‘Yes, Amy actually,’ she said, shaking the outstretched hand.
‘American?’
‘New York,’ said Amy, feeling a little awkward as the woman looked her up and down. Perhaps the sequins would have been better than Annie’s yellow vintage sundress.
There was a pause, then Georgia Hamilton nodded, as if she had made a decision.
‘Do come inside,’ she said. ‘You can leave the umbrella by the door.’
Amy followed her down a narrow corridor and out into a light, spacious living room.
‘Wow!’ said Amy. ‘That’s some view.’
The room had a wide bay window that gave an uninterrupted vista of the slopes of Primrose Hill park and the hazy city beyond.
‘Yes, it is rather special, isn’t it?’ said the woman with a hint of amusement in her voice. ‘I suppose it’s human nature to become accustomed to one’s surroundings, even if they are remarkable, but I confess I do often catch sight of the view and smile at my good fortune.’ She gestured towards an armchair. ‘Please do sit. Would you like some tea? I have just brewed a pot.’
‘Yes please,’ said Amy, perching on the edge of the chair and looking around nervously. She was immediately reminded of the Bird’s Nest. Georgia Hamilton’s home was equally eclectic and personal. But where Annie’s flat was chaotic and cluttered, a mish-mash of ideas and fleeting enthusiasms, this home was understated and calm. There were abstract paintings and black and white photographs, interesting-looking pots and ethnic-style sculptures, but it all seemed to fit together like pieces of some artistic puzzle.
‘You’ve got a lot of books.’ Amy smiled, observing the bookcases stuffed with all manner of hard- and soft-backed books.
‘I used to work in publishing,’ said Georgia, still watching her. ‘Occupational hazard, I’m afraid, though in my defence, they’re not entirely for show. I have actually read most of them.’
‘So you’re that Georgia Hamilton,’ said Amy, immediately regretting it. Now she would have to confess to checking up on the older woman. I’m going to look like a stalker, she thought.
‘Google, I take it?’ said Georgia to Amy’s surprise as she handed her a bone-china cup and saucer. ‘That’s the problem with information overload. In the modern age you can know pretty much all you ever need to know about a person before you even meet them. Where is the mystery? Where is the unwrapping of a new friend, a new lover?’
‘I don’t really like surprises,’ said Amy. ‘Not where lovers are concerned, anyway.’
The old lady tilted her head thoughtfully and took a sip of her tea.
‘And tell me, Amy, what do you do?’
She opened her mouth, ready to say that she was a dancer, waiting to explain about her injury and her training, but suddenly it seemed far easier just to admit that she was a waitress.
‘I wait tables at the Forge in Islington. It’s where I’m going after this.’
‘I was a waitress myself many years ago. No better job for people-watching, observing human nature. It’s probably why so many creatives are drawn to it. You think you are there to pay for your art, but actually, I rather find it helps your art.’
Amy smiled and the atmosphere relaxed.
‘Down to business,’ said Georgia, setting her cup aside. ‘I have booked a trip to New Y
ork to leave in a few days. Incredibly, I have never been to Manhattan and I feel that at my age I should be visiting the places I . . . well, the places I have missed.’
‘Sort of like a bucket list?’ said Amy without thinking. Note to self: try not to suggest that the lady interviewing you has one foot in the grave, she thought. Luckily Georgia smiled.
‘Something like that, yes. I suppose I could have gone on one of those ghastly tours for mature single travellers, but the thought of shuffling around Manhattan like a bunch of geriatric crocodiles . . .’ She waved a dainty hand. ‘Which is how I came to advertise for a travelling companion. There’s no call for concern, I’m not likely to fall and break a hip, but I’m not quite as spry as I was in my prime.’
Amy thought it best not to reply, lest she put her foot in it again.
‘So how is it that you’re able to travel, Amy?’
The question took Amy by surprise, and it must have shown on her face.
‘Well, it is Christmas, after all. I imagine most people your age are booked up with parties until New Year.’
‘Something fell through,’ said Amy awkwardly.