Tapestry by Fiona McIntosh Page B

aware of her surroundings, she walked without purpose or direction, wandering in the footsteps of whoever happened to be in front of her. Right now she was following red sneakers, but she had spotted some black heels clicking along; their loud clatter might help keep her focused. Her mind was uncharacteristically empty. She was aware of having no desire to think, or even to look up from the pavement, to which her gaze remained riveted. She switched to the black heels as the red sneakers veered off to beat the lights before they changed and cross the busy Strand.
    Just walk , she told herself.
    The rude clangour of a sudden ambulance siren dragged her from the stupor where neither today’s Will nor the world could reach her. She was walking in a haze of memory. Will’s kiss, Will’s love, their laughter, their lovemaking … all rolled into a warm fug in her mind. The screaming siren pulled her from the thin bubble of safe blankness and threw her straight back to days ago in the Tube station. The police were searching for the attackers, and if Will died, a senior officer had explained to her father, they would be looking for men to charge with manslaughter.
    But Will was not going to die, and she couldn’t have cared less whether they found the perpetrators or not; revenge was not on her mind. All she wanted was for her life to wind back to that morning when she was kissing Will at the Seven Dials, eating chocolate cake for breakfast, talking about magic and seriously contemplating another day in bed … Why hadn’t they done that? Why had they passed the hotel?
    A leaflet was thrust into her hand by someone she barely noticed, and only now did she realise it was one of five she was clutching: ads for a new pizza restaurant, a small show that was running just off Drury Lane, a pub that had introduced its winter menu, a Christmas market that was the new rage in London; and now, this last one, on lilac-coloured paper, inviting people to a session with a clairvoyant. The first five people who visited and carried a leaflet would have their reading provided free.
    Got questions that need answering?
    Confused by your life’s path?
    Need to make a big decision?
    The address was in Covent Garden. Why not? It would be a good distraction. She could have answered ‘Yes’ to each of those questions. Maybe just listening to a stranger would help. She snapped back to alertness and threw the other leaflets into a nearby litter bin, turning off the busy Strand to make her way back into the market area.
    The clairvoyant’s room was at garret level, straddling a Moroccan restaurant and an outdoor clothing shop. It was a tiny room at the top of two tall flights of stairs and as she entered the smell of frying spices wafted up the stairwell.
    Jane glanced at the time. Her parents wouldn’t be wondering about her yet; she reckoned an hour at most was all she had, though. She knocked on the thick, gloss paint of the creamy-white door and waited. As she knocked again, the door opened and a man of indeterminate age looked back at her from pale, searching eyes that she thought were blue. His mid-brown hair was trimmed close to his head and his oblong face sported a close-cut, precisely shaped beard, as though from another century. You’d look perfect with a sword in your hand and a cloak tied at your throat , she thought, relieved that she could feelamused by anything. On this first glance, everything about him struck Jane as spare, from his lean frame to his neat, symmetrical features. Surprise must have been reflected in her expression.
    ‘Expecting an old crone?’ he wondered with a wry glance, his tone playful.
    In the heartbeat of her hesitation he smiled, transforming as amusement sparkled in his eyes and fizzed in his voice. Attractive creases appeared in his face and a warmth seemed to radiate from him. She presumed he was gay from his slightly effeminate way of speaking and, while she inwardly fought the stereotyped assumption,