Martine The Beginning (Cruising to Love, The Prequel) (2 page)

 
“So, in fifteen minutes, you could put your coat on, lock the door and come with me to the Italian restaurant on the corner for a plate of spaghetti? And a glass of wine?” smiled Lucas.

  Tina thought for two seconds about the alternative, canned soup or baked beans on toast on the hotplate in the rooms through the wooden door in the back wall of the Gallery.  The rooms she ate, slept and did her books in. 

  “That would be very nice, Lucas,” she smiled at him. “A lovely treat.”

  Lucas grinned back at her.  He opened his wallet and took out the money to pay her. 
“I’ll just go and put the painting and my milk in my flat, then. I’m about two minutes down the road.  I’ll be back for eight.”  He took the painting and strode out the door.  Martine looked after him with a bemused expression on her face. 

  It would be a lovely treat, as she had said, but it would also cut into her sleep.  Martine had to be up at three a.m.  Everyday but Sunday.

  Lucas was back at two minutes to eight.  She had already turned the lights out, turned the sign to ‘Closed’, locked the door and was standing outside, waiting for him.  Lucas noticed she had put lipstick on those very inviting full lips…he found himself wondering if she would let him kiss those lips goodnight.

  He smiled down at her and took her hand in his,
“Let’s go,” he said.  “Alfredo’s here we come.”  She did not pull her hand away.  It was nice to have Lucas hold her hand, Martine thought. Very nice. Tingly nice. Martine, who had been ‘Martha’ until about ten days ago when her best friend Penny had, over a bottle of wine, decided Martha was too old-fashioned and boring for an art gallery owner and had christened her ‘Martine’, did not have a lot of hand-holding experience. She worked too hard. 

  The students at the Art School who presently comprised her stable of artists all smiled and agreed when she had asked about the name change.  They liked her very much, and it didn
’t matter to them if she was ‘Martha’ or ‘Martine’. 

  They reached Alfredo
’s and went in, stood at the front waiting for the waitress to seat them.  “Lucas,” she greeted him with a very warm smile, ignoring Martine completely, “You usually come in on Friday nights.  Today is only Wednesday.  Your usual table is empty, just follow me.”  The girl glanced at Martine.  “Oh, hello, Martha.”

 
“Martine.” corrected Lucas.  “She’s Martine now.  Much better for the Gallery, don’t you think?”

  The waitress, a very pretty girl in her early twenties, smiled into Lucas
’s eyes.  “Oh, yes, Lucas.  You’re quite right.  Much better for the Gallery.”  Her hips swayed invitingly as she led them to their table.

 
“A glass of Chianti?” she asked.

  Lucas looked across at Martine. 
“If you like the Chianti, we could have a carafe,” he suggested.

 
“Yes, that would be lovely.  That’s what Penny and I have when we come in here. We often come here of a Saturday night.  It‘s the only night I can stay up late.”

  Lucas turned to the waitress,
“If I have to get this young thing home early tonight, make it a half litre carafe, would you, Gloria?”

  Gloria smiled and returned a minute later with the wine.  Neither Lucas nor Martine had opened the menu.

  “I’m presuming that you’ll both have what you usually do,” she said. “Spaghetti Bolognaise for Martha, oops, I mean ‘Martine’, and Spaghetti and Meatballs for Lucas.”

  They nodded their agreement.

  “Obviously, we’re both regulars here,” commented Lucas as Martine took her first sip of wine. “But I come on Friday night, and you come on Saturday night.”

  Martine smiled across at him.
“And that’s why we’ve never seen each other here,” she offered.

 
“Why do you only stay up late on Saturdays?” he asked her.

 
“Because I have to be up at three every morning but Sundays.  Sundays I can sleep in.  I have to be at work at four every morning but Sunday.”

  Lucas raised an eyebrow.  Martine found that impressive.  Try as she might, she had never mastered the skill of raising one eyebrow to ask a question.

