“What a day. I had fourteen requests for space in Cleredon, and three private tours.” Mary sits back and crosses one leg over the other. I nod, taking a sip of beer as we relax in a pub that’s just a few blocks from my apartment. It’s barely half past five, but we’ve been here for a good hour. We ditched the castle a bit early for some happy hour drinks.
Four weeks together, and Mary and I have become surprisingly close. She’s the closest thing I have to a friend in the city, and I do enjoy her company. We’re sort of good for each other. Two people who would rather stay home but if the mood strikes to be social, we seek out each other. So, the occasional drink after work has been occurring rather often.
“I know. I had two tours, and then I was on the phone with a museum for almost an hour. Restoration of the Beale portrait.” I roll my eyes and Mary laughs. We have a good work relationship, it’s a bit older sister, younger sister. She’s been pretty great about getting me acquainted to the city, and helping me get settled in.
“They are obsessed with that old slag.” Mary groans, referring to the rather priceless Mary Beale self portrait that resides in the upper royal bedroom of Cleredon House. It’s a pretty big deal. I laugh, as Mary—Mary Heath, that is, is already a bit tipsy on white wine.
“It’s a beautiful painting, Mary. And by the first female English painter.” I say in my best British accent. Mary laughs and shrugs, waving her hands around as she does.
“It is a great portrait. And those wankers at the museum are just dying to get their grubby hands on it.” Mary grins and sits back. She’s not quite as uptight, prim and proper as I’d first thought. Get a few glasses of wine in her and she’s quite fun.
“You know, I thought Cleredon was going to be terrible. But, I quite like working there. And with you. Working at Penn, on the other hand.” I roll my eyes. The Penn Gallery is an insufferable place, to be honest. Uptight, hoity toity. I thought working at the gallery would be great—like back at the Hudson Gallery with Vera. It’s actually quite nerve wrecking. The owners are rude and ridiculous. The patrons are not much better. I’ve reported back to Vera on quite a few occasions that I don’t know if they are the gallery she wants to partner with.
“I’m glad you like it at Cleredon. Bobby was talking about you the other day.” Mary raises an eye brow at me. Bobby is the director at Cleredon. He’s also at least 65. What is it with me and stodgy old men?
“Tempting.” I groan, and Mary flies into a flurry of giggles. I laugh, taking a gulp of beer. It’s Friday, so we’ve both let a bit loose. Maybe a bit more than we should have.
“Are you dating anyone, Gracie? A pretty girl like you. You could have your pick of the litter.” Mary says, becoming serious all of the sudden. I scrunch up my nose.
“No. Dating’s never really been my thing.” I shrug. It hasn’t completely evaded my memory that Richard is getting married this weekend. This very weekend. Of course, I have put an entire ocean between us to keep from thinking about it. But it’s still on my mind. He’s getting married to the woman that was better than me. And he’s doing it in the place he once promised me was ours. I’m sad. I’m sad and pathetic.
“Mine either. Just a few good shags every now and again, to tide me over.” Mary laughs loudly, her face turning pink. I gape at her, and then push her jokingly in the arm.
“You harlot!” I laugh. She shrugs and then we clink our glasses together.
“Are you free next weekend? They’re playing some fantastic old movies at the Gate Picturehouse. We could go and do the lot of them.” Mary asks. It sounds fantastic. I grab my phone, nodding.
YOU ARE READING
Hello Again (a Tom Hiddleston fanfic)
FanfictionTwo people meet under the conditions of a one night stand. The only thing they didn't realize, was that their lives would be intertwined, their relationship changed by family, friendship, and a constant, unyielding pull toward one another. This is t...