  “I work at a bakery every day.  Four till noon.  Have to, to support the Gallery until I build a clientele.”

 
“How long have you had the two jobs to juggle?” asked Lucas.

 
“Just about a year.  A year December first, actually.  I’ve worked at the bakery for over three and a half years now.  Left school at sixteen, and went to work to save the money to open a Gallery.  Took me two and a half years.  I had a very small inheritance from my parents, and my Grandfather wouldn’t give it to me until I’d matched it with my earnings.  So, a year ago, I did. 

 
“Penny, my best friend, and I scoured the area for a suitable space.  We found this.  It has a tiny flat behind it, two rooms and a bathroom.  I live in one and use the other for storage and an office.  My Grandfather remarried eighteen months ago, and I could tell his new wife found it a bit of a bore, having me living with them, so it was important that wherever I found for the Gallery had some living space.”

 
“So your parents are dead?”

 
“They were killed in a car crash when I was fourteen. I went to live with my Grandfather.” 

Martine looked sad.  “They were terrific parents.  We weren’
t rich, but we were happy.”

 
“My mother died three years ago, cancer.”  Lucas also looked sad.  “I never knew my father.  She raised me alone.  I worked my way through University.  She died just as I was starting to make some money, just as I was able

to make life a little easier for her.  She was from Scotland.  Her brother still lives there.  The painting looks like the view from his house.  The view from the bedroom I stay in when I go to visit him.  That’
s why I bought it.  It reminds me of my Uncle Angus.

  Martine reached over and covered his hand with hers. Lucas liked that, the feeling of her small, soft hand over his. There was a tingle when they touched, he thought.  She smiled at him,
“So we’re both basically alone.  Are you as absorbed in your business as I am with the Gallery?”

 
“Yes.  I worked for a very large consulting firm out of University.  But I hated it.  I liked the work very much, couldn’t abide the politicking that went on.  I’m not really adept that that sort of thing, find it a waste of time. I’d rather spend my time and efforts on solving problems for my clients.”

 
“You like solving problems, do you, Lucas?”

 
“Yes.  I seem to have the ability to cut through the frippery and get to the heart of a problem, and once you do that, it is usually easy to find a solution.”

  Gloria interrupted them with their food.
“Here you are.  Does this mean I won’t see you Friday, Lucas?

 
“No, I don’t think I’ll see you on Friday, Gloria.  However, you may see us on Saturday, if Martine doesn’t have any other plans…”

  Martine blushed prettily.
“Oh,” she said. “Oh, that would be very nice.”

  Gloria scowled and flounced off. Lucas didn
’t notice, but Martine did.  And smiled.  For the first time in her life, she noticed that another woman was jealous of her.

  Totally understandable.  Lucas was very handsome she thought.  And it had been obvious when they walked in the door that Gloria fancied him.

  Lucas was easy to talk to, and Martine found herself telling him why she had opened the Gallery.

 
“My mother was a painter, very talented.  Not much training, but a lot of talent, a very good eye.  She worked part time at Woolworth’s to pay for her oil paints and canvases and art lessons.  She dreamed of being a real artist some day, selling her works in a Gallery.  A few weeks before she died, a small Gallery took three paintings.  We were all so proud of her, Dad, me and Granddad.  One sold the first week, and the other two the next week.  The Gallery owner gave her the cheque and she was over the moon.  Took us all out to dinner!  She gave him three more paintings, one sold, and then she was killed.

 
“I always remember how hard and long she strived to get someone to take her work, how many doors she knocked on…

 
“So my Gallery is to honour her work, to honour her memory.  I’ve started with students from the Art College, and some painters from the local Art Guild.  I’ve been open a year now, and I am hoping to attract some established

names one day soon.  Although, I must admit, it is starting to pick up a little as the painters I do have are getting a bit of a following. 

  “But I still need the bakery job, to pay the bills. I’d hoped that by now I could have quit the bakery.  But getting established is harder than I imagined it would be. Each month, though, there’s been a steady growth.  Small, but I haven’t had a backward month yet.”

 
“I admire your work ethic, Tina,” smiled Lucas.  “Reminds me of my University days.  I waited on tables, tutored, anything I could to make some money so I wouldn’t have to ask my mother for anything.  When I started work, I didn’t start spending, just saved as much as I could, and I took her to Madeira for a holiday the next Easter.  I’m so glad I did.  She was diagnosed with cancer a few weeks later, and died within six months.”

  Martine sighed. 
“It’s not very nice, feeling all alone, is it?  Once my Granddad remarried, I felt all alone.  Oh, I’m not moaning.  I have my friends, and my Gallery and my bakery job.  I’m very lucky.”

  Lucas looked at this young woman, and reassessed her.  She thought she was lucky to be working from four in the morning until eight

at night…instead of moaning, she was focusing on her goal. He was very glad he had asked Martine out to dinner.

  They finished their wine.  Chatted about this and that. Lucas got the impression that Martine had never had a boyfriend.  Given her work

load, he thought his impression would be quite correct. He glanced at his watch.  “Come on, young Tina.  It’s nearly ten o’clock.  Witching hour for you…”

  Lucas helped her on with her coat, and held her hand for the short walk to the Gallery.  He stood outside the door as she put the key in the lock.

  “So, we have a date for Saturday?” he smiled down at her.  “Same time, same place?”

  Martine smiled up at him.
“Yes, please.  I enjoyed myself so much tonight…”

  Lucas was going to ask her if he could kiss her goodnight, but looked down at her smiling face, those full, inviting lips, and he just bent his head and brushed his lips lightly against her slightly parted lips.

  The electricity startled them both.  They pulled away and stared at each other.  Then Lucas put his arms around her, and bent his head again.  She closed her eyes.  This kiss was warmer, much warmer.  Martine responded enthusiastically.

  Lucas pulled away. 
“Kissing you is delightful, Martine.  Absolutely delightful.  I look forward to kissing you again on Saturday, little Tina.”

 
“Oh…I didn’t know that kissing was such a…a pleasant thing to do,” she answered him.  “You’re the first man I’ve ever kissed, Lucas.  Except for my Dad and Granddad, of course…”

  Lucas was not surprised.  This young lady hadn
’t the time for teenaged dalliances.  She had been too busy working.  Saving her money

rather than doing all the things girls her age did, shopping for clothes, wine bars, concerts, flirting, dating.

  “Well, Tina.  You’re a very good kisser. A natural talent. In fact, I’d better have one more, to hold me until Saturday, eh?”  And he kissed her again, twice in fact.

  Martine drifted off to sleep thinking about those kisses.  About how nice it felt to be in Lucas
’s arms and have him kiss her.  “I just met him, and I went to dinner with him and kissed him four times…oh, my, oh my…”

  She woke with the alarm at three and sleepily got ready to go to the bakery.  She looked at herself in the mirror as she brushed her teeth. 

  “I think I have a new sparkle in my eye,” she thought.  “A new sparkle. And its name is Lucas.”

  Her friend Penny dropped round to the Gallery Thursday afternoon.  She often did.  Penny was a singer.  She was as committed to her singing as Martine was to the Gallery, but Penny was making a living at it without another job now.  She was with a band, and they had regular bookings, so Penny had moved into quite a nice flat, over a dress shop, and was constantly asking Martine to move in with her. 

  But Martine didn’t want to be a bother to anyone. And she knew that Penny and the band often came home after their gigs, and talked and strummed until the wee small hours.  That wouldn’t work at all with the bakery…

  Penny had stopped and picked them up two lattes. 
“Here’s your mid- week treat, Martine,”

she smiled as she handed her friend the cardboard cup.

  “Actually, Penny, it’s my second mid-week treat,” grinned Martine.

 
“Oh?  You are looking like the cat that swallowed the canary, aren‘t you. What was the first treat?”